Someone once told me that stars on houses mean something.  That the person has a child or partner in the Navy?  Or someone from the house was lost at sea?  Or maybe that’s a candle in the window?  What does a candle in the window mean?  Wait, no, we’re talking about stars on houses.

I usually see them near the beach, and maybe that is why I associate them with the ocean.  Whenever we see them, I ask Josh what a star on the house means, and he tells me that he doesn’t know.  And then I forget to ask anyone else when we exit the car.  A few weeks ago, when we were driving past a house with a star on it, I thought to write myself a note.  And then I just found the note, so now I’m asking you.

What does it mean when someone has a metal star on their house?

Please don’t tell me that it means nothing; that it’s just decoration as Josh keeps telling me.  If it were just decoration, I would see them in my neighbourhood.  But I don’t.  I only see them when we’re near the beach, and it’s every beach: Rehoboth, Lewes, Ocean City, Chincoteague, Chatham, Gloucester, Cape May.  It’s the one consistent thing beyond the sand and the water; that there will be houses adorned with stars, usually red but sometimes blue.  Or, maybe it’s every beach in the Mid-Atlantic and New England since I don’t think I’ve ever seen a house with a star in Florida or California.

So, first and foremost, what does a star on a house mean?  And have you ever seen them outside the east coast?  In a non-beach area?

And once you’ve answered that, what does an electric candle in the window mean?

Because I am slower than everyone else since I intake my pop culture via People magazine vs. actually living it, I only discovered the song “Blurred Lines” while at BlogHer when we heard it blasting from a cab and Kathy told me the name of the song.  I recognized it because my spin teacher had played it the two times I had gone to spin class, though I had been cycling and sweating and not listening to the lyrics enough to pick up on anything other than the bassline.

When I got home from the conference, I had a free mp3 download on Amazon, and I decided to buy it because it sounded like the sort of fun song that should go on my safe-for-kids mix I make every year for the car with top-40 songs by Taylor Swift and the Black Eyed Peas.  If “Blurred Lines” was the hot song of summer, I definitely wanted it for my mix so I could pretend that I was hip and with it.

So I downloaded it.  And then I listened to it.  And then I looked at Josh and said, “I don’t know how I feel about this.”  Which is really just a polite way of saying, “this song makes me ten kinds of uncomfortable.”

[A side note: I obviously should have looked at the lyrics before using my free download.]

And then I saw the video, where naked women dance and pout around fully dressed men.

Did I say ten kinds of uncomfortable?  Try over 1000.

What do we need steam for
You the hottest bitch in this place

I’ve never been one to shy away from the word “bitch,” though I guess a lot of that tends to do with subtext.  Most of the time, if I’m using the term “bitch,” I am using it as an angry word; the female equivalent to using the term “dick” or “asshole” to describe a man.  I’m an equal opportunity curse word user, but your behaviour has to be beyond obnoxious for me to whip it out of my verbal toolbox.

When I call a friend a bitch, I am still using it in the negative sense and saying it sarcastically.  Back in 2008, I called it a lovingly-spoken obscenity.  I use it facetiously to point out just how close we are.

I like being called obscenities lovingly. It creates a strange, reverse coding. We’re taught not to say these words around people we don’t know well, but then we use them precisely to create an intimacy that we are comfortable enough with each other to tease. I’m, of course, talking about saying them in a loving way, like “hey, Bitch, when are you going to haul open the doors of the Lushary because I need a drink” and not, “Melissa, you are a complete bitch.”

I know there are some people who believe we should never use the term bitch.  I’m obviously not one of those people.  I think that in the right hands and with the right context, the word can be repurposed; reclaimed and reowned.

Of course, it order to repurpose it, you can’t be objectifying women at the same time.  And it’s really really hard to use that term as a compliment.  I’ve yet to find a man who has succeeded, including Robin Thicke.

