Sorrow

Sorrow is a gatecrasher to an otherwise ordinary day,

A blunt knife to the heart,

pain and pressure,

no quick end to suffering.

Sorrow squeezes the chest, an awkward quickening to the breath causes gasps for air through a swollen throat. 

Sorrow dulls the eyes, steals the light, leaves a hole in the soul,

Loneliness and fear are its bad crowd. 

Sorrow grips the forehead, deadens the limbs and drowns hope,

Sorrow pulls downward to an unknown destination. 

Sorrow taunts joyfulness, hope and relaxation. 

Sorrow paints a frown and sketches lines,

Sorrow flourishes in unreturned love, co-stars with regret and celebrates with tears. 

Letter to my Children

I decided to write this while I cried in the shower.  Two of my kids are teenagers and things haven’t been so smooth running lately.  We try and have really open conversations about things to sort them out and often we can, but one of the most heart wrenching things that often gets yelled at me in the midst of an impassioned argument is that I don’t care for, or love them. 

Enjoy those family moments.

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

My heart fused to your existence while I writhed in agony and bore you into the world, straight into our home, we lived through that together.  I met you for the first time and all my dreams about what my kids would be like were immediately exceeded.  I learnt about a new love that day, 

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

I spent days gazing at you and caressing your skin, spent hours awake at night holding your tiny body close and feeding you with my life giving milk.  My life ceased to be important to me once you were born, I knew in an instant I would die for you.  I still would.

 Please don’t think I don’t love you...

I’ve comforted you from your bad dreams, held you close to me in bed when you were too scared to go back to yours.  I’ve run to you and you’ve run to me when you were hurt, there was no-one else then that you wanted to help you, and I’ve held back my tears to be strong for you even when my heart was breaking. 

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

I worried endlessly about whether you were okay at Kindy and then at School.  Were people being nice to you, did you have friends?  Were you sitting all alone at lunchtime?  These things all seemed worse than when they actually happened to me when I was a kid.  What about play dates?  Are those parents trustworthy enough to look after my most prized possession?  Endless thoughts of how you could get hurt whirled through my mind.  They still do.

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

How could I predict when I was having the last time?  How could I know when my last kiss or hug at school was going to happen?  How could I savour the last time I would lie on your bed and hug you till you fell asleep?  How could I know the last time you would run to me crying looking for the comfort only my arms could offer?  How could I know that I would stop being your hero?

Please don’t think I don’t love you...

Now, how will I know when it’s our last family holiday, our last family meal, or when I’m no longer needed at last?  How at the age of 40 have I only just realised that my own Mum loves me this way too?  My heart still beats for you. When you’re sad I grieve, when you’re happy I feel joy, when you’re in danger I feel fear.  My love for you BURNS fiercely inside me.

Please don’t think I don’t love you, I will always love you, more than you can ever imagine.

Me and my Mum- she'll kill me for this photo!

HIS-TO WRECK-TO-ME (Hysterectomy)

 

 

I appreciate the freedom that I have as a woman in this modern society.  I am so grateful that I am legally entitled to have equal rights with men and I worship the strong women who came before me that blazed a trail towards this goal.  Thank you to the women, and any men whom also supported them.  Were I born many other places in the world I might have been in a far different predicament and many aspects of my life could be grim indeed.  So I am grateful and blessed for my rights, but I still notice the stupid shit that gets whispered about on the down-low, or laughed about in the work place- the everyday sexism that lurks about, and it makes me feel RAGE!!!!! That’s right – your sexist thoughts and words makes me RAGE- and not because I’m on my fucking period, Man, just because I’m angry about being treated unfairly because I have a womb.   Well, in the mean time while we wait for society to make its slow change towards gender equality- I’ve got a solution- but it’s drastic.

