Sabs' Crap-Comedy

The Feminist Watching Over My Shoulder

I’ve been told I have absolutely no self control when it comes to having a verbal filter. After many years of investigating the root of this problem, I have finally come to a conclusion: There is someone possessing me whenever I speak. Honestly, on the days I’m vividly aware of the sounds coming out of my mouth, I never fail to surprise myself with some of the shit I have heard. On multiple occasions I have, simultaneously, insulted more than two cultures while crapping on the golden tower of literacy. And, still, I tell myself every morning that I’m a great writer, which just goes to demonstrate how delusional I am about my self-worth (in general, really) as well as the exorbitant number of times my parents have told me that I’m “special”.

It’s no mystery that the reason I can be extremely politically incorrect and then realize that I should be burned at the stake is that there is some sort of ideological contradiction in the deepest part of my psychology, but I am not going back in there unless it’s with military support. On my last voyage to one of the intrinsic psyches of my multiple personalities, which have now developed their own multiple personalities, so that’s like, what? Sixty five different people? Well, on my last voyage I discovered my issues with feminism. Am I a feminist? A part of me cringes at the sound of that word, because, well, feminists are known for having a stick up their butt and not enjoying it, which just goes to show us how misinformed modern-day pornography is. And, clearly, the other part of me is dressed as a topless cheerleader with unshaved ‘pits, freeing the nipple, the hair, the monstrous body odor, but that might be because I’ve been in France for too long.

I can’t be the only woman (womanhood is a strange concept, but that is a subject for another day) who finds herself slut shaming that, well, for lack of a better word, slutty slut that sluts up your fucking party which was not meant to be slutty at all. And then the next day I’ll be voicing a very strong opinion about letting women express their sexuality in whatever way they want to. So, in a sing-song voice, my brain shouts: HYPOCRITE.

I found these pictures about dating rules for women in the 1930s. I might have found them on 9gag. They might not be accurate at all. Nevertheless, they serve my purpose. There are two sides to this debate: LiberalMe vs ConservativeMe.

Rule #1: Be ready to go when date arrives.


LiberalMe: Ain’t no man gon’ tell me what do or when to do it. If he wants to get with me he NEEDS to put in the time.

ConservativeMe: Why do you always have to take it there?

LiberalMe: You just look at how he’s looking at her, thinking he’s gon’ get all up in dat grill.

ConservativeMe: What is wrong with you?

LiberalMe: He ain’t gon’ get none of these juicy chops if he keep trippin’, playahhh.

ConservativeMe: Too far, Sabs. Yet again, you’ve taken it too far.

Rule #2: Makeup in privacy

rule-2LiberalMe: Who still keeps a handkerchief?

ConservativeMe: GENTLEMEN! That’s who.

LiberalMe (trying to sound out the word): Gen-ge-gent-gentlee-gentelele-gentle!

ConservativeMe: Are you okay?

LiberalMe (whispers to herself and self-high-fives): Yes! I did it!

Rule #3: Do awkward positions even exist? 

rule-3ConservativeMe: Ah, this takes me back to high school…

LiberalMe: No. Please. No. Don’t start. Please.

ConservativeMe: When I went to an all-girls Catholic school…

LiberalMe (high pitched mimicking): When I went to an all-girls Catholic school.

ConservativeMe: Shut up!

LiberalMe: Ain’t no man or woman gon’ tell me what to do!.

ConservativeMe: Seriously?

LiberalMe: It’s called pants. Women have been wearing them for centuries. If I want to sit crossed-legged I’m going to sit crossed-legged.

ConservativeMe: Yeah, but only around girls.

LiberalMe: Girls are more judgmental than guys. Why the fuck would you want to have a camel toe around a bunch of women that are probably making fun of you for it whilst also having one? Odds are, that if you’re with dudes, they’ll probably pay a lot less attention to it if you “free the nipple”. We should find a way to abbreviate that.

ConservativeMe: Release the ‘Nip? ‘Lease the ‘Nip?

LiberalMe: That sounds like prostitution. You see? I’m not crazy. You are.

ConservativeMe ponders this last statement for a while. 

ConservativeMe: Well, what if you’re wearing a skirt?

Rule #4: Men do what they need to, when they need to.

rule-4LiberalMe: Finally. They’re getting something right. Men can’t multitask. Duh.

ConservativeMe: What about the gays?

LiberalMe: Why do you refer to them as “the gays”?

ConservativeMe: Is that not what they are?

LiberalMe: Yes, but they’re not “the gays”; they’re just gay.

ConservativeMe: I don’t understand the difference between “the gays” and “just gay”.

LiberalMe: Are you purposely trying to turn into my mother?

ConservativeMe: Yes.

LiberalMe (falls to the ground with arms raised): Nooooooooo!!! My life!!! It’s over!!! Freud!! Save me! Oh shit, wait, don’t save me. No! Bad Freud! Go! Leave!

LiberalMe curls up in a corner and rocks herself while humming softly. 

LiberalMe: Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Never mind that noise you heard. It’s just the beasts under your bed. In your closet, in your head…

ConservativeMe: Nice bit. Is that the Foo Fighters?

