-licious

So, I've been bust planning the wedding and doing all the other nonsense that goes into getting married. It's making me realize a lot of things about myself.

I've acquired a label more shocking to those who know me than wife: I'm a feminist. And it's not in any mild way.

When Stewberto and I went to get our marriage license, we had to make a snap judgment about our last name. We had decided we were just going to append both names to both of us and go by Mylast HisLast. That way, if we ever had a family, both family names would be passed on. Upon entering the clerks office and filling out a series of paperwork (and never being asked for ID), the clerk informed us we could not just go by Mylast Hislast. It was either Mylast or Hislast or the hyphen.

I am opposed to the hyphen. I have always been opposed. But I also don't believe in just giving up my name. I've been me for this long, and my name is part of my identity. I offered just changing it to muffin as a solution. It was not well received. And I was on the edge of a meltdown when Stewberto said, "But if I change my last name, I'll have to fill out new paperwork for everything."

"What does this face say to you?" This is my stock tongue-lashing opener. "It says, 'Cry me a fucking river, Stewart.'"

The clerk stepped in and told us we could make our decision and call her in the morning, because it wasn't going to be typed up until the morning anyway. In the end, it was a financial concern. It costs $180 to add a middle name to your records in the state of Mass. So, now we are hyphenated. And we can sit together at the RMV, wait in line together at the social security office and apply for new passports together, Isn't that what marriage is all about?

But my stubborn refusal to give him the administrative easy way out isn't where the feminism comes in today. I worked double shift today. And the guys were watching the US troops, "We love America," kind of famous people studded Concert/circle-jerk. And Kathy Griffin (who, feminist or not, is one of my heroes for unabashedly embracing her loud, obnoxious, tactless self and forcing people to laugh at themselves) made some comment about how this group must be really talented because they were discovered by the Pussycat Dolls: GIRLISCIOUS! And she clapped and cheered in a way reminiscent of Kermit introducing the acts on the Muppet Show.

And out pranced Girliscious in their spangled tank tops and four inch stiletto boots. Oh, wait! Those aren't tank tops. They're dresses. And the majority of the dance move involve bending over? And wiggling. I understand this is a floor show for the troops, but I know enough about the pussycat dolls and their progeny to know that this is actually a mild costume, song and dance.

It isn't the sexual suggestive lyrics. It isn't bedroom hair or makeup. It isn't even the spangly tank top/dresses that all ti in the back. It's not that these girls can't sing, or that it isn't an impressive feat to do high impact aerobics and still be able to speak, let alone sing.

It is that these women, who do have talent, need to tease glimpses of their cooch to get a record deal.

And even more so, it's the hypersexualization of every aspect of the media.

Ultimately, the thing that I am opposed to is that there is no filter in between the writhing and moaning that is on the tv for the troops and Marissa, my seven year-old cousin. Because Girliscious isn't just a singing group. It's a burlesque troop. It's a brand. It was a competition. It was a reality show. Girliscious "oozes a sex appeal so innocent, it hurts." They are more than delicious...they're GIRLISCIOUS!

Aside from making me want to slap the website's copywriter for incongruent adjective and olfactory senses, it disgusts me by taking the Madonna/Whore issue to a whole new level. I can tell you there is nothing innocent about spangly aprons with hooker boots and that an allusion to blue balls should not be a selling point.

But I can't tell my cousin, who better not know what blue balls are yet, either of those things. I can't keep her from singing along with her peers when "I kissed a girl (And I liked It)" comes on the radio in her school bus.

I can only hope she doesn't get any of it. My righteous indignation doesn't do her any good.