The Victimization of Women in Romance Novels - When Fantasy Sends a Dangerous Message

About five years ago, I decided to participate in the NaNoWriMo writing challenge. The goal was to write 50,000 words in a month. As an aspiring writer, I jumped into this challenge with great fervor. Because I tend to be a little dark, I wanted to write something completely different than I had in my songwriting career - a love story. Yes! I would write a love story and it would be funny and edgy and awesome.

Taking inspiration from my Indian friends and my love of their culture, I typed out a story of a whirlwind romance between a scrappy, Philly girl and an Indian school teacher. She meets him on a train tour through the Indian countryside. I kind of figured she'd just have some vacation sex, see some sights, fly home and call it good.

But at the end of the novella, I felt like I needed to have closure with it - so I shopped it to publishers. I re-wrote the ending (because "happily ever after" endings did not mean vacation sex and back home to Netflix apparently), to create a conclusion that coincided with the standard for "happily ever after". She gets accidentally pregnant after being told she'd never have children, and he shows up on her doorstep just in time to save her from her own misery. It sold zero copies.

I had strayed far from what I intended it to be. I added more sex, I took some sex away. I made her strong, and then I made her needy and depressed wallowing in her own self-loathing. In the end, I was told, Asian -Caucasian relationships were not "interracial" enough.

And then they asked me for two more books. Which I wrote. I tried to take all critique and change the stories to suit the publishers’ needs. I tried to give them what they wanted while still trying to write interesting, strong female characters. All three books combined sold 5 copies in a 3 year period of time.

I saw that my publishers' most popular books were alien/human or shapeshifter/human romances. "BDSM" was growing ever more popular since "Fifty Shades of Grey" reared its ugly head in mainstream media. I did not think I had the energy to read the book, but I watched the movie.

By all accounts, Christian Grey, just like his “Twilight” counterpart, was an abusive, controlling, self-absorbed sadist. E.L. James had betrayed the BDSM community and set a dangerous new standard for what constitutes "romance" in literature. Disappointingly, so did one of my favorite authors, Anne Rice with her "Sleeping Beauty" series. Walt Disney would have been proud though. To her credit, she put the Disney princess' pseudo-sexual messages right out there in the open.

Side note: The original "Sleeping Beauty" story involved Aurora/ Briar Rose (or Talia in the original story) being raped while unconscious and being forced to carry and give birth to twins conceived of that rape. While still unconscious. Yup. Ok, g'nite, kids!

But, I digress. As I am so prone to do.

I embarked on an experiment. I wrote a very short story that was, intentionally, utter garbage. - or "Shit Lit", if you will. A Yeti - Human romance in the Himalayas. 100 copies were downloaded in less than a month's time. What the fuck is wrong with everyone?

I began to pay more attention to the quotes and titles for the new "romance" books by successful authors that peppered my Twitter feed on the daily.

"You were born to be mastered and owned by the men around you."

"I hiked up my dress as he forced himself between my legs."

"'Don't stop', she begged as she rubbed against his belt like a cat in heat."

"He pushed her down and ripped off her black silk panties."

"Is my little slave ready to be taken hard again?"

"The Bigfoot pounded harder and deeper into his little toy."

"Seven sexually sadistic dwarves turn a submissive princess into a quivering wet mess of hot, incoherent female flesh." (I am not fucking kidding)

"Ashamed."

And at least 7 books, just yesterday alone, featured the word "Claim" in their titles.

There was one book only which featured a woman in charge - and she was a succubus. Of course.

I know quite a few authors who do not write about abuse. They do not write about rape or sex with aliens and cyborgs. But they also do not write strong female characters either. As if there's no middle ground, one must write their erotica/romance heroines in terms of either abuse and slavery, or silly and befuddled.

All these authors are women. I am assuming, based on the comments and shares, that most of the readers are women too. So, what is happening?