LiberalMe hisses and continues to ward off the evil spirit of Freud.

Rule #5: Words have specific meanings. Things have specific uses? 

rule-5ConservativeMe: Let me guess? Men can’t multitask?

LiberalMe: It “annoys” him. Do you know what annoys me? Putting on make up and then forgetting I have it on, so maybe I need to itch my eyes or something and then, poof, destroyed. I look like I have a black eye and I can’t even make myself look presentable before heading to wherever we’re supposedly heading?

ConservativeMe: Why should it matter if you look presentable or not? He should love you for who you are, not what you look like.

LiberalMe (excitedly): It’s finally happened! We’re finally becoming the same person.

ThirdPersonMe moderating this debate smiles to herself, thinking she’s reduced the number of voices from sixty five to sixty four. ThirdPersonMe becomes self-aware, thus pushing the number back up to sixty five. Both ConservativeMe and LiberalMe laugh wickedly. ThirdPersonMe realizes that they’re not actually a single voice, but two voices working together to fuck her over, giving her a total of sixty six voices. I might call ThirdPersonMe “The ScoreCounterMe”. Sixty seven.

Rule #6: I don’t think we should use the word “familiar” when talking about people that you sleep with. It sounds too much like “family”. 


ConservativeMe: LM, you have to agree with me on this one. Don’t you?

LiberalMe: What goes down under the dinner table ain’t no one’s business. If they have a problem with it then they can just pretend like it’s not happening.

ConservativeMe (with narrowed eyes): When did you become such a whore?

LiberalMe (crying): Wait, now you’re going to slut shame me as well?! We might as well not be the same person anymore!

ConservativeMe (hugs LiberalMe): I’m sorry, babe. Just stop crying, please.

LiberalMe (while wiping eyes and pushing ConservativeMe away): Get off of me! We’re in public! People can see us.

Rule #7: –

rule-7ConservativeMe: People in the 30s knew what was up.

LiberalMe (still sobbing): It’s like you don’t even listen to me anymore!

ConservativeMe: Okay, we’re still doing this?

LiberalMe: What do you mean “we’re still doing this”? Have you no compassion for me at all?

ConservativeMe: Hold up! When did I become a stereotypical male voice?

ScoreCounterMe: So just to be clear, are you splitting yourself into two persons or are you just keeping and changing the one?

ScriptwriterMe: No, no, no, no, no. We’re just going to keep one voice. We don’t want the audience to get confused.

ScoreCounterMe (taking notes): That’s great. So the count is still at sixty six?

ScriptwriterMe: Sixty seven.

ScoreCounterMe: Perfect. I’ll let the big guys upstairs know.

ScriptwriterMe (calls out as ScoreCounterMe leaves the room): You’re a doll SC. You know I love you.

ScoreCounterMe (stops suddenly with tears in her eyes): You do?

ScriptwriterMe (whispering): Of course I do. You know that.

ScoreCounterMe (confused): Are you flirting with me or just being super supportive?

ScriptwriterMe: Uhhhh, I don’t know. Maybe both?

ConservativeMe: Does this make them part of the gays?

LiberalMe (nodding): Yes, this makes them part of the gays.

Rule #8: This is an entirely appropriate example of when one should use the word “familiar”. 


LiberalMe: Can we just stop and take a second to point out what has been negligently missed? The guy in the pictures is clearly a serial killer.

ConservativeMe: What? No. Of course not. He’s just pretending to be jealous.

LiberalMe: Go ahead. Look at them again.

ConservativeMe: It’s just bad acting. How else do you portray the image of jealousy or lust, for example?

LiberalMe: I’ve seen your pictures on Instagram. Don’t pretend like you don’t know how to portray lust.

ConservativeMe: Now who’s slut shaming?

LiberalMe: Wait, I don’t get it now. Are you a girl or a guy?

ConservativeMe: Uhh, yeah, about that…

LiberalMe: I finally understand the meaning of “gender fluid”.

LiberalMe looks off into the distance and ponders. 

ConservativeMe (sounding out the word quietly): Ge-gen-gene-genderer-gendeer-gender!

LiberalMe (turns to ConservativeMe): Are you okay?

ConservativeMe (whispers to itself and self-high-fives): Yes! I did it!

Rule #9: If you’ve got it, flaunt it, but don’t, but do, at the same time, obviously. 


LiberalMe: To be completely honest, I don’t really talk about my clothes to men, unless it’s a really metrosexual friend.

ConservativeMe: That’s it? That’s the only thing you have to say about this rule? Did you even read the caption?

LiberalMe: It looked really fucking long.

ConservativeMe: And you say I’m the one that’s going to take away women’s right to vote?

LiberalMe: Shhhh! I’m reading it.

ConservativeMe waits patiently.

ConservativeMe: Well?

LiberalMe: Of course I disagree! That’s just ridiculous-

ConservativeMe (under its breath): Here we go again…

LiberalMe:  You see? This is exactly why I didn’t want to go through the trouble of reading it!

Rule #10: Don’t get schwifty.

rule-10LiberalMe: I don’t understand that saying. How do you keep your dignity? Where do you keep it?

