Housewife Part 2

Housewife Part 2

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I have a full life without large uncontrollable projects taking up further head-space:
Realistically, I am too busy to put a lot of time and effort into another endeavor; blogging is time consuming. But I have strong reasons to do so.
Writing has always been a passion. This, from early grades, when I perfected the the dark art of plagiarism.
I would faithfully pen missives that were identical to whichever Enid Blyton jaunt I was devouring.
I peaked, far too early, in High School when I attained my greatest literary achievement to date. I won second place in a school writing comp.
I introduced an element of commercialism to my literary endeavors.
In those years, I felt as strongly about Shakespeare, Auden and T.S. Eliot as I did about my first High School crush.
It was no great sacrifice to write essays for the students of other grade levels (so there was no suspicion of the identity of the author of some very well written essays) in return for a suitable quantity of booze.
I got to meddle around in Hamlet and King Lear to my hedonistic little heart’s content. A situation that remains my preferred state of being today. It keeps me passionate about life.
Passion is the core of the unfinished feminist revolution. Fear of judgment by others, by society, leads to keep our voices muted. We can barely ask for time for ourselves, let alone passionately espouse causes or pursue interests other than family.
We put everything else before pursuing our passions.
Regardless of the equality implications outlined above by Silvia Federici, it’s important to keep the passion alive as the years go by. Passion can be drowned out by overload in both one’s professional and personal lives.
Not so much for men who tend to remain committed to tickling the flame of their beloved one’s ardor of an evening.
Or find another outlet for their spuds’ sticky secretions:
An abandoned wife hates on the whole profession. The article screams “victim”, so I enjoyed the feisty rejoinder published subsequently, by a member of the world’s oldest profession.
I write because writing being my passion, I owe it to myself and other women to pursue my passion, outside of work, family and contributing to my community.
At various times in my life I have attempted to “Lean In.” All to no avail. From the Sydney Morning Herald:
New Australian Prime Minister, Tony Abbot has only elected one woman to cabinet. This phrase resonates:
“As women, we’re expected to shoulder the burden of blame. If we were only better, we wouldn’t be denied avenues to power. We would have earned them.”
So what’s going on in Abbot’s head?
Men in business see women in the business world as either a Wilma or a Betty.
Forget the Madonna/Whore complex. The Flintsonian Wilma/Betty duality is the stereotype that needs to be smashed, along with the glass ceiling, for future generations of women to be represented in senior levels of business. And in the same numbers as their sometimes lesser qualified male counterparts.
Wilmas (Alpha Females) sometimes get to break through and join the men at the Board table but no matter how intelligent, the Bettys almost never do. And if they do, it can take years and repeated attempts to stand alongside men who attained the same career heights, years prior.
Being a Betty, denies me some opportunities in business. I also call it the “Live and Let Live” attitude.
I’m just too, ‘Live and Let Live’, in the workplace to flourish. I go to work to do my job and to talk to my workmates.
But just wanting to get on and do a job and be noticed for your work ethics rather than your aggressive management style is not enough for some businesses and business men.
If the Bettys really want to rise to the heights of business, they need to pursue this agenda with the aggression that marks successful businessmen but without the anger that so often turns shrill. It’s being an aggressor, but not aggressive.
I’m lovin’ on Marissa Mayer who is a great example of this. She has retained control of her femininity, her ovaries and has written her own narrative in business.
But, like many other talented women in the community, some who are part of the Harvard alumni, Mayer’s path is not for everyone. So, I’ve learned to “Lean In” by creating my own opportunities. This blog is my latest effort to do so.
I have been tapping the keyboard in this capacity for almost two years now. This is an incarnation of a previous blog that I started to maintain ties with my homeland of New Zealand.
It was also an anger management exercise over some of the daily injustices and political turmoil in the world. I have since learned that fretting over events that you cannot change is a narcotic second only to victim-hood.
I go hot and cold on blogging. Hot when a particular issue in the media is grinding my gears and cold when the housework is overwhelming,
I am a failed novelist and short story writer. Sending my misbegotten creeds to publishers has accorded me no recognition as the next upcoming author.
Muttering darkly about the “Hegemony of the Baby Boomer”, I turned to journalism. I accordingly qualified as a functioning alcoholic (the one distinguishing Journalistic quality) Massey University New Zealand: Class of 2001.
I have acted for many years as a journalist in a volunteer capacity and have contributed over the years to many local community newspapers and organizations.
Being able to coin a phrase and find the truth in bodies of literature gives you access to different worlds. I’ve contributed to political party policy, to local body debates and have passed through the world of criminals and businessmen. Sometimes the last two categories are indistinguishable. .
I mostly do this for free and in return I get a lot of satisfaction in meeting people from all walks of life.
Banging away on the keyboard, circa 2013. Leaning In. Thanks for joining me.