With the emergence of the “Wonder Woman” movie and its record-breaking box office receipts, we were presented with a strong, female character - ehhhhh - seemingly. But, even in that story, there is an undertone of sexuality. The coy "I don't know anything about sex - ok, I know everything about sex" paradigm played out, albeit briefly, in the first 45 minutes of the movie. Patty Jenkins received props for not over sexualizing the Amazons, but they're still kind of sexualized. Does all female armor need to consist of short skirts? I would think keeping your legs protected during battle would be far more efficient.

We are marketing to women and still disrespecting them at the same time. We are creating a narrative which tells women (a-fucking-gain) that they need to be controlled. And women are throwing their money at them.

So, I can only surmise that rape culture has been so deeply-seeded that it's nearly become its own blood type. It binds itself to our DNA. It hides in the deepest parts of our hearts that long for love - for companionship. Some of us are accepting and paying for, our own victimization.

I cannot speak to lesbian erotica or romance because I have not read those authors. There seems to be fewer of them. But, I will. Because I need to know what the differences are between the two women - the woman who writes "Claimed by Her Master" and the woman who writes "Marcie's Lesbian Lover". F/F encounters I've read so far have been in the context of a threesome in which the aim was still pleasing a dominating man.

We are in dangerous times. We are fighting like it's the 1920's, and the President of the United States just told the victims of Roy Moore that he does not stand with them because tax reform.

I don't think we can wear the Pussy Hat and then go home and rent "Fifty Shades Darker". We cannot fight oppression and then oppress ourselves via Kindle on the way to work.

For me, as a budding author, I need to do some soul searching as well. I have watched all the "Twilight" movies. I do that when I want to clear my head of all thought. I know they're garbage. But I still watch. Why? And I would invite any woman who has read or watched any movie that has an undertone of abuse to ask themselves the same question.

We should be able to embrace our sexuality, and our right to porn and trashy romance novels, without yielding to a culture which attempts to dominate and control us. And, if you are the author of any of the above books, there is no judgment here from me. I got sucked into it too. I wrote things I didn't feel because I wanted the publishing deal and the fan base. But, in the end, I achieved nothing by selling out.

But you, E.L. James - you are not off the hook yet.

Why Women Will Be Saving America...Again

It seemed like it started with the Women's March. And then it seemed like it started with the James Woods allegations. Then, Harvey Weinstein. Then, Kevin Spacey. Charlie Sheen. CK Louis. Ray Moore. Al Franken. #MeToo.

But it didn't. It never started, because it never stopped. Since Eden, women have been fighting for equality. We've been fighting for the opportunity to be heard - to be treated like *gasp* equals.

Human history is written on the back of oppression. Women, regardless of color, religion, or economic status, have been a consistent target for as long as there's been written history.

We have been both the vessels for gods and kings, as well as demons. We have been made all-powerful and infantilized at the same time. Make up your minds.

During the Revolutionary War, women both held down the forts and defended them when the men grew weary from combat. During the Civil War, more than 400 women disguised themselves as men and went to battle. And, when we weren't doing that, we tended to the wounded and dying. We kept the homes safe. We emerged from The Antebellum with a nod of gratitude and sent back to the work of having babies and cleaning houses.

During WWI and WWII, women took over the roles of Police Officers, Switchboard Operators, Telegraphers, Mechanics, and Drivers - all while maintaining the home and raising children. During WWII, more than 100,000 women joined the Armed Forces. No accurate records were kept as to how many women were injured and killed during the wars, and when they were over, the surviving women holding down jobs in the previously male-dominated workforces were asked to step aside and hand those jobs back over to the men. We proved our strength, patriotism, and dedication, and yet, we had to fight for the right to vote. We were held political prisoners and subjected to torture, violence, and ridicule.

We railed. We starved ourselves. But, we won.

There exists this ongoing paradox of needing women desperately to benefit the U.S., to stuffing us back into our boxes when our country wants quiet. But there's never quiet - because women are not the problem. We are the solution.