Take my womb away please

For the amount of squeamishness that men act out when menstrual periods are mentioned they sure don’t mind bringing it up as a belittling statement towards their co-workers.  “She’s got her period- she’s acting like a bitch”.  Well I usually like to respond like this “Do you know that she’s got her period?”, “ Have you checked that she’s bleeding?”, “ Did you see her blood?” and “What’s your excuse when you’re having a bad day or a bad moment?- Nothing- you’re just an arsehole at those times aren’t you”?   It seems like if a woman is not behaving sweetly towards her co-workers she must be half crazed by period madness.  Maybe she is or maybe- just like other normal functioning humans- she’s just angry.  So, stop thinking about our bloody vagina’s and start coping with conflict, just like you would with anyone else.  We don’t wonder if you’ve got a bulging ball sack when you’re angry- dick.

Now there’s the trouble of the womb.  Fortunately us chicks can have one of those and choose to use it to have babies or not.  Also, after we’ve had those babies we don’t turn into blithering, incapacitated idiots who can no longer function well enough to do productive work. In fact we’re still able to care for a brand new child while bleeding from the vagina and oozing milk from our breasts and still recovering from the emotional and physical trauma of birth.  Don’t bother asking a Mum if she can handle stress- she can.  Maternity leave now ensures that jobs get kept for us after we’ve had the baby too which is a great idea since not all women dream of staying at home (the hardest occupation of all- low pay and poor working conditions) forever to raise kids (This douche bag seems to think we’d all be happier if we did.  Probably the best thing for this guy to experience is a life sentence at home raising children for his crimes against women). Maternity leave is poorly understood by society.  Many people incorrectly think that women get to leave work, have their baby and then serenely while away a few months at home at the expense of their employers.  This idea is caused by ignorance.  Employers are not legally required to pay Maternity leave (though they may choose to)  but they are required to keep a women’s jobs available while she recovers from having her baby.

So, lucky women, we get Maternity leave- a hard fought for allowance in order to allow women the equal right of choosing to work and have children.  Great huh?  And the guys too are entitled to some maternity leave – in fact you can work it out amongst yourselves and decide who’s staying at home for the maternity leave and who’s going back to work- neat.  But hang on- the woman’s got a womb remember- she’s an out of control lunatic.  It would be important to ask her how she’s going to manage balancing work and home life when she applies for a job wouldn’t it?  Just in case the raving womb filled idiot hasn’t considered this before heading out to find a job.  It’s probably just best when you’re looking at hiring a new employee to forget about the problematic woman and hire the man.  All those problems like maternity leave and childcare won’t be a hassle for him since he will have that all sorted.  Once he’s ejaculated his well organised sperm into the womb vessel everything takes care of itself and he needn’t be troubled at all by his children, leaving him free to do the important, valuable work(you see when women do work for free its considered by society as not valuable and unemployed).  What a great guy!

An Employer should still consider the risk to their business though, men are quite a risky bunch in their choices of behaviour-after all they have this dangerous hormone coursing through them called testosterone that makes them prone to anger and violence. They could be a risk to your fleet of cars since they are more likely to drive at speed, they might smash things if they can’t control their hormonal urges. Because they have penises and testosterone they might accidentally rape someone whilst they are trapped in a fog of lust and anger, and there’s also the chance that they could become violent and hurt someone.  Do Employers consider the penis as well as the womb?  Enlighten me please if you have heard of this.  It seems relatively uncommon.

Here’s the solution you’ve been waiting for womenfolk.  Should you be concerned that your womb will get in the way of getting a job, because of the inconvenience you may cause by becoming pregnant, then don’t worry.  If you’re between the ages of 19-45 and you’re serious about your career- get a hysterectomy and put it on your CV.  That way your potential child bearing ability is no longer going to hold you back.  If you already have children and you’re a woman (it won’t affect you if you’re a man)you’re pretty fucked really.  I suggest these options- lying about them, adopt them out,  orl eave them with their Father and move in to a house on your own.  If you’re a man and you’re concerned about the impact your penis may have on your job opportunities then just chop that bad boy off!

