Feminist AF at Barnes & Noble awaiting the arrival of the majestic and glorious Bloggess.
So…hi. This is awkward.
I shut this page down when I was laid off in September. (“I am not getting laid; therefore, I am getting laid off.” —Carrie Bradshaw.) I had more pressing priorities, like finding a job and wallowing in my personal failures.
But then… I’m not a HUGE believer in “signs from the universe,” but we do seem to be shushing female senators, and I do seem to be getting fatter, and Valentine’s Day does seem to be tomorrow, and women’s magazines do seem to be alternating cutting-edge journalism/hilar-balls sex headlines, and the President of the United States does seem to be tweeting about easy D, and y’all KNOW I can’t keep my mouth shut around some easy D, so…OK! CHRIST!
“I want equal pay and equal come.”
— Amy Schumer
There’s a point during mutual attraction at which my body takes over and tells my “proper lady” brain to shut the fuck up and enjoy. The people on the receiving end of that shift seem to enjoy it, but I’ve definitely felt disgusting and apologized for it once my brain came back. I have no idea where this comes from. It’s improved, but I sometimes still find myself sinking into a rabbit hole of self-slut-shaming for some of the choices I’ve made.
And this is also getting better but I still do tons of things I don’t want to do because I don’t want to be rude, or hurt anyone’s feelings by saying “no.”
So… this. All of this: “We need to keep changing the attitude that raises our girls to be demure and our boys to be assertive… We need to keep changing the attitude that punishes women for their sexuality and rewards men for theirs.”
Full article via Glamour magazine: President Barack Obama on Feminism and the World He Wants to Leave His Daughters
My bad, you guys. Maybe Bad Moms ISN’T a funny movie. Maybe I’m just an immature idiot and a terrible feminist.
*shrug* I still liked it. Was it a highbrow intellectual feminist statement coming from the dude-bros who gave us The Hangover? Certainly not. Was it a silly, fun movie you can see with your lady-friends? I maintain it was.
When I looked up the details write my review, I was a little disappointed, but honestly surprised, to learn wasn’t written by at least one woman. And Bradley Cooper notwithstanding, I HATED The Hangover, so I was especially surprised it came from those guys.
That said, my sense of humor did stop evolving circa Beavis and Butthead, so here’s the smarter side of it.
YOU ARE WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS.
Honestly. The FUCK ails you? How do you even have time to do this? I have shit to DO. Go to work and get out your mama’s basement, shitheel.
In all seriousness, I’ve been wary of posting certain things here. Not that 46 followers are going to garner me much hatred, but the page IS public. I actually just found out a friend was reading who I didn’t know was reading, and I’m a little weirded out by it. Apparently I’m totally fine telling strangers about my vagina, but I get ishy when it’s people I know?
But anyway, once you start threatening to assault children, I give less than one iota of one fuck about your rights. I hope the FBI investigates your ass. Literally.
I’m going with a basic list for last night’s date recap (Waffles Guy, date 2), because no storytelling would be better than just throwing it all out there:
1. He really likes Triumph the Insult Comic. He was surprised I didn’t, because it’s “such similar humor to George Carlin’s.”
THAT is when I should’ve left. BUT…
2. He ordered Bud Light Lime. On purpose. And paid for it. With money.
3. He mocked Rhonda Rousey for saying she was depressed after a loss, because “she just didn’t get her way,” and “male fighters would never say something like that — they’d say, ‘OK, I’ll get back to the gym, work harder.'”
So… You can’t be depressed but ALSO plan to improve? But “that’s not what a champion says.”
He actually seemed pretty dismissive about mental health issues in general, which is odd because he works in a facility that treats addicts and people with psych issues. But fuck you, dude — I’m only moderately crazy (“dysthymic,” I believe is the word), and therapy and meds have helped me a lot. And I know at least two people who’d probably be dead if they hadn’t sought help.
4. There’s “gentleman,” which I enjoy, and then there’s repeatedly insisting I put your coat over my shoulders even when I’ve said I’m not cold. Dude, it’s 65 degrees out, and I am a grown-ass woman who can determine when she needs a coat.
5. Related: While walking, he told me he was switching sides with me on the sidewalk so I wasn’t walking closest to the street.
I forgot that was a THING.
