Surgically enhanced housewifery

It must be about 7 weeks ago now that I went to see my GP about the results of my scan, (no, not that GP, another one: same practice, different male doctor, but this time a nicer one) and to discuss treatment options now that it’s been confirmed I have fibroids. But to be honest, he didn’t really seem to have much of a clue either. He mentioned the possibility of me taking some tablets to help control my periods, but admitted they’d do nothing to help with the fibroids themselves. He also mentioned the Mirena coil, which he said they would normally fit at the surgery but, because I’ve got so many fibroids and my uterus is all bent out of shape because the biggest one, Freddie the Bastard, is growing on the outside wall of it, they wouldn’t be able to do in my case, so if I wanted one it would have to be fitted at the hospital using an ultrasound for guidance. But again, the Mirena is used to control periods the same as the tablets so it still wouldn’t solve the fibroid problem.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, the visit ended with him agreeing to refer me to a gynae consultant. Hallelujah!

And Monday was the big day. The day of the important I’m-finally-going-to-see-someone-who-knows-what-they’re-talking-about hospital appointment.

L came with me this time because Dave was away oop North on work business. It was a baking boiling hot day in Norwich, so when we arrived at the hospital with about 30 minutes to spare we decided to go straight on in rather than loiter outside in the heat: “Hang on a minute while I just go and have a pee” I said as we got to the gynae department. Then, once I was sorted, I went up to the desk to let them know I was there.

The clerk checked all my details, then asked “Did you bring a urine specimen with you?”

“No, it didn’t say anything about that in the letter.”

She handed me a plastic pot

“Do you think you could do one for us now?”

“Ermm, I don’t know, I’ve only just been”

“Well, if you could try…..”

“Ok”

I went and sat down next to L. Grumbling. “If they wanted a specimen why didn’t they say so in the letter? Now what am I going to do?”

“Stop panicking, if you can’t do one you can’t do one.”

I just read this……

…..and I think everyone else should too, ‘cos it’s a work of genius!

Dear Anti-Radical Feminists

I’m not talking about 3rd wave academic feminism, which is really all kinds of awesome and a godsend. I’m talking about blogosphere “hey, my boyfriend came on my face and I’m empowered!” feminism. It just seems to boil down to a bunch of women in their twenties and thirties who’ve settled down with a man (or have before or will), who like penis, and who really really want to talk about how Radical feminists are outdated harpies and they’ve seen the light! Evidently, the light is phallus-shaped and full of delicious bullshit, but I’m sure that you got that point by now.

So, to return to the title of this post:

Dear Anti-Radical Feminists,

You like penis. I get it. I got it on your last post about blow jobs in between how Dworkin is a total knob and you really heart Angelina Jolie and/or porn. I’m really quite happy that this endlessly self-reflecting homophobic world has provided you with endless avenues to explore your glorious and endangered heterosexuality. Please write another post on the clitoris and how to grind properly against a male pubic bone in the customary penis-in-vagina intercourse. I seem to have misplaced the two billion issues of Cosmo that do the same thing.

More from XXBlaze here

Where everybody knows your name

This is something I’ve been meaning to talk about for a while, but as others have already kick-started the discussion, I’m going to do something I rarely do and actually blog about something that everyone else is blogging about. (By which I mean, is it just me or does anyone else get fed up with seeing basically the same article being regurgitated all over the blogosphere? And also, is it just me, or do other people find it weird that so many bloggers respond to other people’s work on their own blogs rather than taking part in the discussion thread on the original piece……and yes, I realise I’m about to do exactly that myself, but it’s easier to respond in one place here than to comment on every other blog that’s now discussing this subject)

And now I’ve just realised I’ve written a whole paragraph without even giving a clue as to what I’m actually wittering on about!

Ahem. It’s the debate about anonymity, and what if any are the differences between those of us who blog using our real names, and those who blog using pseudonyms.

First off I’ve got to say I found the title of Heart’s piece slightly offensive, in that Real Life Activism V Anonymous Internet Writing implies that those who write anonymously can’t also be real life activists, an assertion which from my own experience, and from my real-life knowledge of plenty of anonymous Internet writers is quite patently untrue. I think the title and the piece that follows also sets up a false hierarchy among bloggers, implying that those of us who use our real names are somehow better or more worthy or braver than those who write anonymously, whereas I’d contend that the risks we’re taking may be different, but ultimately we’re all taking risks of some sort, and one doesn’t necessarily trump the other.

Dead sexy

I was wrong to title my earlier post about last year’s We are Animals ad campaign from Wrangler How not to Sell.

It appears that not only do women’s corpses sell, but, according to judges at the Cannes Lions International Advertising Festival, they also scream “raw sex”.

The Wrangler campaign has picked up the top press award at the highly prestigious ad festival, with David Lubars, the president of the Cannes Lions press jury saying:

It is a very emotional campaign, you can see how it can go into all kinds of areas. The theme is we are animals, a very primal, sexual approach. Before the brand was about middle-aged cowboy jeans from America. Now it takes a whole different look overnight.

No, there’s nothing different about this look David; it’s just the same old same old don’t-women-look-great-when-they’re-dead-or-when-they’re-caught-in-the-headlights-looking-hunted misogynist shite.

According to today’s Guardian article, US judge Gerry Graf, the chief creative officer at Saatchi & Saatchi, said the campaign “Screams raw sex.” And  “That’s what you want when you put on some jeans.”

I don’t know about the rest of you, but images of women floating face down in rivers are probably the last thing I want to be reminded of when I slip on my jeans of a morning. But then I’m not a hip and trendy middle-aged white male advertising executive so what would I know eh?

I wonder if Steve Wright, who left the body of his first victim Tania Nicol floating in a stream, has got a copy of this allegedly dead sexy piccie stuck up on his cell wall……..

And she’s back

I don’t know if anyone even noticed, but there’s been a distinct silence emanating from the Elliott/Mswoman keyboard over the last week. That’s because, while you lot were all gadding about enjoying the lovely summer sunshine, I was ensconced in the Brighton Centre, attending Unison’s annual Local Government and National Delegate Conferences (NDC).

On the few trips I made into the fresh air over the 7 days I was there, I could actually see the beach and smell the sea, but nerdy trade union activist that I am, the closest I managed to get to enjoying any of it was lunchtime on the last day, when me and a group of friends ventured across the road and had some al fresco sandwiches. (by had some sandwiches, in my case, I mean bought and sat them in front of me, but thanks to the hangover from hell that’s as far as things went)

Now obviously the week wasn’t all about work. Conference finished at 5pm everyday, and once the fringe meetings and regional meetings had been sat through, my evenings were mine to do with as I wished. I did think about going back to my hotel and plugging in the laptop, logging on to t’Internet and catching up with the world, but it was only a passing thought, especially when the alternative was going out eating and drinking (and ohhh, how we drank!) with friends. Naturally I chose the latter, hence the eerie calm, and the peace and quiet on the Intertubes.

But now I’m back.

I’m not going to go into any great detail about NDC: for those who are interested there’s official coverage of it here, (including a write up of a motion I had the privilege of moving on behalf of Unison’s National Women’s Conference [not National Women's Committee as the write up suggests]) and some great unofficial coverage of it here, here, and hopefully soon if someone pulls their finger out, over here. But I will just run through a couple of what for me were some highlights of the week.