Dis-or-ganised

 

 

I’m a lazy busy person.  So- I get done what needs to be done- and for me that’s a lot of things.  It’s work, it’s washing, cooking, lunchbox packing, note signing, exercising, party planning, blog writing, studying, drum practising and in general managing the logistics of a family of five where no one else thinks about much more than what they need at any one time.  The rest of the time- I’m lazy- because I can be, and scarred into my memory are the toddler years where there was no downtime whatsoever.  In the weekends I sleep in till close to midday(while the organisers are doing organising and cleaning things- jokes on you bitches) and in the evenings I sit on the couch and watch trash TV till I fall asleep.  I like clean and organised houses and gardens though, and I reckon they’d be more relaxing to be lazy in.  I want one of those houses- I just can’t seem to do it- Is it because I’m so lazy?  Or could there be some other reason?

If I was half as busy as I am now- maybe my house would be amazing... That definitely could be it.  At the moment I’m the jack of all trades and master of none.  If there were no kids in the house then actually the place would be pretty spic and span for most of the time wouldn’t it?  And yet my friend has a toddler and her place is just a wonderful little Zen haven just begging for a mess grenade to be launched at it and I just want to wring her serene neck and smear my hands on her windows- bitch. She’s even made a website about how to make your life more like hers which is pretty amazing and you can check it out here.

Maybe it’s genetic?  Except my Mum is a cleaning psycho and her little house and cottage garden are testimony to the fact that genes are not helping my situation.  And Dad- well let’s just say- gated community and leave it at that.  My siblings are on a spectrum, none of them are high standard clean freaks but none of them live in squalor either (nor do I-mostly).  There’s still time I guess- I could end up with a neat as a pin house and glorious garden like Mum if the kids thing finishes and the genetics kicks in.

I’ve tried to take charge of this situation quite a few times.  There are the New Year’s resolutions, the Pinterest organising board, feasible schedules that I’ve put together, the family chorechart...  Basically I’ve got everything I need to get it all sorted but no success at acting it all out.  I’m organised to be organised but not organised enough to neatly act it out.  I’ve got a feeling it could be self sabotage.  It’s like holding an invisible cleaning gun to my head, taunting myself- it’s within your reach, you could have it, but you’re not going to bitch, just stare at your organising charts and have a panic attack bitch...

Now, just so you don’t think that I’m shallow enough to be yearning for my house to be clean in order to impress others let me reassure you.  I couldn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of my place and I welcome anyone who disapproves to turn right around and leave.   My dear and lovely friends come to see me and quite possibly seeing super Plum Lovely not being perfectly prim probably gives them a shiver of delight and a shot of relaxation.  They also probably don’t give a shit at all since my super personable qualities probably transcend any feelings about house cleanliness.

After years of ruminating on my failure to launch any kind of cleaning or organising regime I’ve finally come up with a feasible excuse for my actions (or inactions).  Here it is- I’m creative!  It’s a good excuse this one- let me illuminate you.  I’m extroverted and easily distracted- not good qualities for diligent duties like spending fucking hours lining up boxes, baskets, blankets and bing bongs (I don’t know).   I’m not the kind of creative that can draw, or paint, or sew, or make anything except some pretty fabulous food to shove in your cake hole and dress a fat body to look slimmer. I’m a story teller and I’m creative at getting things done with the least possible effort.  I guess that’s why people always wonder how I can get so much done and not lose my fucked up little mind. Well the reason is – because I’m not doing all that other cleaning and organising stuff that they’re doing, I’m doing what the hell I want- probably sitting on my arse watching ‘Come Dine With Me’ while stressing about how I’m going to get my assignment done and coming up with creative ideas about how I’ll do it given that I’m using some perfectly good time doing nothing right now...

Every few weeks I do still have a go at whipping things into shape though.  I’m creative like that.  The family chore chart gets resurrected every now and again and the kids roll their eyes and state the obvious- that it won’t be in action for long.  The best time to get the kids to do jobs is when they want something.  “Yes your friends can come and stay- if you clean your room and make dinner” is a win-win situation.  And also I would be remiss as a Mother if I did not teach them how to cook and clean!

