Dr. George Tiller: In Memoriam

I have to be sad. I have to bring up what happened today because it's not letting me go. When my mother told me on the phone I started sobbing, and I've been fairly miserable ever since. Every smile, every laugh comes with the sharp realization that something monumental happened in the arena of reproductive rights today. Dr. George Tiller, one of the only doctors in the country who performed abortions past 21 weeks, was shot dead while he stood as an usher in his Lutheran church.
Dr. Tiller was a controversial man who performed controversial work. Even many pro-choicers are iffy on third trimester abortions. But I have read first-person accounts from his patients, some who have had their beloved, wanted baby die inside of them and chose to D&E (often traveling hundreds of miles to reach Dr. Tiller) rather than wait, in agony, for labor to begin so they could deliver their stillborn child. From those who found out that giving birth would severely put their health at risk, so they chose to abort. From those who discovered this late in the game that their baby is most likely going to be affected with a serious illness or life-changing diagnosis. These women sent notes to Dr. Tiller, the one man in the area, if not the entire country, who was able and willing to help them terminate their pregnancies. They told him he saved their lives. And yet today, his life was taken as he stood handing out programs at church- a place where people are supposed to feel safe, comforted and at peace. It's sickening.
All I can hope for is that the pro-choice movement will galvanize, rally, make enough noise so that his death wont be in vain. If one person sitting on the fence of the abortion debate hears of this and says, "wow, the pro-life campaign is full of crazy nutjobs," he wont have died in vain. Even if pro-choicers hear of this tragedy and decide to donate their time and resources to Planned Parenthood or NARAL, his death wont be in vain. I'm choosing to look at this in the most positive light because I refuse to dwell on the vile element of society who are full of such hate and hipocrasy that they would perform such an action. They don't deserve our thoughts or our awe at 'how they can do this.' The best thing we can do is strengthen the pro-choice movement and constantly reflect on Dr. Tiller's good work and the many women and couples he's helped. His work will never be forgotten. It's up to us to advance the goals he held dear and work to keep reproductive freedom available to all women.
I have never in my life felt more devoted to the pro-choice movement than I do at this moment. I hope others feel the same way.

Gosselin MANIA!

So lately I’ve been wondering: How can I, too, make money off the Gosselin children? I’m way ahead of all y’all posers who didn’t know a damn thing about the family until two weeks ago. I’ve been a faithful Gosselinite since Kate had a forward-facing, if frumpy, dark brown hairstyle and Jon seemed like he wasn’t constantly contemplating various methods of suicide. In fact, one of my 2008 resolutions was to stop watching so many Jon and Kate+8 marathons. So I was thinking maybe I could host some contests to rake in the (organic, of course, right Kate?) dough:

1. Kid Trivia. Sample question: What are the sextuplet girls’ middle names, and why? (Hope, Joy, Faith- it’s religious). Simple, yes, but it separates the men from the boys. Or the pedophiles from the non-pedophiles. Your pick. $25 entrance fee.

2. “Who’s Got the Look?” Kate Gosselin hair lookalike contest. Or, differently, who can chop some sad passerby into a Kate haircut the most efficiently, with child-safe scissors, in UNDER 60 SECONDS!

3. “You Said it, Not Me!” A hilarious, off-color, totally politically incorrect game show where the contestants make up the questions (creativity wins!), and the audience ponders the answers in a hilarious, elitist debate. No one’s a winner- just like the Gosselins! Sample: Which of the kids is most likely to suffer the brain-damaging effects of being stuffed into an insufficiently-sized womb for 9 months with five other fetuses fighting for their lives? How will it be manifested? Answer: Collin, autism. Laugh track flicks on, studio audience shouts, “You Said it, Not Me!” and theme music blares.

Total. Moneymaker. I'll be rich by November sweeps.

People I Hate: Poor Pronouncers

Being an elitist language snob, I pride myself on near-perfect pronunciation. I even have to hold back sometimes (it's technically pronounced "fort," not "for-tay," but saying the correct version makes you sound like a retard) to get people to like me more. Want me to like you? Stay the F away from these basic faux-pas!

