You Don't Own Me...

With the house to myself I decide to break out my feminist zines, Bitch and Bust. These two magazines may have the same theme but have their own personalities. Bitch is like that professor who likes to challenge you with her non-stop agenda pushing information. She has a dark sense of humor and you don't know if you like her or not. And really that doesn't matter because she's so interesting and extreme that you can't help but stay in the class.
Bust, on the other hand, is like that cool older cousin who tells you stories of all her cool friends and wants you to think in a different way. She does challenge you but in a gentle, non-judgmental way that makes you feel much hipper than you actually are. She's girlie and silly but you know she can take care of herself mentally and physically.
Yep, I can read my feminist literature without freaking out my grandmother which I have been doing on a regular basis. Yesterday she asked what I was doing and I said I was making a comment on my friend's blog. "Oh," she said, "I don't know what that is," and she walked away. To be honest I am not very close with my grandmother. The most we've communicated in the last eight years was, Thanks for the money grandma! Why you're welcome. So her interest in my life is all of a sudden feels invasive. That and I don't want to explain why my magazine is named Bitch.