Image: BrianHenry via Flickr

OK now he was close, tried to domesticate you
But you’re an animal, baby, it’s in your nature
Just let me liberate you

My one exception is that I don’t like to use the word “bitch” in place of terms such as “assertive” or “bold.”  If I’m standing up for myself, I don’t say that I acted bitchy.  If I’m proud of the way I asserted my ideas, I don’t say that I did so like a bitch.

Why would I ever want to demean such positive behaviours?

Bitch is a curse word, it’s a negative term.  I never want to apply it to traits I believe all women should possess.  If women want to use it as a compliment for another woman speaking up, more power to them.  But I can’t really participate in that manner because I would hate for the receiver or a nearby listener to misunderstand and think that I’m attributing negative feelings towards their actions.

Then, honey you’re not there when I’m
With my foresight bitch you pay me by
Nothing like your last guy, he too square for you
He don’t smack that ass and pull your hair like that

If I had a penis, bitch would be a word I’d avoid using since the word historically has been used to hold a woman in her place, not empower her.  When you’re part of the group that has used the term in a negative sense to hold back women from being assertive, it is very difficult — if not impossible — to turn it around and use it as a compliment.

Oh sure, men can say they’re helping women feel empowered and reclaim the word, but what does that mean when it’s being spoken by a man who is objectifying another human being as it often seems to be used in music?

When Robin Thicke says it, it sounds creepy.  I’m going to guess that this fictional woman isn’t giving him blurred lines; she is probably giving him a clear message and he’s choosing to ignore it.

An on-going theme in bitch culture.

Yeah, I had a bitch, but she ain’t bad as you
So hit me up when you passing through
I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two 

I am trying to teach my daughter to be assertive.  To turn down other people’s requests that she doesn’t feel comfortable following.  To not be so nice that she leaves nothing for herself.  I want to teach her to be flexible and open, but to also know her boundaries and not allow others to cross them.  I want her to be self-sufficient, to love herself, to never take something (or someone) she doesn’t want.  If any of those things make her appear bitchy to a man who is so weak in his own abilities in these arenas that he needs to put down a woman in order to feel good about himself, then that is on the man.

I never want her to associate any of those behaviours as anything but positive.  She should never feel shame or feel as if she needs to pack away her self-knowledge.  I would hate for her to associate pride in herself with a curse word.  If she does, she may not stick up for herself.  And I want her to have standards, to not settle.

And that’s why I’m gon’ take a good girl
I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it
You’re a good girl

You know you want it is something we say when we can clearly see that a person doesn’t want it and therefore needs convincing.  Sort of like how I convince Truman that he wants to take a bath, or how I tell the kids that they want to get their homework done early so they can have the rest of the day to play.  Well, no, I want Truman to take a bath; I want the homework off the plate so I don’t have to help with it when I’m trying to do something else.

I hope my kids learn how to separate out their own feelings when they start getting muddied and mix with another person’s wants and needs.  It is hard to sit quietly with yourself and really ascertain whether you do or don’t want something, especially when people start telling you that “you know you want to.”  It’s too easy to follow the people around you or give in to someone else’s nudging.

And girls NEED to be nudge-proofed.  Women are nudged so hard by society and individuals, that if I do nothing else, I need to teach my daughter how to say the word “no” loud and clear.  Not to use it indiscriminately to get out of doing her part as a society member, but to learn how to not put her own wants and needs last.  To turn down advances that make her uncomfortable or that simply don’t hold her interest.

If you need to convince someone that they want it, they probably don’t really want it.  This song feels less like seduction and more like manipulative force.

I hate these blurred lines

Me too, Robin Thicke.  I hate it when men interchange the term “assertive woman” with “bitch” and set it to a catchy beat.  Talk about blurred lines.

The New York Times review of the song wrote: “He has the look of a man finally coming into the privilege he was sure was his all along.”

Exactly.