1. It's escape, not ek-scape. Grr.
2. Similarly, is there an X anywhere in 'espresso,' the coffee delight? No?! Ya sure? Okay then don't call it 'expresso,' even if you are just that fast and streamlined! I'm talking to YOU, McDonald's radio commercial...
3. If you 'ax' me a question, I will hunt YOU down with an ax. Just sayin'.
4. Just as there's no I in team, there is NO FUCKING B in 'supposedly.'
5. This one I'm not totally sure about. Maybe I'm wrong, and maybe it's okay to say "adVERtisement" instead of "ADvertisement." But let's think about it, friends. Do you call the abbreviated version an ad, or a vert? Game, set, match...

That's all I can think of right now. Any suggestions?! Let's be pronunciation snobs together.

Medicine vs. Religion: Allie Tackles the Tough Stuff

Anyone else in favor of using someone’s hairstyle to judge their mental competence? Hear me out. If a person has a hairstyle from 1984, how are we to be sure they’ve left the house or watched the news since then? And if they haven’t, aren’t they essentially cave people who should have complete government control imposed on their lives? Exactly. Colleen Hauser doesn’t believe her 13-year-old son Daniel, who is dying from cancer, should receive chemotherapy. She’s got him believing it too. Colleen Hauser has puff-bangs. This inappropriate, almost offensive style highlights her, in my opinion, batshit crazy mindset. Let’s bring back the SATs!

Having terrible bangs: believing in ‘alternative remedies’ to cure cancer :: Being a witch: getting stoned and burned in old-school Massachusetts.

I’m really not sure if that analogizes appropriately. But I’m at work and trying to look productive, so bear with me okay? Back to the case at hand, which I’d actually like to examine seriously. As I understand them, here are the facts: The 13-year-old Minnesota boy, Daniel, has Hodgkin’s disease. Hodgkin’s Disease, as opposed to Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma (which caused my grandfather’s death, so I actually do know some stuff here), is quite curable with chemotherapy- the statistics they’re giving are upwards of 90% survival rate with proper treatment. Yet Daniel has been given a 90-95% chance of dying if he does not receive the treatment. He received one treatment months ago, and the tumor shrank. Without more chemo, it has grown. That’s what’s available on the news. Oh, and it makes complete sense. Oh golly modern medicine, you get me every time!

Allie’s interpretation of the facts: The family lives in the boonies, has more kids than can fit in your standard minivan and look, well, insane. The dad seems normal but apparently has no control over his wife (cough, or her hair style). They are Catholic but practice a form of Native American ritual (Nemenhah Band) where they only rely on 'natural' medicine. Rumor in the blogosphere is that Colleen’s sister died of cancer, but Colleen is convinced she died from chemo. Now the boy agrees with his mother that he doesn’t want chemo. IF it were that simple, I might say “he’s old enough to make this decision- to die- for himself.” But let’s think here- what deep thoughts were flowing through my head at 13? Is Paul going to the skating rink this Friday? Oooh omigod is he?! When IS that rerun of Full House coming on? However, I was also ardently pro-choice at 13 and eloquently arguing my views in health class against Melissa Zekus, as I recall. So 13-year-olds CAN know shit. And I do believe that people should be able to practice their religious beliefs- but not on behalf of someone else, especially a minor. This gets me waaay into Jehovah Witness/blood transfusion territory, which is not the dilemmonade at hand. We have bigger fish to fry.

Like this crucial fact- this kid is learning disabled and, apparently, completely illiterate. Which in my opinion means he has no way of finding and analyzing any other information than what his parents tell him. And to me, that.changes.everything. As opposed to the Jehovah Witness families who refuse blood transfusions for their young children, where I consider the child’s age the deciding factor (How can a six-year-old REALLY know if this religion is something he adheres to? Religion is basically brainwashing until kids can think for themselves. WHOOOanother talk for another time!), I think mental competence is the factor here. At 13, I think he really could make this decision based on religious beliefs IF he were 100% mentally able to do so. I mean, in Judaism you are a man or woman at 13, and supposed to be very learned about what the religion truly means. Kids have to be old enough to truly understand and decide for themselves their own religious beliefs if that’s going to be how they die. Reading IS fundamental.
Colleen and Daniel were apparently seen in San Diego, perhaps en route to Mexico. Clearly they were not seen by me, as I would have performed a snazzy citizens arrest courtesy of a mean right hook, a Goody hair tie and high heels. And my cape would flow in the wind victoriously…

*Note: When google imaging "bangs," the results are quite interesting. I mean, I guess I should have expected horrendous porn, but...
**Note x2: Anyone else notice that Paul's gotten two mentions thus far, and none for Joe?

