Heather Havrilesky: Our Crush Is Officially Over!

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In Salon this week, my FORMER crush, Heather Havrilesky, pushes me too far in the ‘who’s more screwed and, therefore, more powerful’ debate.

It’s on, bee-yotch!

What’s her pitiful argument for ‘her’ team?:

President Obama has chosen a sharp and able-bodied team to head his administration, but if he really wants to yank the country out of its dismal state, I suggest he enlist the help of some expectant mothers, preferably in their third trimester of pregnancy.

Because while Obama may have selected an experienced and savvy collection of specialists to lead this nation out of its hard times, no one on Earth has the ability to tackle big, unwieldy problems quite like a woman in the home stretch of pregnancy. In addition to manufacturing a brand-new human being, a feat of nearly supernatural proportions in and of itself, pregnant women also have an uncanny knack for grabbing the most daunting task by the throat, wrestling it to the floor and smashing its face into the carpet until it yells “Mother!”

Take it from me, now seven months pregnant with my second child. Despite my growing resemblance to Jabba the Hutt, I’ve entered a frenzied state of activity, conquering every task I encounter, big or small, with the focus and determination of a speed-addled jihadist. Each day, I find myself interrupting my furious scrubbing of the stovetop to empty out the fridge, call the plumber, e-mail my boss and complete a 2,000-word treatise on the use of fashion to highlight socioeconomic differences on “Gossip Girl.” Those who know me well are astounded by my sudden transformation from sullen sloth to Highly Effective Person. Instead of daydreaming or procrastinating or turning the screw (some favorite hobbies during non-gestational periods), I’m in a constant state of getting things done, whether it’s trawling eBay for a replica of the 18-year-old teddy bear my husband lost on an errand with my 2-year-old daughter (“Some guy kidnap Andy the Bear!”—those plaintive words haunt my vivid, pregnant-lady dreams each night) or typing out a five-page letter to my local congresswoman regarding the inefficient traffic patterns in my neighborhood.”

Husband? Did that heifer say “husband?” In conjunction with “running an errand?”

Those of us who are parenting alone, for whatever reason, and for however long, might just beg to differ with her ‘most powerful’ choice.

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TIME IS RUNNING OUT!

We have an ambitious $350,000 online fundraising goal this month and it's truly crunch time: About 15 percent of our yearly online giving usually comes in during the final week of the year, and in "No Cute Headlines or Manipulative BS," we explain why we simply can't afford to come up short right now.

The bottom line: Corporations and powerful people with deep pockets will never sustain the type of journalism Mother Jones exists to do. And advertising or profit-driven ownership groups will never make time-intensive, in-depth reporting viable.

That's why donations big and small make up 74 percent of our budget this year. There is no backup to keep us going, no alternate revenue source, no secret benefactor. If readers don’t donate, we won’t be here. It's that simple.

And if you can help us out with a donation right now, all online gifts will be matched thanks to an incredibly generous matching gift pledge.

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