Poverty

WHY am I thirty years old and the only frying pan I own is a crumbly, post non-stick, two burger sized, warped piece of shit that a friend bought for me five years ago in return for a babysitting favor? Why am I living in an apartment that has a piece of tape stuck to the wall under the window in the living room just above the baseboard? And WHY, when my cat unknowingly pealed OFF that piece of tape, is there a gap in the wall with yellow, folded up newspaper stuck in it? Am I living in a house that is insulated with NEWSPAPER? Might I not just throw in the towel now and admit that I warm myself with newspaper!?!?!?!?!? Yes. I am the cliche. Not to reduce the graveness of those who truly live in poverty: let's just say that I am one of the lucky ones who has a dwelling place.....Even though it sucks in every way (except in the size of the porch that is gradually falling away as I type).

All that aside, and back to my meager dilemmas, WHY do I only have one dull, steak-sized knife that I have had for almost nine years now, that I cut everything I have ever cooked or eaten? And why am I right now, sprinkling salt out of a box instead of a salt shaker? WHAT the hell happened to my SHAKER?!? And that's just the kitchen. We're not even gonna VENTURE into the problems and deficiencies that are looming in my clothes closet. And we're definitely not going to dwell on the holey state of my sneakers. The point is, I feel broke in the monetary sense. Yes, it can only get better from here, but it still sucks.

So........What am I thankful for? The ying and the yang. I'm thankful that I have a family I am close to, whose just as flat-ass broke as me: it gives us something to talk about (Amber, that includes you!) And I'm thankful that I have a daughter that, overall, is just awesome in her artistic state of mind, which includes abstract thought, behavior, and multiple space-out attacks. I am thankful that I finally found THE man for me whom I had known forever and is just awesome in his extremist state of mind which includes jumping off of high rocks into shallow water, and all that kind of overboard stuff. And I am thankful that I have three great friends: Friend number one, is of course Annmarie, whom I've known almost my whole life, and I say that proudly. to say more about Annmarie requires a WHOLE separate blog. Friend number two is Nicole, my almost decade old friend who makes me laugh because she has a truckload of kids. And last, but never least, because she would kick my ass if she was, is Annette, my "African American" friend (no stereotypical labels here!) What can I say about Annette? We love to drink weird things and play scrabble together, and she's one of the coolest chicks I've ever met. Wow. That sounded like an Oscar speech.

So I'm poverty stricken but loving it because I have all my favorite people around me to share in the complaining, bitching, and contemplating of every single frustration in my life. And they DEFINITELY share it, whether it is willingly or not. If I had a whole set of stainless steel frying pans, a shiny array of ginsu knives, a closet full of clothes AND insulation, what would I POSSIBLY have to talk about?
(Our happy ghetto...on the right)

Oil Pastel by Cynthia

Recovery

Hi. My name is Margarita and I'm an anti-feminist. I have been going to college for 7+years now and never could figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. That's why I'm a non-education lit. major. My subconscious mind must have known that...........I don't want to be ANYTHING.

My struggle has been long and my path is never easy. For years I never questioned the feminist gender-equality propaganda that as a 70's child, I was naturally raised by. The "anything a man can do a woman can do better" philosophy was so grounded in our little girl worlds, that the idea of women and men being equal became a fact and went unquestioned. It was in my home. My mother was always the bread winner, the provider. So when my first marriage went to crap, I went to work. I was alone with the kid, so I had to! And I've been working ever since.

Now here I am, years later, with a MAN in the house...FINALLY, and I must go to work whether I want to or not because unless a woman marries a man with a REALLY good job that he got from a REALLY expensive education, it is too hard in this United States, for a family to live on one income. In my case, it is impossible. And what's more, it will remain impossible until I die or retire. And I blame it on the feminists who just WEREN'T content to stay at home and raise their children and clean their homes. They HAD to be productive members of the work force. Now 100% of the population needs a piece of the economic pie that was being made and brought home by the men. And the house still needs to be cleaned and the kids still need to be cared for. And because the majority of the physical labor is still done by men, who innately don't care for the house and kids as well yet (sorry feminists) DO handle physical labor better than us, the bulk of the "nesting" duties still fall to the women who now have to work outside the home!! So THANK YOU FEMINISTS for doubling our work. I suppose we women have a right to complain that since we're working too, our men should do 50% of the house work. Well, maybe...If both parties involved have cushy office jobs or jobs that are equally lax as far as physical exertion goes. But my guy goes to work every day in all kinds of weather and breaks his back shoveling holes and lifting bricks and swinging a sledgehammer, for 8 to 10 hours a day, sometimes 6 to 7 days a week. When he comes home, he's tired and hungry. I would love NOTHING more than to have a steamy meal waiting for him when he walks through the door, and the time give him a massage every night, or to rub lotion into his callouses (sorry Leo, it had to be said....for emphasis). But I can't. Because thanks to the women invading the economy, Leo gets half of what he should get for pay and I have to work and finish school so that maybe one day in the distant future, we can own one modest little home.

I suppose for the women who choose the single, childless life, the feminists scored big. But that is a small population. It is simply unnatural for mothers to have so many stresses in life. I am sensitive in my job as a mother and to my desire to make my husband-to-be feel appreciated and cared for. I have creativity coursing through my veins. I actually day dream about being able to express that. These days I dream about learning to sew, baking my own bread one time in my life, and you know...all that other kind of motherly shit that I never have time to learn. I dream about baking a pie! An APPLE pie...not an economic one. I dream about decorating the house and planting flowers. That is what I want to be when I grow up: a housewife. And I will never have my dream because we cannot afford it. Yes, there are a very small minority of super women who can work 40 hours a week and still keep up Martha Stewart-like nests, but is it a coincidence that Martha, the all knowing bread maker/bread winner, ended up in prison? Is it ironic, symbolic, metaphorical? I like to call it Karma. That's what she gets for trying to be the master of both economic and apple pies: one of them is gonna get burned.