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In the conclusion of The Real Housewives of Dallas season 5 reunion, Tiffany and Kameron spar over chicken feet, cultural stereotyping, and their social media war. D’Andra defends her name change and reveals shocking new facts about the battle over her inheritance. Brandi talks candidly about her unexpected pregnancy, her missteps with Tiffany, and her husband’s recently surfaced betrayal.

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So, when he came home after two weeks on the road to find a house in chaos, he wasn't happy. He opened the door and was greeted by the screams of his younger kid. What the heck was going on? He looked for Betty. He found her in the bathroom, applying some kind of balm on one of her friends. "What is going on? Why is Walker Jr. screaming? I told you I was coming home." She looked at him in total surprise. "Dear, I completely forgot about it. Nancy here had a problem and I ..." Walker sighed. He could feel the anger rise inside of him. He asked: "Is it life-threatening?" "No, but ..." "Then it can wait. I've been on the road for two weeks, I want to relax. Now." He turned to the other woman. "Nancy, I don't know what is going on. I don't care. You can go to our guest bedroom and have a lie-down, but now, now, I need some time alone with my family. Got that?" She looked at him meekly and replied: "Sure, Walker. It's alright." "Good." She left, disappearing in the back of the house. Walker returned to Betty and said: "Make the kids be quiet and get some food on the table. I'm tired of the noise and I'm hungry for some real stuff." She suddenly panicked: "The meatloaf!" She stormed to the kitchen. Walker closed his eyes and counted to ten. He had been looking forward to this evening for days and now, he wasn't even going to get a meal. He took a deep breath and walked outside. Inside, the screams continued. He put his cap back on and started walking briskly into the night.

Kimmy did as Tonya suggested and it was nice. She went down deep, she spread her legs, she turned around, she stretched her back through and forced her strong muscles into interesting positions. Eventually, she looked sweaty and happy. “Wow. That was nice ...” “I agree. Always nice to see you coming up with new and interesting positions to out yourself in.” Kimmy’s little show was a definite treat. Tonya was plenty wet now, and completely enraptured with her girl. “Go get on one of the benches. I can't hold myself back anymore.” As Tonya said this, she was already stepping out of her jeans. A plain pair of panties, already growing wet between her legs, was making a feeble attempt to hold back her monstrosity of a clit. She quickly flipped them down and allowed it to spring free, pointing straight at Kimmy in all its thick, swollen glory. “Okay ... Wow ...” Kimmy’s jaw dropped. It was easily larger than an average cock at this point. Maybe as thick as a beer can, and it looked like it
Jane stood with John on the tarmac, waiting to board their plane to the Bahamas, where they had eventually both “agreed” to go (rest assured, JAne had heavily insisted on this destination). The airport workers were pushing the stairs up to the front door of the plane while another group drove carts of luggage to be loaded in the undercarriage. Despite the noise of a busy airport, it was a beautiful day out, and Jane was enjoying every minute of it. Flying, she believed, as did many others, was an event to be dressed for, and the two of them were dressed for the occasion, John in a suit and tie plus a hat, while Jane wore a sleevel
I don't have many memories from before I turned 5. My parents divorced soon after that, and I didn't know my father for most of my life. Mom once told me that he had been at a get-together we went to together, but if she had introduced us, I don't remember it. The second time, if the first counted at all, Mom told me he was coming a month before. Truth be told, I didn't know how to react. I was excited- this was the man who brought be into the world- but, I had never seen Mom smile once when he was mentioned. All I knew about him was how terrible a husband he was. I didn't know why- and I doubt I would have understood even if she had told me-
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I sense a storm is coming that Walker is not going to like, and I'm not talking about the rain.

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