A Face Only A Mother Could Love...

As I sit here watching "Bring it On" on Encore, relishing the finals days of our three month free trial of premium cable, I find myself wondering, "WHY does the 'actor' who plays Aaron look so ridiculously familiar?" So I ponder new movies. I ponder the television shows I watch. And then it hits me. He looks so familiar because I've seen this movie FIFTEEN THOUSAND TIMES.
Which, reflecting on my life, brings me to this gem...

I call it "How We Know Allie Is Drunk"

1. 2, count 'em 2, empty bottles on deck

2. Standing alone

3. That FACE! It screams "OMG I'm so sad about something, something SO UPSETTING is going on," which totally means that the ASPCA commercial with Sarah McLaughlin and the abused dogs was just on

4. Hair tie on right wrist. Will become useful in 6 hours when urgent need to vomit occurs.

5. Three words: Broken. Fucking. Necklace.

Well, if I had chili stains on the dress it would be perfect. But doesn't my hair look shiny!?!

Enjoy my embarassment. Thanks to Jessica for capturing the moment. Legitimate post tomorrow!

What say ye, Ludacris?

So in case you didn't know, on my resume in the "Special Skills" section, between "AP Style" (ie I own an AP Style Guide and know the order of the alphabet) and "Microsoft Excel" (um, just don't ever ask me to do anything more complicated than make a one-column list) is "Knows All Lyrics to Ludacris' 'What's Your Fantasy'." Really and truly. It makes me incredibly valuable in the modern marketplace.
Anyway, I was on a walk today, enjoying the 70 degree sunshine because it's a day that ends in Y in San Diego, and my song of songs shuffles into my iPod! What a pleasant surprise for a late afternoon walk! And then I realized it. After years and years of singing along only slightly ironically, I heard it for the first time. Ludacris does not say fuck:
"Back seat windows up, that's the way you like to fuh."
Are you kidding me? Are you eating Play-Doh, Luda?? E-n-u-n-c-i-a-t-e!! Clearly those dialect lessons from Britain's finest didn't take. While I was thinking about how I've essentially been fooled since sophomore year, I saw them: YMH- Young Mormon Hottaaaays. I immediately needed an exit strategy, as they've been canvassing the 'hood lately and my number is just about up. I don't know why I'm so ridiculously awkward, but I feel the need to basically dive behind bushes slash attempt to break into the nearest house to avoid them. I have these images of them approaching me and me backing away, stuttering, yelping, "Uhh I'm Jewish and I'm pretty happy with my religion thanks!!!"And of course in the process I'd trip over my feet and land in a puddle of shame. I'm just that deathly afraid of confrontation/hurting peoples' feelings/lying (because I like being Jewish, but it's not like I'm religious...they'd eat that right up and somehow convince me I DO need Heavenly Father). But what is it about Mormons? Why do they send out the hot young thangs? Am I seriously expected to see them, bat my lashes, nod excitedly about the angel Moroni and latterday saints and stuff whilst I forget my entire religious background because they're so. damn. adorable? I think that's why I run away. Because let's be honest- I'd fuh 'em!

ERROR ERROR READ ALL ABOUT IT

Haven't figured out the 'edit' tool yet once a post is up. But just because it will keep me up at night, let me correct the 'tatse' and mispellings of concealer in the last post. Because it WILL keep me up at night. Damn OCD and journalism school...

Ohh ho HO it's MAGIC!

Allie recommends: Being the recessionista that I am (umm...I've always been frugal, and suddenly my lifestyle is cool. Everyone else is a poser in my opinion), when I ran out of my pricey Clinique foundation, I trotted over to Target to try this puppy out. Ten bucks and it came with a free concealor- why the hell not? Let me tell you though. IT WORKS. I have no idea the whacktastic science where somehow a white liquid with little black granules in it magically turns into the color of your skin, BUT IT DOES. It's light, smooth, and suddenly BAM even skin tone. The concealer was a bit too light/white in spots for my tatse, but this foundation is my new winner. Hopefully Almay wont sue me for copyright infringement...that's all semantics anyway, I call it free advertising. Happy Sunday!