Maybe I also enjoy living on the edge just a little, a rebel against the system- rebelling against the chore of domesticity- a conscientious objector!  Yes!  That’s it!  I’m a creative feminist, rebelling against the torment and slow soul death of domestic life. I OBJECT.  I still would like a clean, tidy, serene house though; can someone help me with that...?

 

Dicks

I'm surprised at the lack of discussion from males about the unfairness of their portion of the genital parts.  The female form is admired and desired by both sexes whereas the exposure of manly genitals is met with shrieks of horror and maybe a phone call to the police.  While women have a loud voice about finding comfort with their bodies and not being judged, assaulted or abused, the men are sitting in defeated content with their ugly dick in their mournful hands. 
What caused this horrendous disparity and why?  Why are men's parts the spider of the genital world?

I've never heard a peep out of any man about his dissatisfaction with his penis, despite the fact that the appendage he's attached to needs to be kept tucked snuggly away lest it cause offence. Even though the desire with which many men seem to hold for female nudity is not reciprocated, the majority of men seem to loyally stand by the size and power of their shameful tool.  This display of confidence is applaudable because unlike the accidental or purposeful exposure of say breasts (which would likely be met with pure joy and appreciation) the exposure of penis would likely be met with angry looks and sounds, disgust, fear and admonishment.  'Put it away you dirty disgusting penis owning man'!!! And yet there is no complaint about the control of their sexuality and how awful it is to be judged should they expose this beautiful part of their body in public.  Those humble men are just quietly taking it in their strides.  Well, why can't those things should look like puppies, then we would welcome their exposure with shrieks of joy and bundles of kisses, we could stare at their crutches just hoping to catch a tiny glimpse, and wonder about what our friends husband's one looked like and if we could possibly touch it.

puppy penis

There would be  many economic advantages to the puppy penis too!  Think of all the fashion opportunities.  Low cut pants so that we can see a tantalising piece of the penis puppy shape,  the fashion shows, the accessories, the puppy care rituals.  Imagine the awards ceremonies like the Oscars.  The guys fashion would be at the forefront, full camera pans of the body with a lingering on the crotch area and fierce competition to see which guy will push his puppy exposure to the extreme...  Lipstick advertisements would feature the man with the sexiest looking puppy penis draped tantalizingly on the glossy lips of the appreciative model.

The health advantages too would be exceptional.  Special clothing would be made so that the puppy member was held in just the right way to ensure optimal health, and maybe even to ensure a better overall look when clothed.  Men wouldn't need to check their bone for any blemishes, women would be more than happy to inspect them up close.  Watching TV would allow the perfect time to release it from its clothing kennel and stroke the friendly, eager dick puppy, and massage its delectable balls.  Ad campaigns to ensure each man was comfortable with his pants dweller would be funded by companies owned by women that know just what men want for their prickly pup.

There could be a downside though.  How could women possibly concentrate at work if a man did not conceal his porky pup properly?  Should they be allowed to go to work with one of those not properly restrained?  And what if the man was getting sexually harassed at work by some out of control woman who kept "accidentally" walking into the toilet at inappropriate times and constantly staring at the naïve mans crotch while he was trying to pursue a professional conversation.  Girls will be girls I suppose and how can they be expected to contain their delight when there is such a cute creature around.  Strip clubs could curb the desire to a degree.  At least then the men that wanted to could get paid to show what they've got and women wouldn't have to succumb to the desire to harass those men that aren't as eager.  Business meetings could be had there and over a long lunch and after a few drinks from pant less waiters the deal could be sealed with a private lap dance.  Men could attend the meeting too, women would learn to respect them even though they are at work with a penis.

