In My Heart of Arts

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61574_430831122470_2287989_nMy mind tends to wander quite a bit when I have my morning tea. If it wanders far enough, it also makes me lose track of time and I end up being late for work. This morning was one of those long and wide mind-wanderings.

Back when I lived with roommates and had no living beings depending on me for survival, we used to have art nights. I just realized I didn’t write much about these affairs in my past blogs, but damn, these were some fucking awesome nights.

We came up with the idea when my roommates and I took a road trip up north and visited the Dada museum in Ein Hod. There was a section of it dedicated solely to what they called “Garbage Art”. Basically, art made with recycled things and discarded objects left in the trash. Random shit that anybody can make. Like a discarded toilet bowl with a boot stuck on the rim.

So we were like, “Hey, we can make that too!”

And so, every once in a while, we invited over some friends, laid out all our art supplies and made whatever we felt like. If it was drawing, painting, writing, poetry, playing guitar, jewelry making, zine making, fimo molding, knitting, crocheting, absolutely anything goes.

Sometimes, we also tried to set art nights with a theme. We had an art night on Purim once, where we painted masks and noisemakers, some people showed up with costumes, we served Hamantashen and a bunch of sweets. It was so rad! We also had an art night on Lag Baomer and made Smores on our stove top. An art night on Tu Bishvat (the tree-hugging holiday) with a special lecture by one of my friends about all-natural body products. Of course, an art night involving a small zine workshop led by me for anybody who was interested in zine production.

I loved how most of the art nights that we had were attended only by women. Sure, we had some men coming every now and then. I even invited my husband (who was still my boyfriend back then) once, who refused at first because he felt he had no artistic talent.

“You play guitar,” I replied. “That’s an art. Come and play guitar for us!” So he did.

But most of the time, we were all women. There is something special in being in the company of a bunch of women, making art, talking about art, living breathing art, even if just for a few hours. There is no tension, no competition, no animosity, no need to justify or prove oneself for one reason or another. As we saw it, we were all equal, and we were all friends.

These were the thoughts that were going through my mind as herbal tea was rushing through my system in the morning. I started longing for these art nights which do not happen anymore because the roommate clan has disbanded. We each went our separate ways, mostly to the married life and subsequent motherhood. Of course, I regret nothing. I love being a wife and mother. But I certainly wish that “artist” was still included in the list of things that define me.

Peace, love and maybe I could have an art night with my kid and her friends when she grows up.

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Bleeder of the Pack

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Happy International Women’s Day! Here’s to being a proud female, a fierce feminist, and a crafty creator! To all my fellow sisters of the revolution, you’re fucking beautiful!|

Treat yourself or the lovely women in your life to an IWD gift from the PMS Mess Etsy Shop. Use the coupon code IWD2016 and get 20% off any purchase!

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PMS Mess is my new Etsy Shop. There, you will find all the items that I produce by hand, sell with freebies, and ship with love!

Messy and magical items in the shop include:

Purple Myrtle Squeegy – my PMS Perzine

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Fallopian Falafel – my compilation zine

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Alternative Jerusalem – a series of awesome postcards I designed

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Kickass care packages

PMS collection Care Package FF

All items come with freebies such as feminist zines or minizines or stickers or patches or my band’s CD!

Peace, love and feminist forever!

Slutwalk Jerusalem 2013

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So I went to Slutwalk in Jerusalem this past Friday. It was hot and sunny and awesome, and I totally forgot to bring a water bottle. That was bad because after shouting a bunch of slogans and walking around for an hour in the sweltering scorching sun, your throat turns into the Sinai desert.

But the rest was cool. There were great people, lots of male support, which was incredible, and there was even this one woman wearing modest clothes, which was even more amazing because of the diversity displayed.

The only thing that kind of bothered me (and that’s the same thing that bothers me in any feminist initiative in Israel) is how left-wing the crowd was. I understand that feminism is a left-wing movement, but in Israel, it always comes loaded with pro-Palestinian, sometimes even anti-Zionist overtones and rhetoric. I tried my best to avoid that and focused on the purely feminist aspects.