In this era of "President Pussy Grabber" we have, once again, had to up our game and stand in unity. At least 16 women have come forward to speak out against Trump's abuse of women and children.
One by one, women have been coming forward with their stories of sexual assault by Hollywood bigwigs, politicians and other public figures. And one by one, we are discredited and re-victimized. Save for CK Louis and Al Franken, no apologies or acknowledgments have been made public. Therefore, it is assumed that we are all lying. Because it's so hard to believe that women are being victimized in America.

We are back to the never-ending beginning.

This blog won't be nearly long enough to cover all the injustice - all the hypocrisy. And, maybe that shouldn't be the point anyway. The point is, during times of extreme struggle in America, women have saved us. And, they are saving us again.

Recently, we have celebrated the public office appointments of two transgender women: Danica Roem and Andrea Jenkins. Oklahoma, notoriously "Red", won a Democratic seat in the state senate.
Other political heroes like Elizabeth Warren, Maxine Waters, and Claire Warner are railing against corruption and injustice. They are guarding the fort 2017 style.

This is what we do. We see shit going down and we march - we fight - we speak. That's been the case since Lilith first rebelled against Adam in Paradise. The difference this time is; we won't be going back into the box. This is a new Revolution. The current state of our country has woken the mama bear in all of us.

So, fifty years from now, history will remind a new generation of the time that women saved America again. Don't give up. Speak. Rail. Believe.

That's all I had to say.

The Epic Cucumber Battle

“What did you pack me for lunch?” demanded my eight-year-old.

I hear this question every day. Even though I try to always pack him foods I know he likes, he will question my commitment to his eating lunch every single day. I feel my whole body tense as I prepare for what is sure to be another battle after a long night of night terrors and sleep violence.

“Don’t worry. I packed you all things you like”, I say with a smile, trying to avoid further conversation on the matter.

“But what did you pack??” he presses, growing more agitated by the minute.

I inhale deeply, and in one breath I recite the list of foods hiding in that nutritional cul-de-sac of a lunch box.

Instantly, there is a cry of rebellion when he hears the word “cucumber”.

“CUCUMBER? I HATE CUCUMBER!”

And so it begins. A full-on meltdown has ensued, despite the fact that not only did I pack cucumber on Tuesday, but he ate them all. This week alone, he has decided from day to day that he likes turkey sandwiches, hates turkey sandwiches - likes carrot sticks, is allergic to carrot sticks - loves pears, all fruit comes from the devil himself.

If the lunch line didn’t give him anxiety, he could simply buy lunch at school. Which would be a huge relief for me. But alas, no.

He proceeds to slam the door with great force and lock himself in the bedroom, refusing to get dressed, until he has dismantled the lunchbox completely and replaced it with snacks he thinks I  am hiding from him ( I’m not.)

There are tears. There is swearing. There is threatening.  At which point his father, who works 16 hours a day and has little to no one-on-one time with him and rarely does the morning routine, decides to pull rank and storm the bedroom in full old school mode.

Everyone is now screaming and yelling at each other at 7:45 in the morning - over cucumbers; one of many battles that will lay out before me today.

He is off to school now, in full-on tears, kicking and screaming along the way, and I, sleepless and shaking, attempt to begin my day.

I remind myself that I am not alone in this struggle. There are parents of Autistic children fighting similar wars all over the world right at this very moment. Maybe it’s about shoelaces - or a passive-aggressive clothing tag placed in just the wrong spot - or it’s a day that ends in “y”. Whatever it is, it’s real and it’s exhausting, and that parent is probably feeling as alone as I am right now. Lost. How will my child find his way in the world when we can’t even get through breakfast?

At five months old, we knew something was wrong. It took nearly eight years to even begin to flesh out a clear picture of this child’s issues. Because he has multiple disorders (Autism, Selective Mutism, Tourette’s Syndrome, ADHD, and DMDD), there have been more evaluations and tests than might be necessary for a child with a singular disability.

One medication that might help one disorder is contraindicated in another. The social worker at his pediatrician's office doubted that I had exhausted every resource possible for this kid. She said she would look into other options and get back to me.

