4:13 pm - Mon, Sep 29, 2014
21,636 notes

I could talk about the PE teacher in my town who was asked to resign due to his harassment of female students, who was then hired as a school bus driver for a rural route with both primary and high school students. I could talk about how, from the age of seven, I refused to wear skirts or dresses, and from the time I entered high school at 10 to when I moved at 16 I always wore bike shorts or CCC shorts under my dress, because he was not particularly subtle about the way he looked at us – and those bus steps are high. I could talk about how this was common knowledge and was never denied by any authority figure we ever raised it with, but rather we were just kind of brushed off. I could talk about how, sometimes, I was the last person on my bus in the afternoon and I was never quite sure if something bad would happen to me, even though for a long time I probably couldn’t have articulated what it was that I feared.

I could talk about how I spent ten years of my childhood believing it was perfectly normal and acceptable for a seven year old child to stop wearing her favourite clothes because a grown man she relies on to get to and from school from a relatively remote location gets a thrill from looking up her skirt.

I could talk about the art teacher at my high school who used to run his hands up and down our backs, right along the spot where your bra sits. Considering most of us were fairly new to wearing bras in the first place, this was a decidedly uncomfortable experience. I could talk about how he used to get just a little too close for comfort in the supply room. Nothing overt, nothing nameable – just enough to make you drag someone else along with you if you needed a fresh piece of paper or you ran out of ink. I could talk about how the odd comment or complaint that was made was completely handwaved, that we were told to be very careful about what we were saying, that we could get someone in a lot of trouble by “starting those kinds of rumours”, and did we really want to be responsible for that?

I could talk about the first time I was made to feel ashamed of my body, at twelve or thirteen, getting into a water fight with my stepfather and uncle in the height of summer. I could talk about my grandmother completely flipping out, talking about how disgusting it was, how grown men should be ashamed of the way they were behaving with a girl. I could talk about how she then spent the next few hours trying to convince me I was being somehow victimised, while I was mostly confused about what had taken place – it took me a long time to work it out. I could talk about the unvoiced but ever-present fear for months afterwards that my grandma would bring it up again, that she would bring it up in the wrong place or to the wrong people and that my uncle, a schoolteacher, would suffer for it.

I could talk about how that destroyed what had been a fantastic relationship with my uncle, and how, ten years later, he still won’t hug me at Christmas.

I could talk about being called a frigid bitch and a slut in the same breath in high school. I could talk about multiple instances of sitting in a big group of friends, hearing someone trying to get into someone else’s pants, starting off sweet enough but quickly descending into emotional manipulation and thinly veiled abuse. I could talk about the time I went off with someone willingly enough and being followed by someone I considered a friend, someone who would not leave no matter how many times I said “no”, who only went away when the person I was with said that he “didn’t feel like sharing”.

I could talk about the family friend who always made me feel a little bit off for no discernible reason. The one who if I was left alone in the room with him, I would always find an excuse to leave. The one time I expressed this, I was told I was being a drama queen, and that I needed to grow up and stop being so precious, that one day I was going to have to deal with people I didn’t like and I might as well get used to it. I could talk about how he never did anything untoward, never gave me any specific reason to feel unsafe – but years after I last saw him, when he was found guilty of four historical sexual assault charges, one of rape and three of indecent assault on girls under twelve, I was, for reasons I still don’t entirely understand, completely unsurprised.

I could talk about my boyfriend justifying his rape of me with “you could have fought me off if you really wanted you, you slut”. I could talk about how, when I tried to tell people, I was told I was being a nasty, spiteful, vindictive bitch. I could talk about how selfish it was of me to say such things, that he’d overcome such a hard life and was going to go on and make something of himself, who the hell was I to try and stand in his way?

I could talk about how my response to being raped was to sleep with anyone and everyone because I rationalised that if I never said no, then no one could force me. I could talk about how I have been told time and time again, by people who should know better, that this is a sign that I wasn’t really raped at all.

I could talk about how, when I finally worked up the courage to make a formal complaint of sexual harassment against my boss, I was asked why I had let it continue for so long, and what I had done to make him think his behaviour would be welcomed.

I could talk about how when a much later boss got me completely wasted at my leaving party, to the point where I couldn’t walk, and fucked me in a back alley, he waited until I was sober the next morning to tell me that he had a pregnant wife, because he heard through the grapevine that I was very strict about not sleeping with married people or straight women, and he thought I should “learn my place” and realise that I’m “not such a high and mighty bitch with a moral high ground after all”.

I could talk about these things, but I very rarely do. Since I was seven years old, I have been told that my body is not my own, that my consent is not my own, that my feelings of discomfort are not my own. I have taught myself to suppress my gut instinct upon meeting people. I have been taught to smile, to be polite, to suck it up if I feel unsafe. When I complain, I have been told I’m being irrational, oversensitive, and selfish. The underlying message is, how dare I try and ascertain any kind of control over my own body?

I should talk about it. But I don’t actually know whether I can.

