“When the path of a man and woman are going to cross, it’s always the woman who’s expected to alter her path to avoid a collision. In addition, women restrict their stride as compared to men, and tend to hunch their shoulders and not initiate or maintain eye contact.
So I did this research my friends and I started messing around with this. We found that if you don’t alter your path when walking toward a man, a lot of men will almost run right into you, or bump their shoulder against yours, and then turn and give you this weird look. The weird looks you get are increased if you stand up straight with squared shoulders and take longer strides. I habitually walk this way now, and I continue to get puzzled looks by men who turn around after I pass them and watch me with an uncertain look.”—Own Your Space! (via andythenerd)
I love my vagina. Like really love it. It’s the longest sexual relationship I’ve ever had and certainly the best. And, like everyone knows, when you’re in that kind of committed relationship you have to accept all the aspects of the thing that you love, the good and the bad. This is why I am frequently concerned and infuriated by the hateful attitudes women have towards their period.
Yes sometimes my period hurts, at times there are moments when it hurts so bad I can’t breathe or move, I can only sit and hope that that moment passes quickly. And Yes sometimes my period is inconvenient, popping up when I have a long plane ride or just in time to celebrate my birthday with me. There’s also bloating and skin break-outs and hell yes the week before I am mad at everything in the world. And don’t even get me started on the bloody sheets and underwear situation.
But I still love it. I love the deep red color and all the different textures of my blood. I love the knowledge that this visceral experience is one that all my female ancestors before me have shared regardless of race, color, religion, culture, time. I love that my body mimics the cycle of the moon in the sky, growing and shedding and growing again until my uterus is full and heavy and something deep inside me that doesn’t need calendars or iPhone apps lets me know that “it’s time.” I love learning to listen to my body, learning its rhythms and twinges and all those silent, intuitive signals that no one else will ever know because no one else isme.I love my period because it has helped me create a positive and informed relationship with my vagina and my body.
So often we are told by the media, by our mothers and female elders, by our peers and friends, that our flow is something gross, or shameful, or obnoxious, or a curse. We are tricked into a hostile relationship with something we have to experience for a large chunk of our life. We are taught to hate our periods which is really fucking messed up because our periods are part of who we are. I am not saying that it defines us, that it is what makes us a woman, or is the locus of our power as women because it’s absolutely not. There are plenty of women who don’t have periods and that doesn’t make them any less of a woman, any less powerful, any less valid. But if you got it, own it.
Today my friend posted an article on my FB wall that was basically one woman’s tirade against Menarche Parties. While I am deeply suspicious of any “party pack” or business seeking to make money off of women’s bodies I am also disgusted by the author’s attitude that re-enforces the notion thatof coursea teenage girl wouldn’t want to celebrate that awkward, disgusting, shameful “fluid” coming out of her vagina.
Sure, not all girls probably want a party (although any excuse to have cake, especially red velvet cake is one that should be seized without hesitation in my opinion) but wouldn’t it be lovely if the message girls got when they first started their periods wasn’t a sarcastic smirk or pitiful sigh and the sad declaration that they were now in the Monthly Misery Club but something nice and positive to mark this moment? A dinner with their mother or female elder or a simple smile and congratulations? Wouldn’t that change the experience from something embarrassing and mortifying to something to be proud of or feel good about?
I remember being really excited the first time I got my period, I couldn’t wait to tell my mom, to share that moment with her and when she congratulated me and took me out to dinner later that night I felt incredibly special. I didn’t become embarrassed or ashamed of my period until the people around me acted like I should be, when they slipped me pads like it was some cliche back-alley drug deal and scolded me for not being better prepared. It wasn’t my period that changed my attitude, it was people. It took me years and a lot of experiences and people telling me that what my body was doing was normal and natural and even wonderful for me to feel good about it again. I was lucky.
When I talk to my friends, a great many of them still loathe their periods and for around a week every month spend time hating their bodies. Crunch the numbers, that is a lot of time spent hating your body and like beauty standards, it is not your body you need to change, it is the ideologies perpetuating unrealistic and negative standards and your own perspective.
Having said all this I would like to point out that it is not just women affected by menstruation and because there are men or trans* people that are equally affected by this process I realize that a period can be a very traumatizing and upsetting experience. I am privileged as a white cis woman so I cannot know how that feels. This is not an attempt to define what it means to be a woman or some belief that all people should be in love with their bloody snatches all the time, it is just my concern and desire that women recognize their periods as just as much a part of them as the curve of their hips or the ridge of their spine or the hair…everywhere and that because it is part of them it deserves love and respect.
