I don't know about you, but I am getting sick of the media. Television in particular. But not just television. Commercials.

I recently saw two commercials in a row that deeply disturbed me. True, I was watching reruns of CSI on a channel that is geared towards older men, but still. Businesses and television stations alike need to learn when to draw the line.

Commercial One: It's advertising a summer sale at a local matress store. Rather than images of beds and lots of graphics and emphasis on prices and things like that, every time the commercial mentions the summer's "HOT" deal, the commercial flashes to a woman with huge breasts getting out of a pool, dripping wet, in a red one-piece. I was just happy she wasn't naked.

After I graduated from college and left my dorm room, I moved back in with my parents for a while. At the end of next week, I'll finally get to move into an apartment of my very own. Well, almost my very own: I'll be sharing it with a good friend. This good friend happens to be male, and ever since we have shared our plans to move in together with our friends and family, we have been subjected to a never-ending stream of jokes and assumptions regarding our gender roles.

My parents have expressed happiness at my having a 'man in the house': Apparently, thanks to my roommate, there'll be no need for me to carry water bottles up to our 7th floor apartment, fix things that break around the house, put up pictures, put together my furniture after I move in, talk to the landlord about anything, ever, or worry about my safety.

This post comes after day of hell being super Nanny to a family, a new one, who, while I do love these kids, think their parents are great and enjoy my job, I also just cant help but shake my head at how much these kids have, how little they know about the world outside of their very nice four walls. Sometimes I have to catch myself while doing this and question whether my feelings are fair or if this is how we should all have been as children, but because my life was such a contrast to theirs I just cant seem to work out my feelings on this.

I was raised very aware of what goes on the world, the good, the bad and the ugly. Some of it unfortunatly I learnt the hard way, being abused etc. But the rest was because my parents were very open with us about such things. My dad especially took us to protests, friends houses who were going through crisis and it was always explained to us what was going on, sometimes I must admit this was overwhelming and probably a bit inappropriate for the age I was at the time. But most of the time, I think it was okay, good in fact, as by the time I went to high school I was very aware of the issues in not only my community, but in many parts of the world. I guess though, that my Dad being so relaxed about me interacting with people, trusting people and trusting that I knew dangerous from safe situations a little more than I did at age 11 was really how I got hurt in the first place.

Today is the first day of my new course. I have decided to study to be a nurse; I have decided that New Zealand really is not the place for me. I have family here, friends here, but I miss the brand new life which I carefully sculpted, spent a year doing so, a brand new family full of people who I adore as though we all have the same blood running through our veins, a happy life in Canada. I miss my life there, so much that at times since I have been back in New Zealand, I feel as though maybe I left my voice at Vancouver airport and I don’t know how to get it back without returning.

Upon returning I also discovered something about myself which I don’t think I ever would have if I had not escaped my life here for that whole year, if I had not had that year of safety. And that is that I am capable of changing my own life no matter what or who is standing right in the middle of my path. I was a feminist before I left New Zealand, I have read the books, I had very strong feelings and thoughts and opinions on such things, but I feel that now that I have really used my own strength as a woman to stand up and say enough. Walk out on everything I had ever known because I am better than that, I really truly understand what Feminism means to me, what it is.

"At the time, it was better to be a man than to be a woman, because women were on the same level as animals" explains Pashe Keqi in a recent article in La Stampa about an old Albanian custom (original article on page 17 of La Stampa from June 29th, 2008). What Pashe means is the history of the "sworn virgins", woman who vowed to essentially become men. The tradition first started about 500 years ago, and today there are still 40 women living who went through their whole lives with all the rights and duties of a man.

In a country rife with conflicts and wars, families were often left without a male to fend for them. But since the women had no rights and thus could not take on the jobs needed to sustain a family, a man was needed as the head of family.

When I got out of the shower tonight I stood in front of the mirror for a good five to ten minutes just looking at myself. I was scared by what was staring back at me in the mirror.

Time to do anything but work, blog, eat and sleep these days is limited. I don't put on make up, I don't really do my hair, I never really stand in the mirror naked or half dressed. So I haven't noticed that being skinny has now become looking scary skinny. No one else has noticed either. I guess my t-shirts and baggy clothing is covering up the reality; that I have become Nicole Riche very scary skinny.

The first clue was that my bathing suit, a juniors small was kind of baggy when I put it on last weekend at a pool party. I of course covered up in gym shorts and a t-shirt so no one noticed, but I thought it was kind of odd. Clue number two was that I rubbed my back earlier today (I have my period, so I am having lots of back pain) and I didn't feel the normal layer of fat under the skin. Just my hip bone.

This morning I awoke to a Newspaper story that really made me want to cry with relief, as it is something that really is ahuge deal for New Zealand, and we are in desperate need of. The Law Commission of New Zealand have finally recognised that rape trials in this country are so extremly unfair and taxing on survivors that many women dont bother reporting, or following through with reports, I am one of them. The law commission has stated that how rape trials are carried out in this country are "brutalising and distressing victims, and the system must be overhauled".