I revitalize People.com's top stories of...2006

Just got home from a wild night. Crazy karaoke, dancing, wild story telling, screaming and delicious munchies. Let me be more specific. Crazy karaoke and dancing was to a Disney Princess piano (and yes, I taught a 3-year-old the word "remix" and more importantly, the cool way to say it, "REEmix"). Wild story telling? Well, that Madeline and her 11 orphan ho sister friends DO get in trouble when they leave France on holiday. The screaming was courtesy of 13-month-old Elise and her inability to function without the comforting feeling of resting against her mother's bosom (seriously, don't they all feel the same?). Delicious munchies were Golden Grahams, Thin Mints, a fruit ice bar, honey wheat pretzel sticks, assorted dried fruits, butter almond thins, second helpings of all of the above, random dutch caramel cookie, two rosemary marcona almonds, and almost ALMOST a Babybel, but I have soooome restraint thank you very much. Oh, and then almost vomiting it up in the subsequent panic attack of realizing that my binge is completely and totally obvious in every food container that I've pawed through like a retarded bear during the last days of salmon season. My "leave no trace" rule has now turned into "Thorg Hungry, THORG want EAT!"

Since the night is still young, I thought it might be time for a pop culture roundup! And timely, at that!

1) I hate Heidi and Spencer and truly, truly hope they get divorced but in the worst most embrassing way possible, like he cheats on her with a wild boar (or an uber-Conservative religious transvestite) and she somehow gives him that old school avian bird flu that makes us long for the good old SARS days, from a lover who sexually transmitted it to her via a trip in her time machine, which she created because she has a degree from MIT. Wait...or better yet, just a mere "irreconciliable differences," because not having a way to get attention would drive the attention whores batshit insane.

2) Jon and Kate- STAY TOGETHER!! Not for love, but for co-parenting support! Do you want to have all 8 kids with you at once with no other parent? And what's with the poll on people.com regarding her hair? She clearly adopted the Allison "I don't care what the hell is going on 'round back, just make it look good in front goddamit!" mentality. And Kate, stick with it if only to have someone to roll your eyes at. And end sentences in prepositions with at of.

3) Pink and Carey Hart are back together. This does make me happy although come on, they're totally going to break up again. But for now, how awkward is it for her to sing "You're a toooooooool soooooo" in the audience to him?! That's like me and Nazi Mike getting back together and having a beatnik rap session with our hate poetry aimed at each other. I'll bring the bongos and lemonade, he's got the 'gat.' Too soon? Or me inviting Alex (Coach) to an art show, and OMG all the art is those magic marker signs me and Greer made that day sophomore year when we had broken up and to make myself feel better I scribbled " HAS 2 FRIENDS" and "NOT EVEN THAT CUTE" and taped them around my room.

4) Then there's Zooey Deschanel, with whom I have a whole COW fulla beef. Why? Because she's the new definition of a Triple Threat. No, she isn't trying out for A Chorus Line with a mean high kick, a booming mezzo soprano, dazzling chompers and a flawless double piroutte. But she's somehow an adorable comedic actress AND a legitimately talented singer (although I rue the day I heard that cotton commercial, because it lives in my head forever now), oh and ridiculously beautiful. Anyone who can make heavy, blunt-cut bangs seem like a fun new inspiring-for-spring-totally! idea should receive an award. And hers comes in the form of Allison's Jealousy. She'll frame it for life, I'm sure.

