Weird pseudo-date school fundraisers

I’m kind of a jerk about school fundraiser events and in fact it is an area you might call me un-civic-minded. The girl scout cookie thing, the wrapping paper, the cookie dough, the auctions… God I hate the idea of the auctions, I’m sorry.


What the hell people. Just pay your taxes! And go vote for higher school taxes if that’s what it takes, and if you’ve got a wad of money extra then give it to the district so they can spread it out fairly, or donate it to the Teachers’ Union to help the teachers get some decent pay. Instead of dicking around endlessly organizing your Box Tops and your toy drives. It drives me crazy… Go get a job. Instead by volunteering you are enabling a classist system that means schools that serve wealthy populations get decent funding, and schools where there aren’t a bunch of housewife-role-filling parents don’t. Plus, women pressured to systematically disempower themselves by doing unpaid political and fundraising work. That is bogus! I respect organizations like the PTA, and the women who do the difficult politics of them, and YET… again… how about making those jobs into REAL PAID JOBS. You’re doing work, ladies. Demand a paycheck for it. What are you teaching your sons and daughters in this meta message? That you… that mothers… that women’s work is invisible and unworthy of being considered “real” work.

Chew on that during your next Auction.

And now to the substance of my rant. Ever since I heard of Father-Daughter Dances, which was mercifully only a few years ago, I’ve loathed the idea. What a weird thing. And it ended up… or maybe started, I don’t know, in these grotesque and oversexualized Purity Balls. Gross! Why would you at all want to imply that it’s normal for dads to take their daughters on a formal date in a ball gown?

Why do I rant, you ask?

I am asked to participate in a Mother-Son Dodgeball Dance. Oh fine, I’m over-reacting to a cheesy 2 hour long fundraiser and I could pay up the 20 bucks and go to it and sit in the corner glowering in my wheelchair. But no… I won’t.

There are so many things to dislike about this whole deal. For one, the implication that I need some sort of special school event to make me bond with my son. For another the weird violent undertone of the whole thing. For another, my son isn’t a jock and I hate the way this is slanted to make “sportiness” and sports and dodgeball into a male thing, a boy thing, a thing that naturally as a female I wouldn’t normally do but have to be pressured to do.

Here is the flyer:

“Boys… Here’s your chance to ‘Get Mom’ at the thing you do best! Mom… Here’s your chance to show him how you get your head in the game! When you’ve worked that out, get out and shake it! $20 includes admission for 2 with disc jockey, momento photo, sweatband, drinks, and treats! Sneakers required! It’ll be a blast!”


You can see I hate it just from the jolly fakey sporty tone and the bad spelling.

But further how about that “Get Mom” idea? WTF? Sure… because all little elementary school boys like to play “violence towards women” so much that they need special lessons for it?

And how about that “sneakers required”… does that strike anyone else as an implication that Moms wear pointy toed shoes at all times even to “Dodgeball Dances”? Special reminder! Get wild n crazy and kick off those lawyerly pumps!

Though, the real truth is… if it was a World of Warcraft Mother-Son combat night then I would gladly accept the challenge.

I hated dodgeball!!!

My evil mastermind futuristic wheelchair golfcart thing

Okay, I totally want this,

so I can zoom around wearing a sort of Servalan dress, like this, in it:

Something more in black, with a ridiculous collar that looks like bat wings and that stands up about 2 feet over my head.

A futuristic space pistol would be nice too!

It’s interesting that it’s being pitched as a Segway-like device rather than as a powerchair. On the other hand, I’ve always thought about the Segway, “What the hell, 200 pounds of machinery and I can’t sit down?”

The people who call it ridiculous miss the point. They’ll get it, though, when I wheel up to them all silent and menacing and then push a button to dump them into my shark tank before my GIANT LASER comes out of the volcanic island and starts bleeping gently before it takes over the world!

It lacks lasers, and a little platform for my nanobot-enhanced telepathic cat.

There is no way I am getting in something called a “Jazzy” especially if it looks like a garage sale office chair fucked a toaster.

I cannot be contained in less than the powerchair of an evil mastermind!