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ALERT MORE EVIDENCE THAT THERE IS NO PATRIARCHY

When people say women are OBJECTIFIED they are just making it up and looking for attention, for more proof, just see this: letter from a New Hampshire lawmaker where he calls women vaginas.

I mean literally.

In an email.

Does not call women women

but calls them vaginas.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/16/peter-hansen-new-hampshire-vaginas_n_3095135.html

PS does he apologize? YEA THAT U R OFFENDED

Sarah and Angelina Grimke

  • bad ass bitches
  • from Charleston SC
  • Sarah went BEAST on her lady-education and then got her brother to teach her all his school learnins
  • her dad was this boss judge and was all, you would be the best lawyer if it wasn’t for that vagina there
  • she read the bible and was all like YOU GUYS ARE DUMB-ASSES can’t you read this thing properly?
  • and then she was all FUCK SLAVERY 
  • So her and Angelina went to hang out in philly and they were so great at yelling fuck slavery that bros came to listen to them (which was a really big deal, them being 1. vagina owners and 2. southern belles)
  • she went to learn from this famous quaker dude but was like THNX BUT NO THNX when he asked her to marry him because she was too fab
  • she and angelina caused a split in the abolitionist movement about women being able to speak 
  • she thought that women should be all bondy and love and stick together
  • and that women were responsible for their morality

fuck yeah

i wonder what house they lived in

There are things that can be done. When someone you know engages in inappropriate or harassing behavior towards a woman, let them know they did something totally not cool. Like: “Actually, that woman had a right to be upset when you chased her down the street. She was completely accurate when she called it creepy” or “Hey, this story you’re telling me about putting your dick on a drunk stranger’s face at a party when she clearly didn’t want it there but was too sleepy to fend you off, that was a totally not cool thing to do with your penis, bro.” Teach every moldable male* mind (brothers, friends, sons) that treating women (humans) with respect is the right thing to do. Don’t have sex with jerks. Don’t blow them, don’t give them a handjob, don’t give them your phone number. If you hear a woman asking a man to leave her alone or calling attention to the fact that he’s whacking off in the train station, add your voice to hers. Say “This is not ok. This is not cool. We see what you are doing and it is unacceptable.
Stoya (http://jezebel.com/5941068/im-a-porn-star-and-if-you-harass-me-i-will-punch-you-in-the-balls)
There are the occasions that men—intellectual men, clever men, engaged men—insist on playing devil’s advocate, desirous of a debate on some aspect of feminist theory or reproductive rights or some other subject generally filed under the heading: Women’s Issues. These intellectual, clever, engaged men want to endlessly probe my argument for weaknesses, want to wrestle over details, want to argue just for fun—and they wonder, these intellectual, clever, engaged men, why my voice keeps raising and why my face is flushed and why, after an hour of fighting my corner, hot tears burn the corners of my eyes. Why do you have to take this stuff so personally? ask the intellectual, clever, and engaged men, who have never considered that the content of the abstract exercise that’s so much fun for them is the stuff of my life.

Melissa McEwan, of course, on the terrible bargain. My life as a woman, as a queer person, as a fat person, is not your thought experiment.  (via sanitywatchers)

Fucking this. This. This. This. “Why are you yelling?” BECAUSE IT’S MY LIFE. AND YOUR WAY OF THINKING MAKES ME WONDER IF YOU EVEN SEE ME AS HUMAN.

(via itscandidlycara)

oh GOD i have several friends who do this to me, (not to mention an ex) and it is SO FUCKING FRUSTRATING THAT IS WHY I AM CHAINSMOKING AND CRYING WHILE WE ARGUE

(via methodistcoloringbook)

OH GOD THIS QUOTE IS LIKE ONE OF MY FAVES.

And really this is my issue with dudes who like to “debate” when women are discussing our most raw and hurtful experiences and how we view and interact with the world as a result.