I Love Wife Swap- Shut Your Face

When it comes to reality TV, Wife Swap will always suck me in, and I will be sucked with pleasure (err?). I will always devote the hour, obligations be damned. Sorry I missed your party, Stacy, I had to see the REAL LIFE STORIES on the most predictable show on TV. But judge all you want, it’s the best ‘unscripted’ television around. I wonder what the audition forms are like. Do you check a box that best describes your family? Are the options: Traditional (God fearing, Mom stays at home), Hippie/New Age (we recycle and the kids obvi don’t watch TV), Modern (Mom works), Country/Hick (double points if involving farm animals), City Slicka (double points if involving small spaces, spoiled kids and interacting with the friendly neighborhood hobo, Kenneth), Kid-Centered (and our marriage is failing as a result), Wasteful (and we don’CARE!), Lazy (usually fat, but not always), Team Family (!!go team go! Double points if a matching shirt is involved), Fat (I usually change the channel in this case, so I don’t really know…) or Black*? I rarely see a situation that breaks that mold. But these Top 5 reasons are what keep me coming back for the Wife Swap Time Suck…
1) The awkward children. From the uncomfortable hugs and stutters of “hi, nice to meet you” when New Mom comes in, to the forced, overzealous (“America is watching, Tommy!!!”) embraces at show’s end, they make the story complete. I have to wonder how this affects their psyches, though. I mean, imagine this first day of school scenario: “On my summer vacation, we really needed money so Mommy left and Daddy got a new wife and we got a new Mommy and there were lots and lots of cameras and now we have money again!” does not an A+ presentation make.
2) The scripted confrontations: “But. You. Are. So. Demeaning. Towards. Your. Wife. How. Does. She. Put. Up. With. It. Bruce?”
3) The unscripted confrontations that somehow make the cut: “OMGODURKIDDIGMEGETMEOUTOFHEEEERE.” I’m always waiting for the racial slur or blurting of “white trash,” but I’m not holding my breath.
4) The open-ended questions I’m left with. Are they allowed to talk to their real mom on the phone while she’s gone? I mean, what if a daughter gets her period- shouldn’t Real Mom know right away? How do they explain to the mother’s employer that some new, unskilled, probs uneducated replacement is coming in for two weeks? Does that count as her vacation days?
5) You can’t. Turn. Away. Thanks to the previews right before the commercial break, that is, where they show a huge fight and the scream of “But I’m NEVER going to do what you say EVER!” What will happen when the rules change? What about the turning point where, after just one change has been made by New Mom, the entire family concedes, sees the error of their ways and vows to change their life forever? Usually this happens around minute 39, but one time not until minute 47ish and I was glued to my chair, barely breathing. And of course, the faceoff- will insults fly? Will shit hit the fan? WILL THE AVOWED CHANGES STICK!?!

But a big beef I have is when New Mom changes the rules and it poorly affects the kids, like Lazy Fatass New Mom who said NO SPORTS! The son cried because he missed his Little League tournament. Who is she helping? And since I’m also a social elitist, it killed me when Lazy Fatass New Mom was flabbergasted that the New Husband cooked and helped his wife with cleaning, and that the children had chores, so she made them all sit and watch TV while she served them. Seriously, WHO THE F IS THIS HELPING?? In my version of Wife Swap, the mom who clearly has her shit together (a husband who helps? Kids who have responsibility?! Way to go!) goes to the other house, changes their lazy fatass ways, while the Lazy Fatass New Mom goes to the new house and gets accosted with a frying pan fulla venomous snakes and reality. Just make sure it’s cast iron.
*The black family is never diametrically opposed to the other family. They are just black. Let the fun begin!

Refried Beans- Breakfast of Champions

Mmm hmm. You read correctly. Not only do they provide a week’s worth of protein and fiber, they travel well. I may be going out on a limb here, but the fat free ones? Healthy Mexican food. It DOES exist. And now my whole office smells like Taco Bell, so there.

It all happened last night. The MarkoRoni household was ‘suffering’ from a backlog of food. Saturday’s refried beans and chili remained in the fridge (this is after drunk munchies, then eating them as hangover food the next day). Sunday’s steak dinner was so immense (that’s what happens when you buy a family pack for two people…) we had a whole steak and a half left over. Joe decided to play frugal soccer mom and buy the romaine from the “wet bar,” as I call it, i.e. the legit vegetables that are cheaper but you have to wash yourself and come in humongor portions and you always run the risk of getting soaked by the unannounced ‘mists’ of torrential downpours. I prefer the pre-washed bagged spinach, then complaining to anyone who will listen when there are dead bugs in it. So yes, we’re drowning in romaine.