I wore my t-shirt with the slogan “Think Outside the Cocks” surrounded by a square of dicks. And my friend Deb wore one that says “I ❤ female orgasm”. Both of us got some really nice compliments about these and some people took pictures of our t-shirts.

Here are the pics:

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Note the tall guy with the heels!

Note the tall guy with the heels!

Drums

Drums

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A photo by Guy Butavia. In this one you can see the religious lady with the headscarf and modest attire.

A photo by Guy Butavia. In this one you can see the religious lady with the headscarf and modest attire.

Me and Deb and the shirts

Me and Deb and the shirts

Peace, love and consent

Humor Me

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The other day, one of my (now former) Facebook friends posted a picture of a woman wearing something that exposed much of her body, squatting on the sidewalk, with the tagline, “Kicking a bitch is sometimes necessary for social order.”

At first, I tried to check if this person, being a guy for one reason, and being a dimwit for another, posted this picture and made this comment as a lameass joke. So I came across the comments, which were even more offensive, some of them reading “with her tits hanging out, that bitch had it coming.”

This isn’t the first time my newsfeed was contaminated by this guy’s sexist posts, so I finally defriended him.

I don’t exactly go around looking for public nudity, but being a sexually liberated feminist, I sure don’t have anything against it. But that’s besides the point. Even if the picture wasn’t there, I would still find this post utterly offensive. A woman wearing something provocative is a good enough reason for kicking her? Violence against women is necessary for society’s welfare? Are you serious or are you simply so intimidated by women’s sexuality that you need to wave your dick around and make such offensive statements to demean us? And if you are serious (then you must be more stupid than I thought) please explain how violence against women can benefit society?

This guy uses the word bitch as a synonym for woman on all his posts, so in this case, all women are bitches and all women deserve to be kicked. That includes me, all my girlfriends, all my female family members, 52% of the world’s population, and this guy’s mother.

Right.

And despite all the violence, abuse and humiliation that women suffer on a regular basis, and all the men who deliver these blows, women are still the ones who deserve to be kicked.

Even if it was this guy’s idea of a joke, it’s gotta be the worst joke on the planet. You do not joke about rape, you do not joke about abuse, and you do not joke about violence against women.

So forewarning to all my current Facebook friends, if you’re gonna post anything that condones and encourages violence against women, especially while using women’s choice of clothing as a reasonable excuse for this violence, kindly fuck off from my list of friends. You are stupid and pathetic and in desperate need of feminism in your life. You say a feminist has no sense of humor? Is it any wonder that when sexist jokes are all I have to laugh at, I kind of lose faith in your so-called sense of humor?

Fuck you. I’ll be at Slutwalk if you need me.

Peace, love and kicking sexist assholes is always necessary for social order.

Not Funny

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Yesterday, a couple of women came over to see the offices we have for rent. One of them was rather on the curvy side and when my boss introduced me, all she could think of saying was “You’re so skinny, it’s so unfair!”

When I responded that it’s not exactly my fault with an offended tone, my boss says “Don’t worry, she was just joking.”

My boss then proceeded to walking them around the office. As they were walking away, I hear the plump lady saying “OK, so the reception is where Hadass the Skinny works.”

When they came back to the reception area, the same woman turns to me again and says “Tell me, do you ever eat anything?”

I got offended yet again, so I went on the defensive and reiterated the fact that I’m not responsible for the way I look. “It’s genetics,” I said. “My mom is like that too.”

Then, the woman responded with an even more offensive statement: “Such chutzpa!” Chutzpa in Hebrew generally means arrogance or disrespect. “Such chutzpa that you have good genes and I have shitty genes!”

This time, I knew that if I responded with how I actually felt, which was not only offence but humiliation, my boss would again dismiss me by saying she was only joking.

Yeah, a joke, sure. My sides are splitting.

So I boiled within, and was almost on the verge of tears.

I wonder how it is that some people can say such horrible things, such insulting and hurtful things, and then make them sound ok by adding “I’m just joking.”