An anonymous guest post on The Lady Garden. This is the reality for so many women. #YesAllWomen (via takealookatyourlife)

(Source: youtastelike-sunlight, via ceeainthereforthat)

4:05 pm
91 notes
fuckingflorida:

Help is needed!
Faith Hope and Love Inc. is an animal rescue that had recently opened in Titusville, Florida. They have several lovely dogs and cats up for adoption. I myself have met most of these animals, and was amazed at how very friendly and loving they all are (both the cats and the dogs). The two who own the rescue are wonderful, helpful people who are doing all they can to help these animals find great homes. In the past they have found homes for over 400 animals.
Lately they’ve been having real trouble keeping the rescue alive. They couldn’t get a grant to help them pay rent, and now are being threatened with eviction. If this happens, more than likely all of these wonderful animals will be thrown away at the pound to be put down.
Please help us keep us keep them alive by donating!
By a t-shirt at Boosters.com
Or donate at there facebook (their paypal can be found in the About panel)
If you can’t donate, please signal boost this!

fuckingflorida:

Help is needed!

Faith Hope and Love Inc. is an animal rescue that had recently opened in Titusville, Florida. They have several lovely dogs and cats up for adoption. I myself have met most of these animals, and was amazed at how very friendly and loving they all are (both the cats and the dogs). The two who own the rescue are wonderful, helpful people who are doing all they can to help these animals find great homes. In the past they have found homes for over 400 animals.

Lately they’ve been having real trouble keeping the rescue alive. They couldn’t get a grant to help them pay rent, and now are being threatened with eviction. If this happens, more than likely all of these wonderful animals will be thrown away at the pound to be put down.

Please help us keep us keep them alive by donating!

By a t-shirt at Boosters.com

Or donate at there facebook (their paypal can be found in the About panel)

If you can’t donate, please signal boost this!

(via babywipesenthusiast2)

2:12 pm
14,705 notes

jcoleknowsbest:

millennialau:

Reporting of incident where this man fucking forcibly ran into @bdoulaoblongata with his walker while saying he is Darren Wilson. Protestors were protesting this location because owner stopped allowing black patrons to enter, only white patrons and pulled a gun out on protestors.

Video clips of him allowing white patrons only and locking door to come.

get they ass

(via dynastylnoire)

11:53 am
24,601 notes
dynastylnoire:

brigwife:

earlgreytea68:

statisticallynerdy:

ewebie:

earlgreytea68:

grandegarlic:

not gonna lie, that sounds awful and really troublesome

This is so true. I love this description so much. 

And then one of them has some random ad playing noise on it and I CAN NEVER FUCKING FIND IT!

so is writers block when you accidentally close them all at the same time?

Forced reboot to install updates. 

this explains it so well oh my goodness

relevant as hell

dynastylnoire:

brigwife:

earlgreytea68:

statisticallynerdy:

ewebie:

earlgreytea68:

grandegarlic:

not gonna lie, that sounds awful and really troublesome

This is so true. I love this description so much. 

And then one of them has some random ad playing noise on it and I CAN NEVER FUCKING FIND IT!

so is writers block when you accidentally close them all at the same time?

Forced reboot to install updates. 

this explains it so well oh my goodness

relevant as hell

10:23 am
38,621 notes

takohai:

repeat after me: 

there is nothing wrong with wanting attention
there is nothing wrong with wanting human contact
there is nothing wrong with wanting validation for your existence 
there is nothing wrong with wanting your hard work to be recognized

there is nothing wrong with wanting attention

(via madgastronomer)

8:58 pm - Sun, Sep 28, 2014
19,319 notes

frauleindrosselmeyer:

So you know how when you criticise an article on a horrible site like the Daily Mail and link so people can see the original page, search engines see that as “someone is interested in this page,” and activity by people criticising the page looks just like activity by people liking it?  So the horrible site goes up the Google search results?  And the horrible site goes “whooo, lots of hits and links, guess that article was popular” and decides to create more horrible articles like it? 

When you’re linking to horrible sites, use DNL: from the user end it works like tinyurl or bit.ly, but it doesn’t give the website attention.

(via bapgeek2geekbap)

6:48 pm
38,437 notes

#ArrestDarrenWilson

(Source: justice4mikebrown, via edgyarmadillo)

6:23 pm
556 notes

fauxcyborg:

You don’t call real women manic pixie dreamgirls. you don’t bitingly reference Gillian Flynn’s “cool girl" when describing a woman. You don’t accuse women (especially lesbian and bi women) of the male gaze.

These are all aspects of how men see women: one-note, simplistic and fantasies. You don’t blame women for how men gaze at them. You don’t blame women for being reduced by men. 

(via bapgeek2geekbap)

2:11 pm
256,328 notes
9:59 am
92,810 notes
seananmcguire:

HE WHO WALKS BEHIND THE ROWS IS NOT FUCKING AMUSED.

seananmcguire:

HE WHO WALKS BEHIND THE ROWS IS NOT FUCKING AMUSED.

(Source: catfrend, via madgastronomer)

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