Two weeks later, she called me to confirm that she, herself, could find no resource that we hadn’t already tried and wished us “the best of luck” and that I should file for disability for him, which I did. It took me four hours of documenting reports, dates, and notes from over 20 doctors in what was absolutely the most difficult process I have ever gone through. That’s saying a lot. I am fluent in bureaucracy.

At least that advice was positive in some way. We have received far less effective or helpful advice from other well-meaning (and not so well-meaning) people. “He just needs an old-fashioned spanking”, “He needs a child psychiatrist (good luck finding one of those on Medicaid)”, “He needs Jesus/Church/Sports/Books/Medication/Military School/ Stronger Parenting/Consistency/Hospitalization/Chores/Manual Labor/Scared Straight/Love/An Earlier Bedtime/A Later Bedtime/A Dog/A Holistic Diet etc., etc. etc.

There was a study done on the effects of parenting a special needs child, and it was found that those parents experienced symptoms not uncommon to combat veterans. I totally get that to some extent. I find my hands trembling at the end of most days. I panic when I feel a battle coming on. I don’t sleep (even when he is not waking me up). I have nightmares.

And, for the most part, I am handling it alone. That’s the hardest part for me - feeling alone.

So, as I try to think of a conclusion to this little essay, I want to end with something positive and uplifting. I want to be able to say “Hey, this miracle saved our whole family”. But I can’t. What I can do, and what you hopefully are getting, is that you are not alone. I am not alone. You will survive it all, and your child will too.

And, on the very bad days, even when your child is shrieking “I HATE you!” at the top of their lungs for all the neighborhood to hear, they love you. They do. They know they can come to you when they are sad or when they are frustrated. They know it is you who will protect them, even from themselves. They know you are present, even when you don’t feel very present yourself.

You are doing an amazing job.

There are support groups for parents who are struggling. Click on the links below to get some help and support locally. Ask for help if you’re feeling overwhelmed. Inquire about respite care. Find playgroups and activities that are welcoming to children with special needs. Get resources if you’re struggling with depression and anxiety. It’s so easy to find ourselves feeling isolated. You don’t have to do this alone. Just like on an airplane when they tell you to put the oxygen mask on yourself before your child, you need to take care of yourself first. Hang on. We feel you.

For Parents of Children With Disabilities

Friendship Circle

Facebook Groups for Parents of Children With Special Needs

Bayada

Yes, But There Was Also Abuse

People have suggested to me more than once that I write a memoir of my life, as it has been fairly noteworthy.

One day, I sat down to do that and started with the story of the family meeting that occurred in my parent's apartment when I was nearly 10 years old after I had come forward with the abuse I was suffering at the hands of my step-grandfather. I recounted the horrified look on my aunt's face (the only face I can remember from that day), and being sent to another room with a sticker book to keep me occupied while the adults spoke in panicked whispers about what to do next.

I wrote three paragraphs and had to stop. How would I write an entire memoir when the first three paragraphs plunged me into a total state of anxiety? How could I put words to the complex emotions that occurred within a timeline blurred by age and mental self-preservation? I couldn't. It would not be therapeutic for me to re-live a life with story after story of sexual abuse, assault, and harassment.

There was just too much. As it is just too much for most women. I imagine. Do any of us not have a story of feeling unsafe? Do any of us not have a story of feeling pressured, ogled, shouted at, grabbed. Do any of us not have a story of being told to "smile more", "wear some makeup", or "do something with your hair"? Do any of us not have a story of being criticized for what we are wearing? Or what we are not wearing?

I doubt it.    

Because my own abuse began barely before the age of three, my entire identity was shaped around being a sexual object. It was shaped around not understanding boundaries. It was shaped around not knowing that I could say "no"- especially when "no" rarely worked anyway.

I was reading Amber Tamblyn's open letter to James Woods today. While men targeting young girls, especially in the context of the entertainment setting, isn't a new narrative, this one might have been the last proverbial straw for me. Woods' response falls in line with the usual - same old - same old - of male defenses. "She's lying"and "prove it" said with a tone of polite minimizing.

