But.

Simply dismissing religion as a tool of s.e.xist oppression overlooks another fundamental reality: The majority of us gals really get something out of it. At the Grammy Awards, our girl Lauryn Hill wasn't thanking G.o.d for nothing. Religion is serious business for many of us, "our lifesaver and our light," as a friend of mine says. And for centuries, it's been the Eves, not the Adams, who've made up the majority of lay people in houses of worship. Faith has helped women find strength, solace, comfort, and community in an often-brutal world.

Tellingly, when the Center for Gender Equality conducted a poll in 1998, it found that seventy-five percent of women now ranked religion as "very important" in our lives, up from sixty-nine percent just three years prior. Another eighteen percent said religion was "somewhat important."

So we twenty-first-century foxes are wise to recognize that, when it comes to religion, one woman's snooze is another woman's shackles. And another woman's shackles is another's salvation. No need to start a holy war over it.

That being said, however, I think it's shrewd to recognize that traditional religion is also a source of political and rhetorical power. It's about legitimizing influence. And in this way, it's something we're smart to take seriously and seize for ourselves.

For there hasn't been a war waged, a kingdom built, or a republic declared without its leaders claiming that it's "G.o.d's will." And the world is full of demagogues who have gotten away with advancing stupid or dangerous ideas because they've wrapped themselves in the cloak of religion.

For example: the Fetus Fanatics blowing up abortion clinics and killing doctors in the name of Christianity. Or that lunatic Reverend Fred Phelps, carrying Burn f.a.gs signs and quoting the Bible at the funerals of people who have died of AIDS. Or the so-called Christian Coalition, using the patina of religion to justify a flat tax. (Excuse me, but just where in the scripture does it say, "And then G.o.d created a flat tax"? Nowhere-unless maybe P. J. O'Rourke is your pastor.) Or even the 2000 presidential race, in which a number of candidates who slashed social programs for poor kids nonetheless bragged about having Jesus on their speed dial.

Then there's my ultimate, personal favorite, Randall Terry, who started Operation Rescue back in the 1980s. Guess what Randall Terry was before he started mobilizing legions of Fetus Fanatics to go block abortion clinics? A used-car salesman. Now, most people don't even trust a used-car salesman to sell them a Buick, let alone a religious doctrine. But once Randall Terry picked up the Bible and started calling women "baby killers"-voila! He was suddenly taken seriously-instantly transformed from a Pinto-pusher in a parking lot into a reverend in a parking lot outside a clinic.

Talk about being "born again." Frankly, it's enough to make you lose your religion.

But there's a lesson to be learned in this, Girls: Wrap ourselves in piety and we'll never need another makeover.

Now, in the past three decades, many feminists who've had it with the s.e.xism and abuses of Western religion have decided to take their toys and go play in their own spiritual sandbox. They've embraced Wicca, paganism, naturalism, and New Age spirituality. They've encouraged us to celebrate our cycles, worship our inner warrior, run with our wolves, and build our own temples.

Creating a spiritual life on our own terms certainly has its appeal. I mean, if I, personally, could invent my own religion, it might include, say, taking "communion" with M&M's and Yoo-hoo, and teaching men that c.u.n.n.i.l.i.n.g.u.s is a form of prayer. (Heck, if they're going to be down on their knees anyway, they might as well do something useful.) In addition to the Ten Commandments, I'd have the Ten Strongly Worded Suggestions, including: 1. Thou shalt not whine.

2. Thou shalt not complain that you are oppressed if, in fact, you're part of the most privileged group of people in the history of the world.

3. Thou shalt maintain a body weight at least equal to your IQ.

4. Thou shalt not cheat at Scrabble.

And so forth.

The only problem with this do-it-yourself approach, however, is that it cedes all the power of traditional religion to the conservatives.

Right now, some truly scary right-wing nuts are acting like they've cornered the market on religious truth and morality. And to a large degree they have, if only because the rest of us have been hesitant to touch Western theology and wield it in our own arguments.

The whole Monica Lewinsky scandal a few years back was a good example of this. The right wing insisted President Clinton was the anti-Christ because he broke the commandment "Thou shalt not commit adultery." And it's true that Clinton was a cheating, lying horn-dog. No defending him there. But at the same time, the right wing was using dubious tactics to sling mud, circulate rumors, and prolong a biased investigation. Yet n.o.body ever said, "What about that other commandment, 'Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor'? That's on G.o.d's Top Ten list, too."