Anyway, back to the scene. As I make him coffee in my desperate attempts to keep him up past 8:30, Joe eyes me from the couch and says, “So I was thinking.  How about we don’t cook this week until we finish off the leftovers?”

It’s like the reluctant husband saying to his 43-year-old long-suffering wife, “I’m finally ready to have kids.” Like the paranoid mom saying, “Ok, sweetie, you can go to college across the country.” Like Ryan Seacrest telling me “YOU are the next American Idol!!!’

Because yes, in those few words he was telling me that we’re being more resourceful and less wasteful. That we will be saving money and time. And essentially, we’re having theeeeeme week! I do love a good theme. Even if it’s a little bacteria laden. (I just don’t trust Tupperware). Even more than Jessica loving my story for June, THAT is what got me out of my Monday blahs and blues. Because I'm obsessed with time and money savers. Because I love using things until they're done before opening something else (flip in your text books to the Wheat Thins incident of early April 2009). And because my very astute boyfriend clearly knows me well. No better gift than that.

I think the saddest part of this post, not my excitement over refried beans for breakfast and the norms I’m breaking because I sometimes forget I have control over my own life (“Fuck you, cereal, I do what I WANT!”), not the exhilaration over Joe finally coming around and seeing that leftovers do have their time and place, and it’s not 8 days from now, but the fact that I totally forgot who hosts American Idol, almost said Simon, then remembered it’s Ryan but totally blanked on his last name and had to google “Who hosts E! News???” to figure it out. I am a terrible comer-of-age-in-the-early-2000ser.

Judge me as you wish. Tonight I’ll be enjoying a steak salad so I win.

Life After Death- It's Killer!

I made a joke today about handicapped sex, which I thought was clever AND resourceful, and Joe’s deadpan reaction was that I’m going to hell. I know this. I started decorating my handbasket, readying it for my travel to hell, in third grade. Yet as a Jew, I don’t believe in hell persaaaay, but I do believe in one thing: Being a ghost!! I can’t WAIT to haunt the shit out of my girlfriends. I can just see it now, widowed Maddie in her flowered nightgown (jk- one of her 765 tie dyed Chi Omega shirts), lying in bed, clutching the sheets, white-knuckled in fear as I howl at her through the walls: “I knooooow what you did at the Bubbleeee,” “Don’t look into your mirrorssssss toniiiight,” “I’m iiiiin your cloooooseeeet.” Then I’d pop through the wall all “Haha, got you!” and we’d chuckle and binge on Cheez-its, only I wouldn’t gain any weight because I’m a ghost. Being dead is getting less terrifying every day!

Bristol Can Ambassador Me!

Now this may seem odd, but I think Bristol Palin being a spokesperson for abstinence is somewhat brilliant. Or at least the best we can do right now.

Growing up, she was told to wait. But she wanted to have sex. So do most teens with raging hormones, the desire to fit in and some time on their hands on a Thursday afternoon. I have a really, really hard time believing that teens don’t know what they’re getting themselves into when they have sex. Yes, they think they’re invincible and that it wont happen to them. But they also know sex makes babies. And herpes. And the list goes on. Someone who didn’t listen to what she was told and now has a baby has proved that no one is invincible.

I like the idea of getting advice from someone who’s clearly been around the block in life. She faced temptation, had a choice and made the one she now claims is wrong. Now just to clarify, despite my extremely pro-comprehensive sexual education stance, I am also very supportive of teen abstinence. It’s the only 100% way to avoid pregnancy. And I want a world with no unintended pregnancies. I mean for me growing up, sex was huge. This is partly because we're brainwashed to think this- thanks, WB/CW programming (I blame it all on Dawson’s Creek)- to view it as some milestone or benchmark in life. But having sex before they can handle the emotions that ride tandem can make girls feel really, really terrible, and makes the pressures of teen life even more pronounced. Now don't get me wrong, I wouldn’t have lived my life differently at all, but when I read reports these days, I just want to get a megaphone over the 13-year-old female population and bellow, “What’s the rush?!”

