Not the dish soap. The character on Buffy.
When we watched the DVDs a couple of years ago, I didn’t like Dawn. But now that I’m watching an episode a day while I treadmill, I want to take the character and crush her into a little ball and then shoot her from a cannon. Twice.
Today is Blog for Choice Day, and the topic is supposed to be why I am pro-choice. The answer is really simple: I don’t own much, but I do own my body.
Is an embryo a person? I don’t care. No person or non-person has more of a right to my body than I do.
When I was a goody-two-shoes teen, I thought that women who got pregnant had only themselves to blame. And then I grew up. Then I started to realize just exactly what I was condemning people to with my self-righteousness. I was yanking control of their bodies away from them, saying they weren’t allowed to be unlucky, or to make mistakes, without losing their most fundamental individuality.
In a way, I think we pro-choicers overstate the threat to our rights. The right wingers make so little attempt to outlaw abortion that I truly believe they don’t really want to. Oh, they talk about how it’s murder, but then they sit on their asses and keep voting in the same people who have done nothing.
Still, we should be vigilant. Nothing is more important than our rights. And as we’ve seen, people who think nothing of abortion rights seem to think nothing of all those pesky rights like speech, or religion, or search and seizure.
Let’s defend all of our rights all the time.
Please join in and make your voice heard.
So I joined Frugal Reader so I could list books to send to those who like books with heaving bosoms. And I discover that their search engine returns lists alphabetically by the author’s first name.
That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.
Well, among the silliest things I’ve ever heard that weren’t uttered by politicians.
I’m getting rid of some of these damned books. Not good ones. Trashy ones. Ones that other people have given me but I’m not about to read. Ones with heaving bosoms.
And then I’ll have room in my house to buy things. Like new pairs of socks.
Every time I’ve tried to log in to Blogger in the past couple of days I’ve been unable. Granted, I’m not very diligent about it, and I’m sure I missed tons of times when it would have been possible. Still, I want it when I want it.
Stupid site. Bah.
Dammit dammit dammit. The cluster headaches are back.
Send soothing vibes. And don’t forget to feed Larry while I’m hiding in my bedroom moaning.
Someone I didn’t bribe said one of my poems was his “favorite sonnet of all time.”
Hearing that should be head puffing. It should. Instead, I’m so humbled by it, as if I am truly part of poetry, instead of a bystander.
I adore llamas. I once had an alpaca, which isn’t a llama but close enough, follow me around for hours beeping at me. It was love.
If you click on the “more” button, you can give him hay. Or something that looks like hay. Larry apparently likes hay and will eat it. If you pet him, he makes a noise that I am unable to describe. See? Isn’t that fun? Fun with ungulates!
It’s the sound of my bubble being burst. I was told The Woman in Black by Susan Hill was a ghost story that would scare the non-plaid pants off me. Instead, I found it entertaining but nary a goosebump.
I think I don’t have the subtlety to appreciate a good ghost story. They’re too delicate. I need punched in the face (we’re speaking figuratively, Rocky).
At the same time, I can’t stand blood and gore. So, unsubtle but no actual violence.
*pop* *pop* *pop*