Maybe if someone had pointed out that religious rhetoric could cut both ways, politicians would think twice about exploiting it to score political points.

So I say: It's time to fight fire and brimstone with fire and brimstone.

The Bible is layered with meaning. (Ironically, guys like Jerry Falwell insist on interpreting the Good Book very literally. But put them in front of Teletubbies, and suddenly they become masters of subtext, cultural a.n.a.lysis, and innuendo. Go figure.) The Bible contains the most powerful and enduring stories of our culture. Plus, maybe I'm being naive, but it ultimately seems to promote justice, forgiveness, love, and redemption far more than finger pointing. So why should we progressive prima donnas ignore or relinquish it?

If a used-car salesman can exploit religion to promote his own misogyny-or if an ex-Rolling Stone reporter can use the Ten Commandments to promote yahoo free-market economics-certainly we gals can use them to promote human rights and our own politics. Female-centered religions may be good for the soul, but, let's face it: Beginning an argument with "According to Wiccan tradition . . ." ain't gonna score us any points on Meet the Press.

Next time some anti-choicers tell us, "The Bible says, 'Thou shalt not kill,' " maybe we should counter that the very same set of commandments also says, "Honor thy father and mother." Which means that a mother should be accorded special status and respect. She should not be viewed interchangeably with her fetus-or sacrificed for it, thank you.

If some professional h.o.m.ophobe starts quoting, say, 18 Leviticus, 1 Romans, or 6 Corinthians-the pa.s.sages generally seen as prohibiting h.o.m.os.e.xuality-we might respond that we'd like to quote them all the sections in the Bible that talk about being merciful and loving-except that there are simply too many to memorize.

In fact, since Saint Paul tends to be a favorite of gay-baiting evangelicals, maybe we should ask them if they endorse slavery, like Saint Paul does in his Epistle to Philemon. We might ask free-market Bible thumpers if they have bank accounts or investments; Paul and Jesus came out pretty strongly against charging or accruing interest on money. For that matter, if we hear rabbis quoting the Torah to justify discrimination against gays and women, maybe we should ask 'em if they also believe in the Torah's stoning of adulteresses and in animal sacrifices.

But wait-it gets better! When hate-mongers claim that AIDS is a judgment from G.o.d, perhaps we should point out that Jesus spent a lot of time hanging out with lepers and prost.i.tutes-the Biblical equivalent of an at-risk population. Were Jesus alive today, it's likely that many of his followers would be HIV-positive. In fact, Jesus himself sounds like just the kind of guy who'd decide to lead an AIDS walk-right over the Sea of Galilee!

Or, we might agree that maybe AIDS could be a judgment from G.o.d-but it's every bit as likely that AIDS is G.o.d's way of judging whether humans have learned to be more compa.s.sionate in the past two thousand years-whether, with all our piety, science, and resources, we've finally learned to "turn the other cheek" and practice true "Christian" compa.s.sion by caring for the sickest and most ostracized in our society.

(Of course, if this is the case, then it's the folks with the Kill f.a.gs signs who may have a little explaining to do.) Granted, our ideas will certainly enrage some people. But isn't that the point? I mean, part of the beauty of religion is that it has the power to inspire folks or get them hopping mad in no time. The point is to inspire or get them hopping mad in new ways, for new reasons, on our SmartMouth G.o.ddess terms.

And if people accuse us of blasphemy-if they can't handle us being our own women and thinking for ourselves theologically-well, then, I say we just tell 'em that we're taking after our groovy foremother, Eve. And do we have an apple for them.

Chapter 22.

How to Handle Lunatics,

Perverts, and Right-Wing

Republicans

Give a man a free hand, and he'll try

to put it all over you.

-MAE WEST A few months ago, I walked into a shoe store to try on a pair of fabulous, decadent high heels. They looked gorgeous, but my feet would've felt less pain if I'd dropped a television set on them.

"What's wrong?" said the salesman, as I hobbled and winced. "You don't like 'em? They look great on you."

"But they feel terrible," I gasped, pulling them off.

"What are you talking about?" he said. "They're comfortable shoes."

"Not on me," I said.

"Look, I'm telling you, they're comfortable!"

"How would you know?" I asked. "You've never worn them."