Back to the topic at hand. Hearing “just say no!” from a cheerful, purity ring-wearing, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (and most likely bushy-bushed, if we’re going there. Ohhp, we went there.) girl standing outside of a church means little to me. I feel a self-righteous burst of “Well, what does she know?!” rise up in me. In many cases, the most trusted advice comes from someone who has walked the walk; in this case, Bristol clearly hasn’t and she faced the consequences. Of course she adores her little sprout of future Monied Trashiness- that’s only natural, and shouldn’t be seen as a question of her commitment to the cause or a mixed message, I.E. “But she’s so happy with her son, it worked out for her, how can she now turn around and support abstinence?” She admits that it’s constantly hard work and that she’s lucky in life to have supportive parents and their supportive money for diapers, medicine, etc.

Rachel’s boyfriend teaches sixth grade in Brooklyn and recently found a note being passed between a male and female student. For sixth graders, and really anyone, it was explicit. The boy had asked her if she wanted him to get her pregnant, as if it were sexy or romantic. Her response was a coy “not yet.” But I doubt she meant that as, “Oh, when we’ve been married for a couple years, both have degrees, financial security and the emotional maturity to handle raising a child.” Just not when she’s in sixth grade. In the area where he teaches, teen pregnancy rates are above average. Perhaps for someone like her, the best spokesperson for abstinence isn’t a rich white girl from a well-connected family who easily landed on her feet. What about the real teen moms, who have to drop out of school or can barely afford diapers? Whose parents disown them, whose boyfriends want nothing to do with them once the ‘romance’ of it all dies down, whose friendships start fading fast? The teen moms who want so desperately to keep their baby while also remaining a normal teenager who goes out with friends and dates.

Yes, the ideal spokesperson for abstinence is a young woman who had sex and lost it all- her friends, her boyfriend, her youth, her opportunities- and regrets it. It has to be someone who didn’t practice what they now preach. But until she comes forward, Bristol Palin is fine by me.  

See, I've been having weird dreams forevz

I think the first time I realized I might be mentally disturbed was in sixth grade, when I did a naked gymnastics routine for my Rabbi. Let’s start from the beginning. Sixth grade was a real turning point for me on all levels: I realized the importance of brushing my hair, that it really was gross to pick my nose and wipe it on the wall next to my bed and that telling kids Santa doesn’t exist really wasn’t a fair comeback to any insult about my drawing capabilities in Mrs. Shachner’s art class. That’s also when I realized I can have lucid dreams, i.e. I realize I’m dreaming and do crazy shit knowing that it’s all fake, and testing peoples’ reactions. I never had that terrified “naked in homeroom” dream (because I’m a geek, I did often and still do have that OMG I forgot my math homework in homeroom dream, but I recover pretty quickly). In my dreams, if I’m naked in a public area, it’s because I took off my clothes and decided to shake it.
First time this happened was, as I said before, in sixth grade. In my dream I was at Golden Apple Gymnastics practicing my fly Level 5 routine. For those who aren’t keen on the gymnastics world, Level 5 is essentially where you start out, and most of the routines are just dancing and smiling- no triple back Draraoihgsresas or anything. But I was doing my tumbling pass (roundoff back handspring back handspring WOO victory jump!) totally naked, trying to get the attention of my Rabbi, who was just jamming on his guitar by the beam lineup. Here’s where I’ll take a moment to self-analyze:
a) I was thrilled about my developing body (umm, who are we kidding, I didn’t get boobs until high school) and felt the need to show it off in its most limber form
b) I felt misunderstood and neglected in Hebrew school, and needed the Rabbi to see my gymnastics talents to really ascertain what a darn good Jew I was
c) I was one crazy fucked up child with a Rabbi complex who had read the book “Where Did I Come From?” one too many times.
Eh, pick your poison.
Seriously though, I in no way had sexual feelings toward my Rabbi, or anyone besides the one and only Paul Mignogna, in sixth grade. Nor did I ever feel the need or desire to shake my Limited Too bod with passion. Just to clarify.
Anyway, after a few rounds of flipping and shaking in his vicinity, he finally stopped strumming “Oseh Shalom” and slowly turned towards me with a bored expression.
“Allison, this is inappropriate,” he said calmly before going right back to jamming for the Jews.
Years later I was finally able to look the Rabbi in the eye again, even eventually go to his house to babysit his children- in fact, I believe I watched the 2004 Olympic gymnastics competition on his tv. Funny how life comes full circle, eh?