Gas prices continue to rise, which is finally giving Republicans an issue. Mitt Romney is demanding the President open up more domestic drilling; the super PAC behind Rick Santorum just released a new ad in Louisiana blasting the President on gas prices; and the GOP is attacking the White House on the Keystone XL Pipeline.
But the rise in gas prices has almost nothing to do with energy policy. It has everything to do with America’s continuing failure to adequately regulate Wall Street. But don’t hold your breath waiting for Republicans to tell the truth.
As I’ve noted before, oil supplies aren’t being squeezed. Over 80 percent of America’s energy needs are now being satisfied by domestic supplies. In fact, we’re starting to become an energy exporter. Demand for oil isn’t rising in any event. Demand is down in the U.S. compared to last year at this time, and global demand is still moderate given the economic slowdowns in Europe and China.
But Wall Street is betting on higher oil prices in the future — and that betting is causing prices to rise. The Street is laying odds that unrest in Syria will spill over into other countries or that tensions with Iran will affect the Persian Gulf, and that global demand will pick up as American consumers bounce back to life.
These bets are pushing up oil prices because Wall Street firms and other big financial players now dominate oil trading.
Financial speculators historically accounted for about 30 percent of oil contracts, producers and end users for about 70 percent. But today speculators account for 64 percent of all contracts.
Bart Chilton, a commissioner at the Commodity Futures Trading Commission — the federal agency that regulates trading in oil futures, among other commodities — warns that too few financial players control too much of the oil market. This allows them to push oil prices higher and higher — not only on the basis of their expectations about the future but also expectations about how high other speculators will drive the price.
In other words, a relatively few players with very deep pockets are placing huge bets on oil — and you’re paying.
Chilton estimates that drivers of small cars like Honda Civics are paying an extra $7.30 every time they fill up — and that money is going into the pockets of Wall Street speculators. Drivers of larger vehicles like the Ford Explorer are paying speculators $10.41 when they fill up.
Funny, but I don’t hear Republicans rail against Wall Street speculators. Could this have anything to do with the fact that hedge funds and money managers are bankrolling the GOP as never before?
Wall Street isn’t bankrolling Democrats nearly as much this time around because the Street is still smarting from the Dodd-Frank Wall Street reform law pushed by the Democrats, and from the president’s offhand remark in 2010 calling the denizens of the Street “fat cats.”
The Commodity Futures Trading Commission is trying to limit how much speculators can bet in oil futures — a power it was given by Dodd-Frank. It issued a rule in October, but it won’t take effect for another year.
Meanwhile, Wall Street has gone to court to stop the rule. It’s already won a stay.
As rising gas prices start wagging the election-year dog, the President should let America know what’s really causing prices to rise.
“The fact that the vaginal passage, which is not even visible to any casual observer of a vagina, is so extensively documented in slang terminology while the very visible clitoral center of erogenous stimulation is lexically ignored shows that the female genitalia is only socially visible with regards to its ability to give pleasure to men.”—
Me, in the Gender, Language and Culture paper I wrote about pussies. (via seloftheearth)
This is why I use the word clit as often as possible. Clit clit clit. Everyone should know about it!
Fellow physicians, once again we are being used as tools to screw people over. This time, it’s the politicians who want to use us to implement their morally reprehensible legislation. They want to use our ultrasound machines to invade women’s bodies, and they want our hands to be at the controls. Coerced and invaded women, you have a problem with that? Blame us evil doctors. We are such deliciously silent scapegoats.
It is our responsibility, as always, to protect our patients from things that would harm them. Therefore, as physicians, it is our duty to refuse to perform a medical procedure that is not medically indicated. Any medical procedure. Whatever the pseudo-justification.
It’s time for a little old-fashioned civil disobedience.
This type of legislation will affect all people the ability to become pregnant, not just cis-women.
One commenter suggested, if it’s required to enter an ultrasound image into a patient’s chart, that a physician repeatedly enter one identical image - something like this:
“Appoint yourself captain of the neighborhood watch. Don’t set it up with the national program. The national program won’t let you carry a gun or pursue suspects. Do it in a gated development where your black neighbors — 20 percent of the community — are targets of suspicion afraid of leaving their homes. Drive around in an SUV and keep an eye out for suspicious individuals. Look for young black men, the kind you’ve warned people about, the kind you think “always get away.” Monitor the 7-11. Find someone who “looks like he’s up to no good, or [is] on drugs, or something,” someone “carrying something,” someone “looking about.” Call 911.”—
If you want to kill someone and get away with it, tell the police that he attacked you. Tell them you stepped out of your SUV, because you wanted to look at the name of the street you were on. Tell them the kid jumped you from behind. Even if he didn’t have a criminal record. Even if he was an A and B student. Even if you have 110 pounds on him. Even if he was staying at his father’s fiancé’s house, and carrying Skittles and iced tea he’d bought during half time at the local 7-11.
