Today is March 8th, International Women’s Day. Can’t you smell the estrogen in the air? I swear to god, I’m going to start my period any second.
International women, I say we stand side by side creating a woman chain across the globe wearing nothing but our sports bras, pajama bottoms and sensible shoes. Let us respectfully place our hands on the breasts of our sister to the left and our sister to the right, and walk with pride into an International House of Pancakes restaurant requesting International Women’s Day Equality Pancakes. Let us huddle with the waitresses and tell them, “Burn your aprons and join our cause—oh, and pack up some patty melts to go.”
And just as we’d be leaving, out from one of the booths would appear Helen Reddy singing her anthem, “I am woman hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore.” Everybody would cheer, clap and sing along except for me because, I never liked that song. But no one would get angry. Instead, I would be celebrated for being honest and then I would belt out my female empowerment ballad: “She’s a brick—house. The lady’s stacked and that’s a fact, ain’t holding nothing back.”
We would form a massive Soul Train line dancing out into the streets and we’d chant: “International Women’s Day is better than football.” Then some dudes standing up in the back of a ’67 Chevy truck would whine, “This day discriminates against men.” We would respond in unison, “Shut up, cry babies. This is a man’s world, let us have a day!” Then these dudes would bow their heads feeling remorseful and ask how they could make it up to us. We’d tell them. “Stop the violence against women and pull up your baggy pants, you big galoots.”
Then one of our lady links would shout, “Let’s march on Washington!” The crowd would roar with excitement. But I would quickly reply, “Forget Washington. Let’s go to Hawaii!” And then I’d wiggle my nose like Samantha from Bewitched and poof, we’d be in Hawaii at some beautiful compound with a central three-story hacienda. In the middle of our astonishment of being in paradise, our attention would move to the top balcony of the hacienda where we’d see a female figure with long black hair, dressed in a shiny black body suit. The mysterious woman would raise her hand and wave to us and then she’d shout down, “Welcome bitches!” We’d all gasp because of her usage of the “B” word on this sacred day. But then I’d take a closer look at her and declare to everyone,
“You guys, relax, it’s Cher.”
My fellow beautiful Amazons, extend the celebration of this powerful day and join me for a book release party honoring: Here Come The Brides! Reflections on Lesbian Love and Marriage. Sunday March 18, 2012, 4PM at Book Soup, 8818 Sunset Blvd. West Hollywood, CA 90069. I’ll be reading my story: “Don’t Hide Your Bride Pride”
Book Monica Palacios for your upcoming university and cultural events that focus on: LGBT, Chicana/Latina, Theater, Women, Gender, Performance, Race, Class, Sexuality, Vegetarian Food.