The responses to the Twitter thread were also standard. Men accusing her of needing the attention, lying, being a bitch. Of being too sensitive.

I've heard that one a lot too. Too sensitive. Yes, I'm too sensitive. But also, there was abuse.

It's just more "reasons" to excuse and ignore the fact that we live in a rape culture. We sexualize little girls from early on. "Pretty" becomes a thing you strive to be. As if that matters even remotely in developing a sense of self - of identity. We used to tell girls about being "pretty" more than we told them about being strong. We told them about being "good" and "obeying". We told them about being "quiet".

Little by little, we have been attempting changing that and failing. We create Legos "for girls" in pinks and purples. We engage them in sports and encourage them to join the sciences. But still, the focus is on how they can and should change while maintaining their female-ness. We teach them to speak up, and when they do, they have silenced again with "prove it". Besty DeVos recently undid protections for victims of assault on college campuses. So, once again, the conversation turns to "proving it".  Silencing it.

North Carolina says it's legal for a man to rape you if intercourse began, but you changed your mind at some point. If you are being hurt during sex, you have no right to retract your consent. That's horrible. Barbaric.

On our acceptance of abuse and dysfunction: A few months ago, my step-grandmother died. This woman was a facilitator for the abuse and rape that occurred not just with me, but with other young women in the family. She was a denier, a blamer, and the cause of so much pain and destruction. She did not commit the sexual abuse - but she helped. She did not protect us. I even remember her once giving me advice on how I could avoid it. At 7 years old, I was being blamed.

My mother attended the funeral of this woman. To "pay her respects". It broke my heart. I thought about my own daughter and what I would have done in the same situation. I would have attended the funeral to spit on her and to speak the truth of who she was. I would have represented my daughter. I would have testified.

But my mother, who also grew up in varying abuse and dysfunction, doesn't get it either. That's how deep our rape culture goes - hundreds of years of accepting because it's so common. The past is the past and we have to move on. We've become desensitized.  It's always someone other than the abuser's fault. My step-grandmother's obituary read "loving grandmother", "local school employee", "generous". Maybe - but there was also abuse.

Why isn't this the narrative yet? Why are we not countering the excuses with the facts, which are separate and absolute?

She was drunk - Yes, but there was also abuse.
She was wearing next to nothing - Yes, but there was also abuse.
She slept with a lot of people - Yes, but there was also abuse.
She didn't say anything - Yes, but there was also abuse.
She'd had sex with him before - Yes, but there was also abuse.
She's too sensitive/She can't take a joke - Yes, but there was also abuse.

She was walking around at that hour alone/she met him online/came to his hotel/came to the party/got in his car/said yes once before/slept with everybody/she was trans and didn't tell him/did drugs/was a prostitute/accused other people too/wasn't wearing a bra/wasn't wearing underwear/asked him to use a condom during the rape/she was out of control/she was mentally ill/she's trying to ruin him/she wants attention/she saw him again/she sexted him/she has kids by different fathers/she didn't leave/she didn't go to the police/she didn't go to the hospital. Yes, but there was also abuse.

#ButThereWasAlsoAbuse

From now on, that's my answer to it all. Because the discussion needs to stop being about the victim and what she did or didn't do and turn back to the abuse. We need to start believing women. We need to stop creating a reason why she "asked for it",  or why it's too late for her to speak out. We keep doing this as a society, and all it's doing is normalizing abuse and violence. We cannot have a reason to make abuse acceptable. We need to stop making women afraid to come forward because they won't be believed.

End of rant.

Find out how you can help

Fat Bottomed Girls, You Make the Rockin' World Go Round

Last week, our 20-something family counselor, after a conversation about health and weight in which I stated that I had resolved myself to the weight I'm at because I can't lose anymore, replied: "Sure you could. If you just TRIED harder". She then proceeded to tell me about calorie counting and exercise because, of course, at 44 years old I'd never heard of those things before.

