Sex Classes

Early this morning I got a phone call from my baby’s mother-in-law. “I am worried,” she said, “Mishky doesn’t stop crying.” I could hear her screaming. So, I got dressed, drove to her house and picked up my baby and the boyfriend. We thought that he might be able to do his job at my house since he stopped whatever he was trying to accomplish once he saw his owner. With the two dogs inside my car, I went back home. For non-dog-people: female dogs respect their houses. Yes, they will never allow a dog to touch them while they are in their territory. And Mishky was very committed to preserve her virginity at her house. So her boyfriend stood by her side, snarling at me if I tried to even touch her. Since I did not want to lose hope, I called the vet. He said that maybe he could help them…

I took the lovers to the vet hoping that a sex class will help the boyfriend in knowing what to do. Two hours they stayed together at the vet’s office. I stayed at home wondering how sex classes might be for dogs. Can you imagine losing your virginity with a sex trainer? Mixed feelings went through my mind. It is not easier for animals. In fact, I am becoming even more skeptical about the so-called “instinct” (any type of it).

Two hours later I went to pick up the bride and groom, only to find out that the honeymoon was never successful and I won’t become a grandma. Mishky looked at him and said a common phrase; known by many women, “it’s okay honey, it happens to every man.” LIAR!!!!!!

My baby is sleeping right next to me on my bed (exhausted after these two unsuccessful days) while I am writing this blog. I have promised her that, for her next period, I will either get an experienced female dog to help her boyfriend lose his virginity so he can become a good lover; or get her an experienced boyfriend so she can have fun and I can have my grandpuppies.

arranged marriage

Whenever I work on my laptop, my baby gets very jealous and pretends to read what I am writing. Tonight my doggie is not with me; she is -I hope- enjoying her honeymoon. This morning I took her to meet her canine groom. This was an arranged marriage arranged between her mother-in-law and her mom since months ago. Although, you shouldn’t think that because she is a doggie she will just go for it. No, no, no. Nothing even close to that. FYI, female doggies choose their canine partners. If they do not like the dog, regardless of how horny the girls might be the males won’t get lucky. So, I crossed my fingers and took my baby to meet her new and first boyfriend. I have to say that I felt jealous. One couldn’t have hoped for a nicer male. He didn’t stop kissing and caressing her. Seriously, in a humanly way. That was the positive side of it. The negative one… both were virgins. Therefore, even though they like each other, they have no clue how things work and nature sometimes can’t just find its way.

I have left my baby there, with her dowry (a bag of doggie treats); hoping for them to find out what should go where between tonight and tomorrow evening. And hopefully, I can become a grandma in two more months!!!!

The Feminist Wears Prada

I have started working at a Master program in gender. We, the professors, are four girls in our early thirties who call ourselves feminists. It is a very interesting group of women lead by a very important feminist historian who runs the program. We are all what you would call “lipstick” feminists and I love it. I like them a lot; in fact I am becoming very good friends with most of them. Last night I went out with one of them, G, to watch the Devil Wears Prada. I have to confess that Meryl Streep is one of my favorite actresses. So, regardless of how bad the movie is (and, believe me, it is bad), she gives a superb performance. This is not a movie review, but a review of my conversation with G afterwards.

G was extremely pissed of because the way the movie portraits successful women. Successful woman=bitch. Although Miranda (Streep’s character) was a total bitch, G wasn’t totally wrong. In my beautiful patriarchal country a woman cannot be totally independent without calling some suspicion: she is a lesbian or a whore. G stated a frightening point: men take you for a liberal woman (euphemism for easy or even worst: prostitute) once you show a little of self determination. Especially if you are our age (you know, you are not an innocent 20ish girl anymore), work and do not live with a man. Frightening future, I have to say. But, is it different overseas? Mmm, tons of literature tells me not. It is not. Would I have to become a Miranda? Or would I become a Miranda? Well, I love shoes (reeeeeeeeeeeally love them) and wouldn’t mind to teach gender classes “dressed for success.” But would I have to destroy all the women around me to become successful? We were discussing how the feminists or gender experts who are close to our age, actually, do not have this sense of belonging to a group of sisters that Beauvoir was claiming… not at all. If they see you coming their way, they will not hesitate to stab you on your back (or won’t even wait for you to turn around). My dear young feminists… beware of the feminists who are 6-5 years older than you!!!!!! I have a mentor, but she is more than 10 years older than me. I am not a threat to her but a follower. My back is aware of the rest of Mirandas that exist out there.

I came back home and turned on the TV while I was starting to fall asleep. What was on? “What Women Want” with the anti-Semitic hot Mel Gibson. It was the end of it, so he gave this extremely cheesy and horrible line that you might remember: “I came here to rescue you, but I realized that it is me who needs to be rescued.” I almost went to the bathroom. Thank you Mel for recognizing that a man can be rescued by a successful woman!! Thanks for maintaining the hierarchical dichotomy between men and women!! I will rescue you!!! Too late for watching another movie and for deleting his words from my mind… so, I forgot his words and focused on his looks (another confession… he IS hot).

Back home

So, I came back. Tough decision some might say. True. It has been difficult to adapt myself as a woman, as philosopher and as a feminist. But I know it will come with rewards. I wish!!!

To try to write your dissertation at the same time that you are home sick at your own home... is very difficult. It took me nine months. Nine months of dissociation between myself here and myself in NY. It is like I never lived there, or I never came back here. Ok, it sounds schizophrenic. It does. But it can be just the period of adjustment. A topic that deserves its own post.

Yesterday one student of mine said that I was more of a philosopher than a feminist. Mmm. Funny, I see myself not as a philosopher, and not as what it is normally understood as feminist. Identity crisis? Not really! But indeed, my class is very theoretical (well, the name of the class is feminisms) and I really think it is necessary for us, in Peru, to think about feminist theories, to create one of our own. And that involves lots of thinking, lots. And yes, I am a feminist.

So, I have envisioned this blog as my haven for catharsis. My way of escaping when I am really fed up or just want to share.

Bare with me if you want.. or if you can.