Do it in a town where the police chief will say without any trace of ironythat his “investigation is color blind and based on the facts and circumstances, not color,” and that he “can say that until I am blue in the face, but, as a white man in a uniform, I know it doesn’t mean anything to anybody.” Kill someone under the jurisdiction of a police chief who’d say that both you and your victim would “probably do things differently” if you both relived that night.
Or a bon-bon, or a truffle, or an Oreo, or a hot steamy cup-o-joe.
I am so much more than that.
I am sunlight, and gold, I am the deep dark of infinite space, I am polished precious onyx, I am the bright light and heat of poured magma, I am the whole Earth from the base of its foundation past the roof of its sky. I am flower petals and moon beams. And who said all this shit couldn’t be just as delicious as Cocoa Puffs or Cookie Crisps or whatever the fuck John Q Public decided to call me today because for some reason I am not allowed to be alabaster, or porcelain, or crimson tinted like the rest of the ones so beautiful poems just had to be written about them. That is not to say that I do not like to be seen as a honeyed delicious thing. But if the other girls can be ivory and marble in addition to peaches and cream, then so can I. If you look at me and the only thing you can see is a candy bar, then I believe you have stumbled upon the wrong bitch. I don’t know who you think I am but if you expect me to be flattered and spread my legs when you can’t even spread your vocab, you’ve got another thing coming.
“Sack-man and Throbbin.”—GUISE. SACK-MAN AND THROBBIN. Only using these terms when writing romance novels for the rest of my life. I think this is from “Happy Endings” but I could be wrong…it was a gif, a gif from Gawd.
“We’ve heard the 911 calls. We seen the 13 year old witness. We’ve read the letter from the alleged killer’s father. We listened to the anger of the family’s attorney. We’ve felt the pain of Trayvon’s mother. For heaven’s sake, for 24 hours he was a deceased John Doe at the hospital because even the police couldn’t believe that maybe he LIVES in the community. There are still some facts to figure out. There are still some questions to be answered. But, let’s be clear. Let’s be very, very clear. Before the neighborhood watch captain, George Zimmerman, started following him against the better judgement of the 911 dispatcher. Before any altercation. Before any self-defense claim. Before Travyon’s cries for help were heard on the 911 tapes. Before the bullet hit him dead in the chest. Before all of this. He was suspicious. He was suspicious. Suspicious. And you know, like I know, it wasn’t because of the hoodie or the jeans or the sneakers. Cause I had on that same outfit yesterday and no one called 911 saying I was just wandering around their neighborhood. It was because of one thing and one thing only. Trayvon is black.”—
Dr. Who and Torchwood fan here. I'm not a rabid fan though, so forgive me if I get some details wrong. Jack isn't an alien. Jack was one of the Doctor's companions, and he got killed, but Rose when got sucked into the Tardis and became part of its heart, she ressurected Jack with the timy-wimy stuff that makes the Doctor regenerate. Thanks to the timy-wimy stuff, Jack is now immortal.
Ahhhhhhh that makes sense. Cracking the mysteries of the universe one tumblr post at a time.
about more than 85% of survivors of rape knowing their attacker and how, according to fucking Cosmo, that should remind us all to really know a guy before we’re alone with him. I want to go on a fifty minute rant about how that’s complete bullshit because plenty of people are…
crossbeats asked: I’m sure you’ll be able to reach far more people than I would, but if anyone is interested in donating to help Trayvon Martin’s family pay legal fees they can contact Attorney Jasmine Rand at (850) 222-3333 on Monday.
APPARENTLY I had a two page outline/paper thing due in class today which I did not realize until people in my class who ACTUALLY CARE AND WANT TO DO THIS NONSENSE FOR A LIVING posted on my wall late at night in despair because they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing and I saw said posts this morning. Obviously I start panicking and trying to pull together some POS at work before this class at 11:00. Then I check my e-mail.
I am on me knees praising the gods of Slacker Students and Procrastination.
“The attempt by Republican men to wrestle American women back into chastity belts has not only breathed life into President Obama, it has roused and riled Hillary. And that could turn out to be the most dangerous thing the wildly self-destructive G.O.P. leaders have done.”—