I Can Say I Am What I Am

I get this a lot.

Tata: Hi, my name is Tata.
Person Not Me: Tata? What is that short for?
Tata: Domenica. Why do you ask?
Person Not Me: Domenica, I'd like you to meet...
Tata: Tata.
Person Not Me: Your name's Domenica.
Tata: When people tell you you're not a good listener they're not joking.
Person Not Me: Well, if you're going to be that way about it -
Tata: Please kiss my fabulous patootie, won't you?

I've stopped telling people my real name. It's not up to them to decide who I am. It's up to me. This idea threatens the fragile and vulnerable.

Tata: You don't really hear anything I say.
John: Of course I do. We're friends. I care what you think.
Tata: You introduced me to your girlfriend as Domenica.
John: I did not.
Tata: Ask her. You didn't even notice resorting to the conventional. Watch it or you'll quit sculpting and have a thirty-year mortgage in no time.

Wake up and smell the baby wipes! The dominant culture wants you to go to sleep and Macy's; it wants me to go quietly into pink-sneakered middle age, where I can grow old and invisible in a timely fashion, hopefully before I retire and cost Social Security the money I pay into it. It's the polite thing ladies should do.

I love lipstick. I love everything about it. I love the sensation of moisture a good lipstick leaves on the lips. I love the powdery feel of matte lipsticks. I love them bright and sexy and sultry and outrageous. I love lipstick that smolders and insinuates. I love lipstick that says, "I know exactly what to do with my lips to make you crazy, no matter who you are." I love lipstick that whispers in the ear of the beholder. I carry five or six shades of dark reds and wine-colored lipsticks. Acolytes to feminism may be tsk-tsking, but that's the first-year student balking. Judy Grahn wrote an essay years ago about symbolic pigmentation and the appearance of sin and desire. I took my cue from her and wore only red nail polish for years. Since then, I've broadened my horizons and color palettes, but nothing says bite me! like red lipstick on a woman over 35.

I answer to the name by which I introduce myself. And don't fuck with me. I'm wearing lipstick.