I removed it from the mix and substituted in the Doubleclick’s “Nothing to Prove.”  Maybe it’s not as catchy, and I probably won’t trick anyone into thinking I’m cool.  But at least I can listen to it without feeling as if I’m participating in something meant to demean me regardless of how hard a person may try to defend it.

I normally don’t gush over apps (except, apparently, Candy Crush) but I read about a yoga app in a post that I was editing for BlogHer and decided on a whim to download it since it was only $2.99.  Uh, now Googling it, I can see that there is an opportunity to preview a beginner class at the bottom of that app page.  But I bought Yoga Studio without knowing anything about it.  And it has advanced me ever-closer to my goal of never leaving my house.

I used to do yoga daily at a studio (and I’m honestly not sure how well I’d do with this app if I had never taken a yoga class and had no frame of reference for these poses).  It didn’t really fit in my schedule and was expensive, but I wanted to take a yoga class, so I schlepped out daily, eating up over 2 hours of my work time to exercise.  Then the yoga studio imploded with a very public fight on the town listserv, and when everything rose from the ashes, I decided to step back from yoga for the time being and reassess.

Since last October, I haven’t done yoga.  To be honest, I’ve barely exercised at all.  I tried a spin class, which I don’t love but my friends drag me to from time to time.  I sometimes run, but not very often.  Yoga wasn’t really about exercise though.  It helped my back, and I stopped getting knots in my shoulders.  It helped me sleep at night, shaving hours off my insomnia.  (Yes, it can take me hours to fall asleep.)

I cleared a space in the living room and set up the iPad on a table.  The instructor’s voice is deceptively calming as she leads you through chatarungas.  I’ve been doing mostly the intermediate levels, and I created my own unique Vinyasa Flow class with dozens of sun salutations so I can break a sweat.  The ChickieNob named the virtual instructor (who also calls out reminders for alignment during the class) Lily.  She sort of looks like a Lily.  We like her very very much.  She is the yoga instructor I hoped to find; who never lets me down.

I’d love to also download a few yoga videos for those days when I want to cheat on Lily with a different instructor, but I need someone to recommend one from iTunes.  Any videos you like?  I prefer ones that are fast moving and filmed in normal locations… such as yoga studios.  Yoga on sand dunes is a pet peeve of mine.

Also, I just told you a life-changing app.  Now you tell me one.

Congratulations, Atlantic.  You win for most obnoxious infertility-related story for dedicating inches and inches of space to mock the fact that people are curious about egg freezing.  No, you don’t need to click over to read it.  It just — and I know this is really funny — goes through how to freeze chicken eggs.  Get it?  You’re concerned about egg freezing so you ask the health editor at the Atlantic about egg freezing, and he tells you about freezing chicken eggs.  Hilarity ensues.

Just imagine the jokes James Hamblin could make about chemo.  I’m inviting him to my next dinner party, that joker.

*******

Amazon chose Measure of Love to feature as one of the books of the month for the entirety of August.  Which is all kinds of cool, and they’re offering it as a $1.99 deal on Kindle.  I’d love any help in getting word out there about the promotion.  And a massive thank you to everyone who has already Facebooked and tweeted.

*******

And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “Infertility is Like Getting Rejected from Your Dream Job Over and Over Again” (Stirrup Queens)
• “Travel Essentials and Learning to Let Go” (Invincible Spring)
• “Breakdown, Breakthrough – Part One” (Life from Here)
• “My Adoption Backstory and an Epiphany” (An Engineer Becomes a Mom)
• “Mama is a State of Mind” (Queen of the Slipstream)
• “Better To Be Too Soon Than Never At All (In My Opinion)” (Where the *Bleep* is Our Stork?)
• “Hard” (It Is What It Is (or Is It?))
• “Other People’s Pregnancies” (By the Brooke)
• “My Parenting Philosophy” (Anabegins)
• “Say a Little Prayer for Me” (Katydid Cancer)

Okay, now my choices this week.