ConservativeMe: Since you don’t have any to keep, it makes sense that you wouldn’t know.

LiberalMe (rolls eyes): You keep it in a box, silly! Duh.

ConservativeMe: So we’re just completely going to ignore the entire content of the image?

LiberalMe: It looks like she’s really into her drink and the dude does not understand at all what is going on.

ConservativeMe: Well, I mean, that’s definitely an improvement to the latter subject.

Rule #11: They took my advice!


ConservativeMe: “Conspicuous” is a much better word than “familiar”.

LiberalMe: Imagine being on a date and just randomly falling asleep at dinner.

ConservativeMe: Yeah, but “conspicuous” doesn’t really convey the same meaning “familiar” does. I don’t think they’re really that interchangeable.

LiberalMe: And then you sort of wake up to ask your date if you can use his napkin as a tiny blanket.

ConservativeMe: But, I mean, I definitely think they should just throw out the word “familiar” completely. It’s weird. It’s a little rapey.

LiberalMe (laughing to herself): Like, you’re all groggy and so you just sort of reach out for the napkin, wipe your drool, and then put it over your face like a blindfold.

ConservativeMe: They should have just used something like “inappropriate”. That makes a whole lot more sense too!

LiberalMe: I can totally imagine my mom doing that when she was young. She gets so sleepy when she’s drunk.

ConservativeMe: Or maybe “indecorous”-

DirectorMe: Cut! Cut! Cut it!

AssistantDirectorMe: Are you sure? It seemed like the comedic tone of the scene didn’t fully develop.

DirectorMe (in heavy Long Island accent): Jesus, Pete, no one wants anything fully developed anymore. The girls are younger. The fruit is greener. And let me tell you about that fruit! It’s terrible. Have you ever tasted a South American mango? The product we consume… Shit, I tell you. Goddamn horse shit.


7 thoughts on “The Feminist Watching Over My Shoulder”

  1. “Is that the foo fighters” I ACTUALLY LAUGHED. I’m sitting on my porch in the dark. Well, there’s a night light, because I’m regressing to my toddler years (Freud!! Nooooooooo!!! My life!!! It’s over!!!)
    Anyway, if I were the Pulitzer Board, and you were Nelle Lee (aka Harper Lee, aka the best one-hit-wonder the literary world has ever known), I would award you the Pulitzer Prize for this post.
    I loved how you used imagery and graphic allusions to 1930’s female romantic pulp to illustrate hypothetical conversational sparring between your ideological selves. I also liked how you developed the conversation over time, bringing in other characters in your multiple personality complex to break the fourth wall.
    Oh shit, this is starting to sound like an English paper.
    No, really. The post was damn good. The only reason I clicked on it was because #feminism, a word that is thrown around today like a used condom at high school lunch. (My lunch table was pretty weird, was yours?) I do think this piece was an effective way to analyze some of the irony behind any large-scale movement (aka the slut shamer turned free-the-nipple advocate).
    I support women (welp, I guess most guys say that, but do they actually?), but somehow the word feminism seems charged to me. I don’t know what it means, really. I do know that I support equal pay for equal work and more female representation in positions of authority. I don’t know if I support the notion that all men inherently suppress women. I also don’t know if I want to stop holding doors open for women or carrying heavy things for where is the line drawn?
    For some strange reason, I’ve been having more modest success with women lately in the ****** department. No, not that you repressed little blog writer you. The “talking to” department. I actually went on a date with a girl last Saturday. Well, she was more of a woman. She was actually a 30 year old genetics postdoc. She definitely felt “mature” to me, but not in the grandma sense, more like the ‘I have a stable job sense’. Is it scary that that seems so far away to me? That I identify more with a lost 22 year old than a found 30 year old?
    Anyway, I asked her if she was a feminist, and of course she said yes. Then she asked me, and I sputtered out of those “ye..yea…yeaa…” stuttering crescendos of an answer that you describe so well in this piece. Needless to say, she wasn’t convinced. But then she went on to describe a lot of what you do above, namely that feminism means a lot to different people and there is a “mainstream definition” that most agree upon (equal pay, etc). But is that actually true?
    I feel like mainstream doesn’t exist anymore. People say shit and take positions just to piss others off. If there’s anything I’ve realized from growing up in one of the most politically contested counties in the country, it’s that others just aren’t on the same page as you. But does that mean we can’t even talk to each other anymore?
    I didn’t get a second date, but I guess I wasn’t expecting it anyway. She was cool and it was a “solid” date. Solid is great for a hard days work, but what about a hard days….romantic attraction and sharing of personal feelings and….do you make me feel tingly inside?


  2. Who am I? That’s a question not easily asked nor easily answered.
    I would say if I had to choose one thing I am, it’s a writer. I’ve written short stories and diary tell-all flights of fancy (you know, the genre that characterizes this blog) for a long time. The world excites and confuses me and the most effective way for me to deal with that is to write it all down.
    But the more boring answer is that I’m a grad student in Boston and I found your profile on ******, which served as a very effective advertising platform for your blog.


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