Though women would love the puppy penis and men would love all the attention it got there would be good times and bad times.  Valentines day would be an eager display of products to decorate man's best friend but it would pay to be careful not to get a size too big- imagine what that message could convey?  And perhaps men would sometimes like more affection and conversation instead of all the attention being given to the cock pup.   A picnic in a nice location, along with some loving hugs should have him happily releasing the hound as well as feeling loved and valued himself. 
However, if the man had a really impressive pound puppy and other females were exhibiting too much interest, a quiet word with the man about being more modest could be in order.  A faithful man would downplay his assets  so as to appease his spouse, the women can't help being interested if he's put it out there.  Playing with his own proud puppy would not be disgusting- in fact it would be delightful to women to see him so eager to play with their favourite thing too.  A really open man would happily look at magazines of other men playing with theirs too so that together with his woman they could really enjoy the male form.  Better still allowing his partner to take photos of the puppy penis in all sorts of different poses would really satisfy their growling desire.

Alas, it is not so.  Men have the spider of the genital world nesting in their hairy pants.  Other ways must be found to entice the weary woman.  Money, charisma, good looks, amazing sporting feats etc.  Unfortunately no one wants to see them wave it around at protests, or cuddling up with their mates provocatively holding each others pink slug.  Spare a thought for the rejected genital next time you see it and before you start shuddering...

What is my name?

Recently I was thinking about using a pseudonym for my writing name and it lead me to experiencing a disturbing epiphany. There isn't a name I could choose from my family that would relate to the women in my ancestry, not one that actually belongs to a woman!  Take a moment to consider that truth...any name you choose will belong to the man that last "owned" that woman.  You may be thinking that I am a stupid raging feminist by now, you're probably thinking: "you can keep your maiden name if you want" or " I kept my name when we got married", but consider this- if you keep your maiden name your are simply keeping the name of your Father, face it- surnames are man tags.   

Your surname most likely doesn't relate to your mothers ancestral line since matrilineal surnames are not very common.  Your surname is most likely to be your Fathers surname, your mother had her fathers surname, until she got married and took your fathers surname or continued to keep her original surname.  You'll either keep your Father's surname or if you are a woman and you marry chances are high that you'll take the name of your husband.  So, to summarise- if you are a man you will most likely inherit your fathers name upon your birth, keep that name throughout your life and eventually pass that on to your children- awesome.  Solid ideas about where you come from, great for tracking genealogy, strong sense of identity.  If you are a woman, you will most likely be born with your fathers name, take the name of your husband upon marriage and your name will not be passed on to any of your children.  No fucking idea where you're from, difficulty tracking genealogy, feeling like you have a slave name! This bothers me- who am I?  Who were my foremothers? Where is my sense of pride and belonging to a long line of women way back into the past?

When I got married I willingly and happily took my husbands name.  There was absolutely no expectation from him that I should, but it was important to me that our future family be unified with one name.  I came from a broken home and knew what it was like to not share the same last name, and the difficulties with my parents divorce meant that I also felt a sense of shame about my Father's name and just wanted to be rid of it.   This is not a sob story segment about my childhood, I'm just framing up my reasons for leaping into taking the next man name on offer. For more reasons on why women choose to take or not to take their husbands names this article covers a few of these things as well as the writers own view on  changing names which is limited to keeping her maiden name and not the concern about her foremothers names.   Very infrequently is it considered that a man will take his wife's name upon marriage (although this man came up with a new and interesting solution with his wife which worked for them).  This would be seen as somewhat effeminate and almost traitorous to this man's proud name.  In saying that I must say that my husband claims that if I had wanted to keep my name he would happily have changed his name to mine(hero).  You see, the reasons that people choose to change their names to their husbands name is not really because men are forcing us to(although 50% of Americans believe that women entering heterosexual marriages should be legally required to take their husbands names), or owning us anymore- it's just an accepted social convention.  And, what makes this convention even easier to continue is that women's last names are so transient, usually only lasting for part of their lifetime, as well as the shocking truth that there are no women's surnames!!!! Fortunately the UN has a convention about women's last names- In 1979, the United Nations adopted the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women ("CEDAW") which declared in effect that women and men, and specifically wife and husband, shall have the same rights to choose a "family name", as well as a "profession" and an "occupation".

