Tuesday, November 27, 2012

How Dr. Quinn Broke My Feminist Heart


The other day my mother called me a flaming feminist liberal!  She also followed it up with a “you used to be such a sweet girl”.  (Apparently, I lost my sweetness when I “burned my bra”?)  I am not sure how she could find this surprising. My favorite cartoon was She-Ra Princess of Power.  When I got a little older, I became of a fan of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman.  She was a doctor when women weren’t in the profession.  She was bold, courageous, and scored a luscious-haired blonde man.   I appreciated Dr. Quinn because she taught me I could have it all- the trail-blazing career and the family.  She taught me to break through the glass ceiling, before I even knew what this was.  

Now I appreciate that Dr. Quinn is a fictional character and that Jane Seymour is not actually Dr. Quinn.  None the less, I feel hugely disappointed by Seymour/Quinn as of late.  It’s the holiday season, which means the airways are flooded with jewelry, luxury car, and lingerie commercials. Corporate America enjoys reminding me that nothing says the holidays like a woman in a push-up bra, rocking some diamonds, and driving a Lexus with the giant bow on the top.  Kay Jewelers (my arch holiday nemesis) has unveiled their latest commercials for Jane Seymour’s Open Hearts Collection.  Now I am forced to watch my childhood hero show off diamond necklaces and remind me “Keep your heart open and love will find a way in”.  Really Jane, is it that simple?  Is that what I have been doing wrong for the past decade or more?  If I just opened my heart, someone would love me.  Wow it seems so simple.  How did I not know this? 

So yes, I feel betrayed by Dr. Quinn.  It’s like she forgot all the hardships she faced as a pioneer female doctor.  Now I am just being told to stand around with my heart open and soon I too will be getting jewelry from men.  Go ahead and sell out Dr. Quinn, but I am going back to work to cure Ebola and end world hunger.  Because maybe if I work to save the world, love will find a way in.

Strangers on a Plane

Greetings from 38,000 feet. I am currently flying over my old stomping ground of Ohio. That’s right folks, the wandering nomad has moved again. I find myself further west and farther north- in the arctic tundra of Minnesota. If you are keeping track, that is four states in two years. No commitment issues here, just some idealistic dreams and the opportunities to pursue them. See there are perks to the single life.

As I sit here wedged between two strangers, I can’t help but muse on the joys of flight. I attract some interesting friends on flights. Though admittedly this flight has been rather quiet, other than an incident with an 8 year old that had a panic attack and required us to return to the gate and return him and his mother. See another perk of the single life.

 I am probably talking up the single life a lot, because I just left my parent’s house during the holidays. Translation, a lot discussion about my inability to attract men and my general relationship failures. I assume they are simply concerned about me. Hell, maybe they should be. Now, it’s not that I can’t attract men; I just tend to attract some odd balls. In fact, just this last flight, I scored a man’s phone number on a research paper I was reading on gonorrhea. That’s right, I got a man’s number off a paper on a sexually transmitted disease. I wonder if that means he had one. Needless to say, I will not be contacting Kenny, but I thank him for the compliment (even if he only turned to me when the attractive girl sitting beside him pretended to fall asleep to avoid talking to him). I have another 13 months before I turn 30 and have to start considering choosing men who are attracted to women who read and write notes in the margin of a gonorrhea paper. I think I may still choose to be picky. I mean there are perks to singledom (the nomadic lifestyle for instance). I need someone better than a man turned on by gonorrhea and free alcohol to make me give it all the perks of being single. Remind me this in the next few weeks, when the cursed holiday loneliness kicks in and I am playing around with the idea of texting Gonorrhea Guy.

P.S. As of writing this, my very cool, British hippie turned American naval officer seat mate asked me if I was an author. I was so disappointed to say no. A girl can dream- and at least I look the part. I also learned how to start and maintain dreadlocks and how to make hair dye out of dried flowers. Flying rocks!