"That's it," he said. "Outta my store, you stupid b.i.t.c.h. I know a comfortable shoe when I see it."

Aah, nothing like being a chick. The respect we get is overwhelming. Every day is a brand-new ride on the Misogyny Train.

Construction workers think comments like, "Ooh, Mommy. Nice t.i.tties," might actually make us want to go out with them.

Mechanics, male doctors, and salesmen talk to us as if we have Down's syndrome.

Politicians-most of whom will never know what it's like to bleed through their maxi pad while sitting on a white futon-or to beg for an epidural-believe they know best about what we should be allowed to do with our reproductive organs.

And then, of course, there is the unending a.s.sortment of a.s.s pinchers, skirt chasers, obscene phone callers, heavy breathers, wolf whistlers, t.i.t grabbers, droolers, gropers, stalkers, flashers, h.o.m.ophobes, voyeurs, players, and aspiring date rapists.

How can hip chicks defend ourselves against this daily onslaught of insult, discrimination, and hara.s.sment?

Whining ain't an option. Nor is cowering. Though we've gotta choose our battles, taking a stand is far better than taking it lying down.

Of course, thanks to all the unsung heroines before us, if someone treats us badly just because we have b.o.o.bs, we can now seek retribution through one of America's favorite pastimes: suing. But court cases are all-consuming. Plus, they're not always a realistic option. I mean, what are we going to do about the dumb-a.s.s who hangs around the parking lot of the Food Lion, shouting, "Hey, Girls! Wanna check out my hard drive?" Subpoena him? I mean, really.

For that matter, can we really sue the American Standard, Rush Limbaugh, the Heritage Foundation, Focus on the Family, and the Christian Coalition for s.e.xual hara.s.sment solely on the basis of the policies they endorse? (Well, now, actually, there's an idea.) Besides, there's something bloodless about signing an affidavit. If a guy hogs the armrest on an airplane and "accidentally" lets his fingers brush over our thigh, it's just more satisfying to hit him in the ribs with an umbrella than with a court order. (Just like battered women feel safer clobbering their abuser with a baseball bat instead of a restraining order.) So, frankly, when it comes to dealing with lunatics, perverts, and right-wing Republicans, I'd like to see us divas get a little more creative, irreverent, and radical. Guys dis women because they think they can get away with it. They don't really expect us to fight back. So why not give them a taste of their own rotten medicine? Why not turn the tables on Men Who Behave Badly by taking the things we know freak them out and using them to, well, freak them out? Why not hara.s.s our hara.s.sers, dis our dissers, and wield a little pootie power over the politicians?

Certainly, we've got the element of surprise working in our favor.

Sure, it's unorthodox. And, yes, it may be a bit risky. Certainly, if an attack on us is physical, it's a whole other ball game. But if a guy is simply a nuisance, not a psychopath-a pest but not a stalker-offensive but not threatening-then maybe we can use some of our humor, guts, and imagination to pioneer a whole new SmartMouth G.o.ddess approach to social and political self-defense. We could give the morons a run for their mommies.

1. Hara.s.sing our hara.s.sers. There can be enormous power and satisfaction to be gained by making hara.s.sers start to wonder just who the h.e.l.l they're dealing with.

Several years ago, I met a great guy on an airplane. We hit it off right away and talked for the entire eight-hour flight. We shared a cab from the airport and exchanged phone numbers. Two days later, he called me for a date.

At 5:30 in the morning.

"Are you up yet, Susie?" he shouted into my answering machine. "Are you awake? Why aren't you talking to me, Susie?"

Needless to say, this totally creeped me out. Of course, I refused to call him back. Don't encourage him, I told myself.

But two days later, he called again-this time at 5:15. And at 5:40. And again at 6:07. "Susie, why aren't you listening to me? Susie, I need you to be there, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!" he shouted.

After I unplugged my phone in a panic and arranged to get an unlisted number, I lived in a state of anxiety for a week: After all, the guy knew where I lived.

But eventually my fear grew into fury. Why should I be the one losing sleep? I thought. Why should I be staying at a friend's house and peering over my shoulder whenever I picked up my mail?

And so I called him back and confronted him.

At 4:30 in the morning.

"Are you up yet?" I screamed. "How dare you call me at five A.M? Don't you have any G.o.dd.a.m.n manners? No one is to treat me that way, do you understand? What the h.e.l.l is your problem?"

