James Dobson strikes again

Except this time, instead of trying to smash the joy and hope out of little hearts, he is after our beloved Democratic presidential candidate. Which is basically the same thing. Jesse Taylor at Pandagon breaks it down pretty well.

How much you wanna bet Joshua Harris is somewhere behind the scenes on this? Okay, unlikely. But it would be pretty funny.

Some vintage Bitch Ph.D.

The New York Times recently covered a study about gender dynamics in same sex-relationships, and what hetero couples can learn from them. One of the major areas covered was division of labor. I feel like this is a huge hot button topic for a lot of couples. Even, well maybe even more so, for couples who fancy themselves feminist, or at least progressive.

These are rocky waters to navigate both because and despite the fact that we, thank god, don’t have ideological differences about the division of labor in our house. We both agree that it should be equal, with one partner picking up more of the slack when the other is particularly busy (read: Bar/Bri). The problem is that no matter who is busier, and no matter how the work is being split on any given week, one person is doing the vast majority of the mental and emotional heavy lifting. And our conceptions of busy vary as well. My busy consists of say, taking the LSAT tomorrow, or being so deathly ill I can’t rise from bed. B is busy if he’s sitting on the couch stressing about Bar/Bri. Or, you know, is really, really tired.

M. LeBlanc at Bitch Ph.D. had an amazing post a while back on “How to Be a Feminist Boyfriend.” This isn’t exactly a primer piece for your average male firmly entrenched in the vice-grip of the patriarchy. It’s more of a put-your-money-where-your-mouth-is challenge for men who already proudly display their progressive ideals like a badge of honor. A long but lovely excerpt on the mental aspect of the division of housework:

“Not being a jerk about housework involves much more than just doing what you're asked to. This is not the time to say "but sometimes I cook!" Obviously, if you're not doing your fair share, you need to work on that, and do so immediately. But since this is directed more at men who already have some awareness of gender issues, I'm going to dig a little deeper. If you truly want to understand how to make your housework a conflict-free zone, you need to start paying attention to mental work. Who's the person to say "we need more toilet paper," "I think the trash is getting smelly," or "we're having guests tomorrow so we better get this place in shape"? If your relationship is anywhere close to the average, chances are, it's your girlfriend. Luckily, doing more mental work is easy: 1) Pay Attention. 2) Speak out when you notice something that needs to be done. 3) Even better, offer to do it. A sentence like "I think we're running out of clean clothes, and there's no detergent left, want me to pick some up on the way home?" will be music to your lady's ears. If you claim that you somehow just can't notice what's going on with the house (and I don't really believe you; chances are you just don't give a shit), then look at it as a game. It's like those "how many coca-cola bottles are there in this picture?" kid's games.”

My dear liberal lover picking anything up on the way home is something I sit at my desk and daydream about for hours on end. You know, as opposed to calling me and asking me to pick it up on the way home. Or even worse, not even knowing it needed to be picked up in the first place.

B will do almost anything he’s asked to do. He will occasionally even chip in on his own when he sees me working by myself. But it’s that “mental work” aspect that he just doesn’t seem to get. He rarely empties the clean dishes from the dishwasher without prompting. If I hadn’t initiated the dumpster run for our mountain of moving boxes, they probably would have lived on the balcony for an indefinite amount of time. He almost never has an idea for dinner, despite the fact that he’s an excellent cook. If pressed, he will choose from several choices I present him with.

The point of this isn’t to rant about B. He’s light years ahead of his dad, or even my dad, who for the record is the official cleaner of all floors in my parents’ house. Really, at the end of the day, I’m more confused about it than anything. How do you know when you’re being such a stickler about fairness that you’ve lost the spirit of a teamwork approach and everyone filling in where they’re needed? Is B falling under the spell of the seductive whispers of the patriarchy, or is he just plain lazy? And I can definitely be lazy myself, so I’m not one to judge. Is the problem not that he’s under-working, but that I’m over-working? My low tolerance for messiness means I get home from the office, walk in the door, and proceed straight to the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes before he even has a chance. But if I gave him a chance, if I fought everything in me and just left it, would he take it? Or would 10:00 pm roll around, and we’d still be starving, with a dirty kitchen, and piles of unfolded laundry? Do we actually have a gender-role based division of labor issue, or simply different ideas of what constitutes clean?

Naturally, we should talk about it. But last time I tried to have this conversation, he got upset that I was questioning his commitment to an equal division of labor. And understandably so. When you talk about this with a progressive guy, you’re cutting right to the heart of who he believes he is. But the good news is that who he believes he is, aspires to be, and is constantly becoming, is something that I admire, respect, and love. And aspire to myself. That’s definitely a great start.

Adventures in spontaneous lying

I officially retract the request for sainthood in my previous blog post. I just told a bald faced lie to the Dean of Admissions at OutofTownStateSchool.

A couple of weeks ago, they sent out a semi-threatening e-mail, asking people to re-confirm their intent to attend based on data they had from LSAC saying that a large percentage of their incoming class had put seat deposits down for other schools. At the time, this didn't technically apply to me, since I hadn't put my seat deposit down for ITSS, and they didn't require a response till June 9, so I thought I had plenty of time to put down my seat deposit, kind of sit on the decision for a while and make sure I was doing the right thing, and then reply to OTSS, telling them I regretted to inform them I would not be attending by the date they'd requested.

My well-laid plans were completely ruined when I received a personal phone call today from the Dean of Admissions of OTSS. To begin with, I shouldn't have answered the phone in the first place. I normally don’t answer phone numbers I don’t recognize, but with job hunting and law school admissions I've become accustomed to having to do so. So when she asked me point blank if I was coming, as a knee jerk response I said yes. Translation: No, but after all this work and the money I paid for my seat deposit, I'm not ready to give up my right to change my mind. Then she asked if I had seat deposits at any other schools or was on any other wait-lists, and I also said yes. I told her that I'd been admitted to another school at a very late date, and that put me in a difficult position of having to make some quick decisions (that part is true). And then she went on about how the Assistant Dean was out of town for the rest of the week, and she had access to all the e-mail correspondence. I did my best to get out of the call by saying that I would touch base with her early next week when she got back.

I feel terrible. Particularly because part of the reason that I couldn't bear to tell her I'm probably not going to OTSS on the phone is that I like her so much. She reminds me of my mom. With an office. I planned to just e-mail the form back to the Assistant Dean, who I don't even really know, and let her put my name on a list of ungrateful admits not accepting their generous offer of admission. And then I would never hear from them again. When I sent in the form telling BsHomeTownStateSchool that I wouldn't be attending, the avalanche of correspondence came to an abrupt and final end. They didn't ask me for reasons or make me feel bad. It was the cleanest of clean breakups. I was irrationally afraid that if I told her on the phone, she would ask me why. Did I not like the students I met? Enjoy the classes I went to? Get a good enough tour?

So now I need to just rip the band-aid off and e-mail the assistant dean. And then stop answering calls from mysterious out of town area codes.