Some members of my family have picked up the habit of telling the younger family members that they’re ugly, when they actually mean that they’re the cutest thing on the face of the earth.

My older cousins keep talking this way to the four or five-year-olds in my family:

“What an ugly face!” They say, and then throw a fit of laughter. The little ones take it lightly as well, and laugh along with everyone else.

So maybe I’m kinda touchy on that subject, but what I do know is that if I ever have a child one day, I would never let a comment like that pass. Nobody will call my child “ugly” and get away with it. Especially if my child is a girl, because growing up, she will no doubt have enough body issues drilled into her mind without having to deal with family members calling her ugly, even as a joke. In fact, being bombarded with so much beauty propaganda from society and the media, my future daughter will actually benefit from a kind word from her family.

“You’re so beautiful!” Doesn’t that sound so much better?

When I was little, my family used to make fun of me because I had a lisp. They thought it was cute and imitated me whenever I said something with a lisp. I was obviously offended by that and as a result spent hours in my room practicing talking without a lisp.

I lost my baby fat and my skinny genes kicked in at a very early age, so my family also used offensive language when they commented on my weight.

I never got over it, as proven by my reaction to the curvy woman’s comment. And I never will get over it. Joking about my appearance and saying I’m arrogant and disrespectful because I happen to be born this way is totally inappropriate.

And no, I’m not joking about that.

Peace, love and beautiful words go a long way.

I <3 Bloody Fashion

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Bust Magazine is amazing. I signed up to their mailing list a few years ago and I am still not tired of it. Every once in a while, they send an email with excerpts from their latest issue, or an ad for another Craftacular art fair to take place in the States. Back when I was writing Fallopian Falafel, they provided me with great story ideas or topics of debate for readers.

Today, I received an email featuring gift ideas for V-Day.

Living in Israel I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day. But V-Day is also the day to end violence against women. So that, I do celebrate. So I checked out the gift ideas, not really expecting to find anything that will tickle my fancy.

But I did!

One of the featured items was period panties from the online shop Broken Cherry. Now, so far, I’ve only been using cloth pads but always wanted to try out period panties. And the panties I found are not only special because they’re made especially for bloody days, but they are designed with cool motifs and lines.

I browsed through them and saw three that I liked and couldn’t decide which one to get, so I bought myself all three! They’re $7 a pop, and shipping to Israel was a fortune, but it’s so worth it!

Here is what ended up in my cart!

Bleeder of the Pack

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Dawn of the Red

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Best ever: Cunt Dracula

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Peace, love and Red, Blood, Fire, Burn!

Estrolicious

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I’ve made an amazing discovery! Food looks much more appealing and tastes a hell of a lot better when I’m PMS’ing.

I thought this only happens when you’re high, but the feeling seems stronger when your hormones are raging.

When I’m under the influence, I eat like a pig, but at some point, I actually feel full and can stop myself. But during PMS, I can eat forever.

Also, on a regular day, there are things I wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole. But on PMS, suddenly I’m craving it like mad.

For those who know me, you know I’m not a big fan of food in general. I don’t like to eat due to the end result on the toilet. But I become an appetite-driven hormonal beast when my menstrual tide turns. I can wake up in the early morning and crave a 400 gs. chicken sandwich with tomato, lettuce, fried onion, and sweet chili sauce from Burgers Bar, and I want it yesterday.

Or sometimes, I can walk by the downtown restaurants and want everything they have on their menu, and then I pass by a depanneur and feel like raiding their chips and chocolate aisles, as well as their ice-cream containers.

And Goddess forbid if I see someone eating something. I moan out loud and head for the nearest falafel joint and stuff my face.

Last evening, my boyfriend’s family ordered in for a change. Chicken pieces, falafel, French fries, salads, humus and pitas galore swamped the dining room table. Inner child, running on a fresh overload of estrogen, was ecstatic. I hoovered a bit more than I usually do, but not before eating the leftover caramel and chocolate bar in the fridge.

Today, things are starting to die down, but I still feel like a little hormone rat. I WANT COOKIES!

Peace, love and pea soup