What the hell is up with “friends” who don’t understand the meaning of the word “no” and keep insisting that the best way to get over a broken heart is to have sex with them? Obviously, that’s not a friend. More like, ugh, a vulture.

Last night I was slightly put off, but when I got up this morning, I realized I was actually pretty damn pissed off.

When a woman says no, respect it.

When a woman asks you to stop touching her, just stop.

When a woman asks you to leave, just get the fuck out.

The funny thing is, there was a small chance that at some point I might have become interested in him. That small chance has gone to absolute no fucking way in hell thanks to his lack of understanding the word no.

The part that has got my knickers in a twist the most? I didn’t even realize how pissed off I was until I woke up. I separated myself from my emotions last night and refused to acknowledge them. I tried to focus on the positive aspects of the evening, tried to find a reason to believe that this was NOT happening to me again.

Screw this, leaving town for the day. I’m beginning to hate NoVa. I’m outa here. Back tomorrow.

via Feministing, blue blanket. A spoken word piece on the trauma of rape, words and video. Triggers abound, so it’s after the jump.

Read the rest of this entry »

“Sabre,” you ask, “why are you so miffed about stupid notes that you get online?  Who cares?  Just delete it.”

Well, my leedle love muffins, let me elucidate.

Quite simply, sexual harassment makes me sick.  Whether it’s some random guy hollering “Hey baby!” while grabbing his crotch and making thrusting motions at you, or random comments on your hotness from faceless strangers online, it’s all the same.  It is the implication that I, as a female, am less than human and seen as nothing more than a receptacle for some asshole’s sperm.

In a society that questions a rape victim and suggests that she was “asking for it” because her skirt was short, or she was out alone, or she may have had sex previously, the concept of women as receptacles is real.  In an online world where women bloggers are often treated to suggestions that they should be raped as punishment for having an opinion contrary to that very concept, it is real.

Sexual harassment and assault, at the very core, are not about sex, but about power.  It’s about making the perpetrator feel more manly by reminding the female that she is less than he.  That he, as the default human, is in a greater position of strength, and that she, as the default not-quite-human, needs to know her role.

Well, fuck you and your roles.

And fuck the nonsense that it’s complimentary and women need to “lighten up.”  Initiating conversations (if you can call that a conversation) by informing me that you think I’m hot and would like to fuck me till Tuesday is not complimentary.  Full stop.

I’ve gotten nasty comments before that what I really need, in order to make me a more pleasant person, is a “good deep-dicking” or a “real man to show you what a real woman feels like.”

Want to know what will make me a more pleasant person?  Let me put it to you this way, it involves a meat grinder.  Yeah, just go with it.

Tetris asks me why I read the stuff I read online, and why I allow myself to get upset over it.  It’s simple:  it’s out there, and pretending it isn’t won’t make it go away.  It’s fucking dehumanizing, and I am over it.  I will not just shrug off every nasty comment I hear, I will not pretend that it’s funny or amusing or cute or somehow endearing.  I will not ignore it, I will not pretend that it didn’t happen.

I was not put on this planet to entertain assholes or be fodder for their fantasies.  I know I’m pretty, dickwad, and I know you think I’m hot.  But I don’t care what you think, k?  Keep it to yourself.  The simple fact that I am attractive does not give you the right to invade my personal space and tell me what you want to do to me.

Once more, for the slow, informing me of it is not complimentary.  Full stop.

From the “Why did I look at that?” department:

Let’s get the disclaimer out there, I do not watch much television.  And I certainly don’t watch “reality tv”, unless one counts MythBusters and the like.  I most definitely will not watch nonsense like America’s Next Top Model.  Why?  Because who needs the reminder that no matter what you do, as a woman, you aren’t really much of anything unless you are young, a size 0, and have a flawless complexion.  I mean really, fuck that noise.

Imagine my disgust this morning when I stumbled upon this clusterfuck of insanity while getting my morning blog surfing on.

The images portray extreme violence against women, and while not very realistic looking, they are a reminder that said violence is not only acceptable, but is also a crucial marketing gimmick in the pursuit of getting you to part with your hard earned dollars.  And let’s be honest, if it didn’t work, they wouldn’t use it.

What sickens me most is not the disturbingly gruesome images of young women arrayed with their arms and legs splayed out in true sexbot fashion, covered in blood and bruises, but rather the comments of the judges when viewing the photographs.

“What’s great about this is that you can also look beautiful in death.”

“I think I look at you in this picture, and you actually just look dead. One of the simplest things, like acting dead, can be the most challenging. The problem is that you didn’t do anything.”

Beautiful in death.  Death becomes you.  Broken-down dolls.  Very beautiful and dead.  I guess I didn’t get the memo that death is supposed to be sexy.

Fuck you American Patriarchy.  And fuck you ignorant consumers who buy into this bullshit so much that advertising executives continue to push it on us.  Do me a favor and go find your own sexy death, you misogynistic assholes.

Posted without comment. Other than to say, “WTF?”

From CNN: Prosecutors say the teen is a material witness and they want her jailed for her safety. A judge has ordered that she be held indefinitely.

The girl failed to show earlier this month at the trial of a 20-year-old man, who’s accused of having unlawful sexual conduct with her. He is free on bond.

Full story here: Teen jailed for her own safety, prosecutors say

In my last post, one of the things I mentioned being disgusted with was the judge in the Chicago area video rape case…

In another highly publicized video rape case, there is finally a little justice. The infamous OC Three received six years. Not quite what I would have given them.

I would ask you to please read the victim’s statement. Read it to yourself, read it quietly, and ask yourself, “What if this was my daughter?” And then read it again. Can you tell me that six years is enough? If you aren’t moved, if you aren’t angry, then I suspect you are either dead, dying, or, as they say down south, in need of a killin’.

As the saying goes, if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.

Let me just put the disclaimer in here now. If you are a co-worker, this is your opportunity to click out and go read something nice and warm and fluffy. If you choose to stay, don’t stare at me funny tomorrow.

I’m still up to my neck in alligators at work, hence my lack of posting here, or elsewhere for that matter. But I’m supposed to blog today, because it’s Blog Against Sexism Day. And I can’t.

I’m sorry, I haven’t the words. I stare at the world I live in and I want to shake people until their eyes fall out. I want to scream from the rooftops that we are killing our daughters, that we are stripping them of their right to be human. Will it do any good?

Blog Against Sexism. What in the hell does that mean anyway? Will we all write about how outraged we are that South Dakota sucks monkey balls? How shocked we are that the Italian government has lost their collective minds? How disgusted we are that a judge tried to force a young woman to watch a video of her own rape and then rejoice because he changed his mind? How dismayed we are that one of those rapists was acquitted?

And on and on and on…

Does it do any good? If someone, somewhere, will tell me that all of this collective rage and anger will accomplish something, count me in. Otherwise, color me just one more outraged woman living in a world I can barely tolerate. I’m too tired to be this angry.

Stop the world, this uterus wants to get off.