When she volunteered her own height and weight, I commented to her that we were actually almost exactly the same. Looking perturbed at being compared to someone she clearly felt was overweight, she said: "Yes, but everybody is different. I have a lot of muscle because I exercise and lift weights".

Bitch, I'm about to lift weights right now and toss you out my fucking window. I was incensed. I was hurt. But, goddammit, I am okay with my weight and accept my womanly self completely so, FUCK HER.

But as the days went by, I saw that that little grenade of a comment was about to detonate inside me, revealing the still very disordered and wounded self-image I've been carrying my whole life. Not only was her comment hurtful, but it was also mean considering I'd shared with her a lifelong battle with disordered eating and weight. And, even though she'd shared her own intense fear of "getting fat" with me, it did not make me feel better. It made me feel sad. Sad that this woman, who is college educated and serves as a counselor to families and troubled youth, was clearly just as fucked up as I was.

So, in the days that followed, as I obsessed about food, weighed myself several times a day, and studied all of my fat in the mirror while wondering how she saw me as so much larger than she, I decided to discontinue with her as our family counselor. Because she's not where I am. She has not had children. She has not grown human beings in her body. She has not gained 60 pounds or more while pregnant and then frantically tried to lose it all. She has not inhaled as much food as she could get her hands on while breastfeeding. She does not understand peri-menopause, or fibromyalgia, or autoimmune diseases. She does not understand depression or how fragile the rebuilt ego actually is. She does not understand the deep, lifelong effects of sexual abuse. She does not understand what it feels like to contemplate suicide because you hate your body. She does not understand the mental energy it takes to just be OKAY with yourself. She does not understand compassion.

Her Kent education and subsequent master's degree be damned, she is not educated enough or mentally well enough to counsel us.

So, to her I say; Do not give people diet advice when they didn't ask for it. Spend some time interning in eating disorder units. Talk to people who are struggling with food addictions and obesity. When someone is feeling bad about themselves, ask them about what else is going on for them instead of confirming what they already fear most about themselves - that they are wrong the way they are.

I also want to say to her; Thank you. Thank you for making me revisit this issue within myself. Thank you for triggering my disordered thinking so I could re-affirm for myself that I am fine the way I am. Thank you for making me remember that I was insane when I was caught in the cycle of starving, bingeing and purging. That no matter what the scale says, I have an obligation to my children to stay sane. I have an obligation to be well. Thank you for making me remember that I have normal cholesterol. I have normal blood pressure. I have normal blood sugar. Thank you for making me remember why I can't go back there again. Whatever the number on the scale reads.

 Love,
 Morgen and her big fat ass.

Dawn - A Short Story

"You're an idiot."

"Shut up."

"She's right. You're an idiot."

"Shut up!"

"Don't take your anger out on us. We're trying to help you."

"Yes. We're your friends. Don't we always look out for you?"

"True. Where would you be without us?"

"Go away! You're just trying to upset me, and I was in a good mood today."

"When are you ever in a good mood?"

"I've been in a good mood since I moved here. It's nice here."

"Keep telling yourself that. If you were so fucking happy, you wouldn't need us."

"Language!"

"I'm sorry. But it's the truth."

"I am happy! And I don't need you here! You're just always tagging along and annoying me."

"Not true, Dawn. You know you need us. Remember the last time you told us to go away? You ended up in a drunk tank with a broken nose. Which still looks horrid, by the way."

"Indeed."

"That was ONE time! And it wasn't because you weren't there. I don't remember exactly what happened, but I know it wasn't my fault. It was just one of those things. An accident."

"An accident, yes. But that girl was in intensive care for two weeks. And she'll never see right out of that eye."

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"

"We'll shut up when you pull yourself together. But until then, we stay."

"She's right. We can't leave you to your own devices. You show poor judgment."

"I concur."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't have been drinking if I hadn't been trying to get away from you two. All that relentless nagging. All that talking, talking, talking. I don't want to talk. I want to stay here and be happy."