Stupid Broken Eggs has a post about finding faith through her experience with infertility.  There are a lot of posts that go in the other direction, questioning religion in a crisis, so it was interesting — to me — to hear this perspective.  It’s a post about recognizing all the tiny things that are making her path a little easier, and I like this part: “I also think that this journey has helped me renew my faith. I’m not the most religious person- in that I don’t attend church every Sunday and some days I have a mouth of a truck driver. But, I do have my faith. I believe and I trust in God always. I have seen prayer work and I pray daily.”

The Question Now Becomes has a post about being settled in the reality that they are now a family of four.  They bring the twins out to see her in-laws and her husband says some beautiful words about how their family came to be.  I got chills when I read them repeated in the final paragraph: “But the most important thing is that everyone loved on A&P, passed them around so much they fell asleep within seconds that eve. And as we swept home in our newly minted mini-van the next day I felt like what he’d said had rung true, we are a family now, made and re-made again.”  Gorgeous.

The Destiny Manifest has a post about the changes she wants to make.  She got me with one of the first lines: “I apologize if it is tiresome to keep reading that “it’s been a hard week” — it is equally as tiresome to keep living hard weeks.”  She made me think about all the things I’d like to change and the step I’d need to take to change them.

Two Adults, One Child has a post about trying and not trying at the same time; namely, that she can’t really casually try (story of my life).  I love the rules she has made for her life (including her blogging) for the next three months.  Cheering her on as she puts them into action.

Lastly, The Great Big IF has a post about moving back and forth through grief, swimming in circles rather than grief being a trip across the pool and out the other side.  She does better and then she does worse and then she does better again, and it is all swimming; not drowning.  The entire post is very powerful, and this thought will gut-punch you: “Today my conclusion to share is that I have no conclusion. And for a girl who has to resist looking at the ending of a book before she’s barely past the beginning, you can imagine how much energy I’m spending in accepting this nebulous, grey future I have before me. There is no spreadsheet, no pick-your-own-ending. It’s a game of chance. It always is, but it’s getting harder to trick myself into thinking the opposite.”  Moving, right?  Go read the whole post from beginning to end.

The roundup to the Roundup: Most obnoxious health article ever.  Measure of Love is on sale (and I’d love your help to spread word).  And lots of great posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between July 26th and August 2nd) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

So you know how when the Wii became popular, emergency rooms were filled with Wii-related injuries?  Perhaps they are still filled with Wii-related injuries, but I haven’t heard about this phenomena in a long time.  So either we’re getting better at playing Wii or newspapers are bored of writing Wii-injury stories. Regardless, I started to notice recently that my jaw hurts after playing Candy Crush, especially the timed levels.  And if the timed levels contain bombs, forget about it — my jaw is el fuego after a life or two.

I realized what I’m doing to make my mouth feel as if it’s being pushed out of alignment while I line up candies, and it seems to be two-fold.  One, I lean my cheek on my hand, grinding my teeth together as I play.  Two, I get so tense trying to beat the clock that I press my tongue against the inside of my teeth.  Especially my lower teeth.  I will probably need a retainer by the time I get to level 150.  I AM DESTROYING MY JAW FOR A GAME.

At least with the Wii, you are up, you are active.  You are sort of virtually bowling as you dislocate your shoulder.  I am doing nothing but moving around colourful balls on a screen.  Candy Crush should be safe from game-related injuries.

The worst part is that I don’t stop playing, though I  am now trying to be mindful of how I’m holding my jaw.  To solve this problem, I am playing the game with my mouth wide open, as if I am locked in an eternal scream.  Imagine my head tilted back, shrieking like Lilith at that skinny Candy Crush man, with no sound escaping my lips.  Imagine Hungry Hungry Hippos with the button controlling their gaping maw forever depressed. Pretty picture, no?

And that’s how I’m playing Candy Crush from now on because god-forbid that I actually stop playing the stupid game.  I am now on level 135 even though I said I would stop at 100.