I don’t usually get feminist-tweaked until you start treating me like a child, and then suddenly you’re staring down the barrel of 40 years of family issues. I know when I need a coat, and it’s our second date, so… you’re gonna, what, get hit by an out-of-control car so I don’t? Way to volunteer as Tribute.
6. Discussing movies:
Him: “I never saw Lord of the Rings. Is that the one with the kid with the glasses?”
Me: *blink*”…No. That’s Harry Potter.”
Him:”Oh, right! I’ve never seen those movies, either.”
I don’t care if he didn’t see them. But how the actual balls do you confuse the two?
7. He said Breaking Bad was “just OK,” and that Better Call Saul is better. I hope someone gives you Stevia. (Kidding.)
8. Audible eater. (Of FOOD, shut up.)
9. While not as disgusting or graphic as I would’ve thought, hearing how diverticulitis presents in an adult male is still pretty boring.
10. When I asked if he was a Trump voter: “There are two things I don’t talk about in public: religion and politics. One I know far too much about, one I know nothing about. I won’t tell you which is which, but I will say I went to Catholic school for 12 years.”
Wow. I am in awe of the enigma of you.
I realize some of this is just me being an asshole. But… I mean, the valid points are REALLY valid. (It also hit a lot of my big-issue nerves, but that’s ME, not him, so I’ll get into that later.)
P.S. I let him kiss me because I was still curious after he didn’t on the first date, and I’ll give him credit: Solid kiss, one hand around my waist, one hand in my hair. Good work, sir. A little too much moaning for me personally, but overall, good for you.
I have things to post, but nothing as important as this: 13 Reasons Masturbation Is a Feminist Act.
As you were.
I saw a shirt online that said “Ask me about my radical feminist agenda,” and I think I need it, mostly because if anyone actually asked, I’d probably just say “Nachos.”
I guess maybe “nacho equality.” Like, “I want 100% nachos, not 78% or whatever it is. I want as many nachos as a man. And extra cheese. For, um…restitution or whatever.”
Last night I went to Margaret Atwood’s booksigning at the Philly Free Library. Look at me, all feminist and intellectual and shit. Classy as fuck, right?
Um, yeah, leading up to the event, I was having this hilar-balls group text with friends…
Friend 1: “What kind of classes should I teach at the sex boutique besides oral sex?”
Friend 2: “Something about body confidence in the bedroom? Toys, why to use them, different ways to incorporate them.”
Me: “Confidence for sure. Maybe consent? Intro BDSM? Handjob Blandjob?”
Friend 1: “I’m the WORST at handjobs!”
Me: “That’s because they’re not a real thing.”
Friend 1: “That’s shit you do on your own. I’ll never be as good.”
Me: “Right? I hired you to use your mouth. I HAVE hands.”
Friend 1: “I could probably teach a class about how to incorporate toys into coupled sex.”
Me: “Yes. Because I have no idea. Well, wait… There was that one time. But nothing I did with that asshole counts. (To be clear, I did nothing to his asshole. He was just a shithead who brought a toy.)”
Friend 2: “I like giving handjobs…but only if they don’t take forever.”
Friend 1: “I’m terrible at them, hate doing them, always have, always will.”
Me: “I like a happy man who’s not looking to put things in my butt. If he needs a handjob, I’ll DO it, but I just feel like I could be more useful.”
Friend 2: “Agreed, but sometimes my knees are sore and I need to change it up. (Sorry, is this too much?)”
Me: “Yes, we clearly have a “too much” threshold. 🙂 Also, my hands and wrists are FUCKED from phone/computer use, so handjobs hurt, AND I’m bad at them.”
Friend 1: “Handjobs take forever. At least with a blowjob I can incorporate my hands to give my mouth a rest. I’m hardly ever on my knees. I just move around if I’m uncomfortable.”
Friend 2: “Eh, sometimes they take forever, sometimes not. And I prefer BJs, and prefer my knees (good angle for all involved).”
Me: “Anyone else really want dick now? (Now, see, THAT’s too much.)”
Friend 2: “I do. Husband should thank you both. (I see your ‘too much’ and raise you.)”
Me: “Ha! You’re welcome, Husband.”
Friend 1: “Boyfriend will also be benefiting from this conversation.”
Me: “Meanwhile, I’m at a feminist booksigning. No dick in sight.”
Friend 2: “Maybe there will be literary dick?”
Me: “Heh. Maybe. Or bar dick afterward.”