"Dawn, dear, there were things that needed to be discussed. You can't just ignore us."

"I didn't want to talk about it then, and I don't want to talk about it now!"

"That may be true. But you know he needed to go."

"Yes. You handled that situation very poorly. You just ran away and we had to step in because you're weak and stupid."

"I'm not! I just didn't want to be there anymore. He was scary. I was afraid. Everything hurt."

"But you just let him go, Dawn. And, we felt that it was in your best interest to handle the situation properly."

"I handled it just fine. It was over fast. He didn't hurt me anymore once I stopped struggling."

"If you say so. But, because you refused to handle it, we stepped in and handled it for you."

"I don't want to talk about that! You didn't have to do anything. No one had to help me. I just want to forget. This place makes me forget. All you do is remind me and make me feel bad."

"If we hadn't helped you, he would have just walked away. We couldn't allow that, Dawn."

"He got what he deserved. Becoming a shameful drunk was just unnecessary. And frankly, quite embarrassing."

"Yes, it reflected poorly on all of us."

"I don't care. And I haven't had a drink in weeks. I'm feeling much better."

"Hmmm...keep telling yourself that, dear."

"Oh shit. Here comes the reality police. We'll see you later, Dawn. We'll be waiting."

"Dawn? Honey? Are you alright? It's time for your meds sweetie."

"Yes, please. I'm not feeling well."

"Here...take these. Have some water. Lift your tongue sweetheart. Very good. You'll be feeling better in no time. Why don't you go into the activity room and finish working on your project? We'll be serving dinner soon. It's meatloaf night. You like meatloaf."

"Yes. Thank you."

DYI Reusable Menstrual Cloths: A Way to Sustainability and Environmental Protection, or Just Gross?

Because I occasionally think about going off grid someday, I am always researching different ways to have the modern things I need, but in a way that's environmentally conscientious.

I have gone through the composting toilet phase, the family cloth phase, the tiny house phase (which by the way now cost more than 40k!) as well as anything and everything else that YouTube has a dirty hippie video on.

So, last week was DIY menstrual cloths.                                          

So the first thing I noticed is that stores like Whole Foods were selling "Mama Cloths" for up to about $15 a piece which is pretty ridiculous. Then I saw people showing how you can make your own, but that still required a sewing machine and an awkward trip to Michaels.

These women were making their cloths out of pretty patterns that have rainbows and Disney characters on them (I also saw people who crocheted homemade tampons but I didn't even have the mental capacity to figure out how that works but to each their own) but I felt that any color other than black was just going to gross me out.

As far as I can tell from some of the homemade videos I saw was that you can pretty much just buy any old material and make them out of that and hand sew them. So, I went to the local dollar store and started researching supplies. After trying on several washcloths in Dollar General, I settled on black microfiber.

I bought so many microfiber towels and washcloths that I started to think I could have just shoved a ShamWow in my vagina and called it good...but I digress.

I got to work folding, cutting and sewing my dish towel rags, and after about 47 hours, I had made three.

Because Aunt Flo has a sense of humor, she decided to delay herself until I finished those three and then paid me a visit just to laugh at my stupidity. Also, because I had nowhere to be, I decided to try them out.

The verdict: Not too bad. First of all, they are HUGE. They look like grown up sized Lego blocks, and I'm pretty sure that if I sped up the process, I could build my own house with them.

Secondly, they are really comfortable. It's like a pillow for your vagina. No bunching or discomfort and I just threw them into the wash after a cold rinse cycle. They dried well and retained their shape.

So, what are my final thoughts on this sustainable grossness?

Cost-effective? Yes.

Easy to make? If you're not me - Yes.

Comfortable? - Yes.

Do I care about the environment? Yes.

Am I going to use these things on a regular basis? Hell no.

And now, here's a clip on the subject of feminine hygiene from the Dave Chapelle Show.

Edit: Over a year and a half later and they are still in good shape and going strong. Also, I use them far more frequently than I originally thought I would because vagina pillow.