My husband and his male family members use their family name with pride, even getting tattoo's with the family shield on it, their family name that they can trace way back to a place and time in England emblazoned proudly on their skin.  I have been bewildered by this seemingly arrogant sense of family patriotism, what were they doing, why are they so proud?  The answer to that question at the time seemed like it was just maybe testosterone, maybe just what guys do- they're so childish, but now after this epiphany I totally get it!!! Yes- fuck yes!!! What a celebration it would be if I was together with my womenfolk and we had our ancestral women family name tattooed on us and could celebrate this long line of women before us back to a place and time in the world and we could see the children that we grew in our ripe distended bellies carrying our name into the future.  The pride of having our children carry our names into the future and looking back upon us with pride too.  The thought of it is so potent and dizzying, I can't believe I've been missing out on it.  

And what sort of names would womenfolk have?  Well many of the surnames we see and hear today have very traditional meaningful roots.  Think of names like Smith or Cooper that actually relate back to a profession.  Once again awesome identity right back to your roots.  Of course some names are more prestigious than others and surely that would be the same for women's last names- let's not let this fantasy get out of control.  So here's some ideas of what our women's names would have been and could be- Maid, Whore, Barmaid, Nurse, Belle(beauty is always important), Washer, Cook, Seamstress now lets get modern: Architect, Engineer, Editor, Model, Athlete, Celebrity.  But these just relate to occupations which not all names do, some relate to places so: New York, Paris, London, Fiji, oh the possibilities.  Now lets just go for some shit hot, really cool last names just to be indulgent: Coco, Chanel, Ruby, Diamond, Jewel, Fashion, Beauty, Bliss, Cleopatra, of Arc, Coven, Love, Mankiller(oh I lol), Mantrap, Manhater...I'm really getting on a roll now. And what of the associated professions.  I come from a long line of...Rugby players, Farmers, Teachers.  What do I come from a long line of? Warrior Women, Midwives, Healers, Cooks, Seamstresses...?   Truth is it's bloody exhilarating thinking about having an actual name to follow through time though I guess Rachel Whore would be hard to swallow- excuse the pun!

So, I got to thinking.  What name would I choose for myself, what did I have that I owned, that was just for me, that secured me to some womenfolk in my family.  The answer to this question was swift and simple.  I would choose the names my Mother gave me- Rachel Joy(Joy is my middle name).  The reason this choice was simple is that there is a beautiful family connection in this name.  My Nana on my Mums side had this as her first name, my Mum has it as her middle name, and my eldest daughter also has it as her middle name.  If we were all to change our middle names to our last names we would share a name over several generations and that would be so sweet and wonderful.  We would be the 'Joy Family' and I might even be tempted to get that tattooed on my skin and celebrate loud and proud with my women! We are the Joys, we claim this name as ours for our women- hear us ROAR!!!!!!  And maybe bring some joy...  

Punch me in my Paleo Pie Hole!!!!

It's Atkins all over again and along with it the fervent and frenzied born again fresh food eaters.  You should know from the title of this post what I'm talking about, and if you haven't heard of the Paleo diet yet please stop reading and go hide back under your rock!  Right, now I'm left with those that have been exposed to the growing number of Paleo converts who smugly post their "clean eats" photos and amazing inspirational stories involving all sorts of miraculous recoveries from any ailment ever known to (wo)man!  Please all rise and praise the Paleo Lord- Amen!!!!

So in brief the Paleo diet claims to take us back to the diet of our Paleolithic ancestors, as clearly this is what we were supposed to be eating (not sure how the logic stacks up on that really) and the claim is made that Paleolithic Wo(man) was strong and healthy(how the hell do we know that?) and a large proportion of modern day Wo(man) are now overweight and unhealthy.  Paleo preachers put this down to our move away from the hunter- gatherer diet but personally I think it could be just as much to do with how much easier hunting and gathering food is now.  Driving through McD's is so much less energy expending than spending the day trying to hunt an animal- god I'd be fit if I had to regularly do that and I'd really consider how hungry I was before I took to the pursuit, unlike a quick stroll and grab at the pantry or fridge.  The thing is, my beef with these fad diets is the sensationalism, the packaging, the obsession, and the preaching. 