Oh, I went on the warpath. For twenty minutes I ranted and raved. I was the Medea of MCI; I made Joan Crawford look like Mommie Teresa. I was vicious; I was hysterical. I was a lunatic.

And lemme tell you, Girls, I was the bomb. Because I scared the living s.h.i.t out of him.

"Please calm down," he begged. "Please don't freak out."

Poor guy. Whatever psychodrama he'd been dreaming up, it certainly hadn't occurred to him that I might want to audition for the psycho role.

Of course, I never heard from him again-despite the fact that Bell Atlantic sure took its sweet time changing my number.

For all their bravado, almost nothing terrifies guys more than being yelled at by a hysterical woman. They'll do almost anything to avoid having us go ballistic. As soon as they even see us starting to steam, they back off like maniacs: "Okay, just calm down. Calm down, Lady. Don't get all bent out of shape here."

In their minds, really, we're all just a few steps away from turning into that bunny-cooker in Fatal Attraction.

So there's something to be said for exploiting this, for fighting crazies with craziness, lunatics with lunacy.

Sure, we gotta be real careful. Some situations are riskier than this one. And if there's already legal action involved, we probably don't want to go on the record screaming like a banshee on some moron's voice mail or getting in his face in front of an eyewitness.

But we got options, Goils, and they're not just victim or plaintiff. We can be as whack as the best of them. As Hunter S. Thompson said, "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."

2. Don't say "no." Say "commitment." G.o.ddess only knows why, but after seven thousand years of "known" civilization, guys still seem to have trouble understanding the word "no." The word doesn't seem to have been downloaded into their thesauruses correctly. Say the word "no" to a guy, and half the time he thinks we're saying "maybe." Or, "try harder." Or, "not at this very moment, but check again in five minutes."

Luckily, there is one word that's like Guy Kryptonite. One word that makes even the pushiest, most persistent player cool down faster than a can of microwaved Beef-a-Roni.

That word is "commitment."

If some bozo keeps. .h.i.tting on us-even after we've told him we're not interested-maybe we should say, "Okay. You wanna hook up with me? How about going shopping for china patterns next weekend and meeting my parents?" We should tell him that nothing turns us on more than a monogamous relationship in which we talk about our feelings with a guy-and he talks to us about his. We should mention the words "expectation" and "emotional needs" a lot. Or tell him how we like to page our man six or seven times each day just to ask, "Honey, what are you thinking?"

For extra protection, maybe we should carry a copy of Modern Bride magazine with us at all times. Consider it the anti-condom. If things with a date start getting out of hand, we can grab the magazine and wave it in front of him shouting, "Marriage! Commitment! Intimacy!"

The guy should be up and running so quickly, the door won't have time to hit him on the a.s.s.

3. Sarcasm is a girl's best friend. Need to cool off a co-worker who's hot under the collar? An ounce of withering sarcasm could save us a bundle in legal bills and headaches: "Oh, my G.o.d, Jake, I had no idea you were trying out for the s.e.xual-hara.s.sment Olympics! How ambitious of you! Tell me: Are you trying for a real live lawsuit, or do you just want to create a really uncomfortable work situation that will make both of us miserable and might get you fired?"

4. Every "Cupcake" deserves a "Snook.u.ms." If someone calls us "Honey," "Babe," or "Sweetheart," why not respond in kind? Say, "Yes, p.o.o.psie," "Sure thing, my little Chou Fleur" (French for "cauliflower," if they care), "Anything you say, my little fuzzy-wuzzy wumpkin."

If they get annoyed, we can explain that since they called us "Honey," we just a.s.sumed that using unprofessional, cutesy, belittling nicknames was their policy-and, hey, we are nothing if not team players, okay?

5. Calling the catcallers on it. When you're a girl growing up in this day and age, you learn pretty quickly that the only people besides your relatives who feel compelled to make unsolicited comments about your body are construction workers. And guys hanging out on the stoop. And truck drivers stuck at red lights. And men on subway platforms. And guys in pinstripe suits eating lunch around the fountains in midtown. And cops dunking donuts. And homeless men. And teenage boys waiting on line at the movie theater. And, oh, yeah, just about everybody else with a p.e.n.i.s.

You learn pretty quickly that to be a female between twelve and fifty means the male world generally regards you as a deaf beauty contestant-in a pageant in which every single one of them, of course, is wholly qualified to be a judge.