I have been to counselling on and off for a while now, to more than one counsellor, all of whom have explained to me that if I was to go to trial, the process is often not worth it and moving on is the best step. So often the male sex offenders are found not guilty, especially in my case when it is a wealthy man, and the survivor comes out worse off than before. This has been a decision that has haunted me since the day I chose to make it, and to se it written on the front page that many of the senior lawyers in our country wouldnt advise women who have been raped to go to trial because of the harsh process they would have to endure and the outcome is likely to be against them, almost made me weep.

"Your feet may leave home, but your heart never will." That was the theme of this year's graduation at my high school-- the graduation I was supposed to be taking part in but wasn't allowed because one of my parents refused to allow me to graduate early.

But not being allowed to graduate doesn't stop me from going to the commencement ceremony and seeing all of my friends, some old and some new, enter a new phase in their lives, some of them leaving forever.

My friends Steph and Brandon, as well as my infamous ex TJ, are all leaving for the military extremely soon. TJ leaves in September, Steph with him, for the Air Force training base in Texas. Brandon gets shipped out in less than a month for Marine Corps basic training. He enlisted as active, so as soon as he's done, they're shipping him out to parts unknown, ready to be used as a pawn and most likely die for a tumultuous and hypocritical cause.

I saw the documentary Jesus Camp on A&E last night. This part really got to me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mefXbLXlRpw

Later in the film the children stand in front of the capital with the word "Life" taped over their mouths.

I'm not against children being in political rallies or being involved in political action. If my daughter asked me at young age what abortion was I would explain it to her. This kind of propaganda is dangerous. The way in which the woman says "don't be a promise breaker" is scary. Such a small sentence, but it could have a huge impact for the girls that are in that room and then young boys that are "warriors for Jesus".

A couple of weeks ago, a young woman was sexually assaulted and killed while walking home from a bar at four in the morning. This happened in Milan, only a few feet away from my old high school. She was chatted up by a man she'd seen collecting bottles at the bar she'd been to, and she assumed that he worked there and was thus 'safe'. He wasn't.

That was the second such attack within a short period of time, and sparked renewed discussion on women's safety. One of those discussions took place in the 'opinion' section of Milan's Metro newspaper, where a female reader shared her experience of sexual abuse and whose letter had been entitled "Men are Monsters" (and while I can't swear to this, I am fairly certain it's the paper who titles the letters, not the readers). This prompted several replies by enraged men who felt misjudged and misunderstood. One particularly appalling letter was from a man who felt that women use the word 'abuse' to easily and that, at least within marriage, it is a woman's duty to pleasure her man. Another writer complained that women are too ungrateful and do not know how good they have it. This exchange took place over the course of a week, and every time I read the letters, I had to remind myself that this is indeed the 21st century.

In the past few months since my house burned down I have lost weight. I am not sure how much since I don't own a scale, but I bought pants in size 4, 3 and 1 for work. My size 4 pants I can take off without unbuttoning, my size 3 pants keep falling down even with my belt on and I just noticed my size 1 pants are starting to be big around the waist as well. Actually, my belt isn't small enough anymore.

I'm not proud of my weight. I'm proud of the muscles I have now that I carry around heavy things at work and chasing around my toddler at home. But the skinny look, I just didn't work for it. If anything it's probably a sign that I am not healthy. I don't always eat three meals a day and I should probably be eating closer to 6 since I am still nursing my daughter. It doesn't help that the food where I work sucks and some days my dinner is an orange and a yogurt. At least some science leans towards calorie reduction as the way to live past a 100, so maybe I will live longer?

The latest incident in Florida, where a group of teenage girls attacked and beat a fellow class,ate and video taped it to put it on Myspace saddened me greatly. Girl's beating up other girl's. Just the thought of that really bothers me. Women physically overpowering another woman, and often, as I found out from a number of teenage girls (and boys) who work with me the fight is about a guy who both girls are interested in or something along those lines.

I never experienced girl's at my high school actually physically fighting with each other, although sadly we had a whole lot of verbal bashing and rumors going on, which really is no better.

I am fat. When I say this, I'm describing one particular aspect of myself. I am not criticizing or judging, nor am I inviting other people to do so or asking for assurances that I'm pretty. In my mind fat is a descriptor like any other. It is not a judgment.

I have a very active life. I skied almost every other day this winter, and had an eight hour ski patrol shift every Saturday. I walk everywhere it is practical to do so and some places it is not. My kayaking season started today and will last until it is too cold to do anything but look forward to skiing. My fat body can do all of these things as part of my routine.

While shopping for some stuff for my boyfriend, we decided that Rosalynn needs summer clothing. She really doesn't have very many t-shirts and not a single pair of shorts. So while gawking at stroller prices we found that we had walked all the way into the toddler boys section. Nik found shirts he liked right away, including one that had a picture of microphones and guitar headstocks. Then we found some shorts, not too much different from the shorts I just bought for myself and picked up three pairs of them. We moved into the toddler girls section hoping to find more of the same, maybe in some different colors. Instead we found shorts that would barely cover her diaper, shirts that had a low neck line and bikini bathing suits. Did I mention my daughter is only 16 MONTHS old?