We all know what makes us fat- eating too much food and not exercising enough- that is the MAIN thing.  Most people with half a brain also know what a healthy diet looks like- mostly unprocessed foods, a high intake of fresh fruit and veges and some proteins like meat and stuff.  It's not rocket science.  And the growing problem of obesity- treat foods are available everywhere from the garden centre to the petrol station and all places in between and they're super affordable.  These treats contain giant amounts of energy from whole foods all condensed into a tiny mouth sized morsel.  So why does this regular fascination with a new, end all illness and obesity diet keep raising its ugly annoying head.  It's because people can't accept that they are just fat and lazy! 

I've found that the most successful Paleo dieters are the genetically athletic build type, the stressy perfectionists and the majorly OCD who get obsessed with something and make their whole life about it.  These are the most annoying people who rub their food in your face all the time and arrogantly claim that they are super healthy due to this amazing eating regime.  The thing is, these people probably never struggle with their weight yet arrogantly believe that it's their amazingly sensible choices that has led them to this wonderful state of being.  Recently I stopped following a well known(in NZ) nutritionist on facebook for precisely these reasons.  Her know it all attitude, and arrogance all garnished with pictures of her 'winning at life' pure paleo food did not make me smile and think about how I could improve my diet.  It actually made me want to chew up chips and spit them in her face!!!

One must only search instagram for #paleo for the real world(in pictures) of competitive eating, high-fiving and preaching the paleo way.  The thing is, I'm not sure I've seen a picture of this amazingly healthy paleolithic (Wo)man- probably there were no camera's back then - they were too busy hunting and gathering to invent camera's. Well here's a picture of some art from the paleolithic period...

 It looks like this Paleo artist either had special powers which allowed them to see into the future or this model has discovered the secret power of grains before her time!!!  The shocking truth might just be that in fact- wo(man) just eat what ever is edible about them and as much as they feel like given its availability.

 

Aside from the jaw grinding annoyance of this untasty trend I think what really makes me hate this indulgent attitude is that it is such a 1st world sport.  We have so much food that we are bulging at the seams but still we just smear it in the faces of the starving by using as much as we can in televised reality cooking competitions and singling out certain foods as not good enough to travel through our precious bodies.  Could you stand in front of a starving family(and I mean literally starving) whose only sustenance is rice and tell them that you don't eat rice because your Paleo ancestors didn't, or that at home you eat food while you watch people cook food on TV?  

 

Lastly one of my pet peeves is the desire people have to recreate an meal that is now deemed basically poisonous for them to eat as part of their new paleo religion.  Last week I saw on facebook a post about a brownie that had nothing resembling brownie ingredients in it.  It was proudly toted out to all the loyal Paleo followers to praise the Paleo lord that they could eat something that apparently tasted like a brownie but is actually healthy.  Ok, if you want a brownie in your gob just eat a brownie- it's a treat.  If you are obsessively creating recipes so that you can still eat the same tasting diet out of obscure possibly really expensive ingredients then your problems go further than your diet- find a better obsession like feeding those that don't have food to play with.

 

So to be clear- no I don't want to try your brownie free brownie made from mushed up dates and spinach, and no I don't believe that going Paleo is going to make sunshine shine out my eyes, solve all my ailments and make me live forever.  I think you are an annoying OCD freak and I'm going to mess up your instagram searches of #paleo pictures by tagging all my food pics with #paleo.  Also I might just start carrying a pocket full of white flour(yes white) and sprinkle it over your food when you're not looking.

 

P.S- to be honest, I'm a sucker for the cooking shows...

P.P.S- check out my facebook page for my Paleo hotdog recipe and the brownie free brownie recipe

P.P.S- It's ideas like these that really make me roll my eyes...Pale Coffee- desperate times