This is why I just immediately blow up most of the time when a dude reblogs a discussion or post I have on my blog about these issues and starts with, “While I see your point…” or “Ok granted, but…”

NO. I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. FUCK YOU. STOP IT.

(via face-down-asgard-up)

Self-destructive gasoline.: I debated whether or not to share this story.

wilwheaton:

unwinona:

And then I debated whether or not to put it on Tumblr…but I decided it was important.  Because in my own way, I can (unfortunately) point out exactly what is wrong with men when they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman.  How we do not have equal opportunities and freedoms in everyday life.  How most men, even good caring men, have no clue what we go through on a daily basis just trying to live our lives.

So here goes.

I often ride the Metro when I commute from North Hollywood to Long Beach in order to save money.  I bring a book, pointedly wear a ring on my ring finger to imply I’m married (I’m not) and keep to myself.  

Without fail, I am aggressively approached by men on at least half of these commutes.  The most common approach is to walk up to where I am sitting with body language that practically screams LEAVE ME ALONE and sit down next to me or as close to me as possible, when the train is not crowded and there are many empty rows.  Sometimes an overly friendly arm is draped over the railing behind me, or they attempt to lean in close to talk to me as if we are old friends.  Without fail, the man or boy in question will lean to close and ask me

What are you reading?

Is that a good book?

What’s that book about?


This serves the double purpose of getting my attention and trapping me in a conversation.  If I stop reading the book I enjoy to talk to you, random stranger, you hit on me or just stay way too close to me.  If I tell you to leave me alone, you get mad at me.  Because I somehow, as a woman, owe you conversation.

Tonight when I boarded the train in Long Beach at 10:30pm, it started up right away.  I was not on the train more than three minutes before three boys who looked eighteen sat in the row behind me and leaned over the seats into my personal space, close enough to breathe on me.  The one with his arm draped over onto the back of my seat asked me—surprise— “what are you reading?”  I went through my usual routine.  I told them loudly and firmly that I wanted to be left alone to read my book.  They got angry.  I was told “Why are you going to be like that?  I just wanted to talk!”  His friends start laughing at me and they don’t move, telling me come on! and why are you gonna be like that? until I tell them to leave me the fuck alone, stand up, and move to the front of the car near the three other people on the train, a couple and a business man in a suit.  They spend the next two stops shouting at me from the back of the car, alternating between trying to sound flirtatious and making fun of me, shouting “I bet she’s reading Stephanie Meyer!  I bet she’s reading Twilight or some shit!  You reading Twilight or some shit?”

They exit the train at the next stop, and I’m relieved.  The train is going out of service at the next station, so we all exit to board a new train to Los Angeles.  As we board, the business man steps aside to let me go through the door first and asks me if those guys were bothering me.  I say yes, that it happens all the time, and he tells he’ll beat them up for me if they come back.  He is a nice person who talks to me like I’m a human being instead of a walking pair of tits, and I make a mental note:  This is how a real man talks to a woman on a train.

The business man and the couple exit our new Blue Line train an exit or so later, and I think my night is ending on a good note.  A seemingly normal man enters the train with his bicycle.  At this point I am three rows from the front of the car, another man was sitting near the back of the car, and the rest of the car is empty.  Bicycle Man walks halfway down the row, and settles into the seat directly opposite me.  Perfect, I think.  Twice in one night.

It’s not the first time I’ve been bothered multiple times.  As such, I’m still amped from the teenagers on the first train.  So when this man leans across the aisle into my personal space and asks me, yes, what are you reading, I assertively but calmly tell him to please leave me alone, I am reading.  The man stands up, moving to the front and muttering angrily over his shoulder that it isn’t his fault I’m pretty.

Yes.  Exactly that.  I am the bad person in this situation because somehow this is all my fault.  I started this by being attractive.  I am making a mental note to bitch about this to my friends later.  I go so far as to write it down so I know I’m remembering it properly.  

It is at this exact moment I realize Bicycle Man is not taking it well.  The seemingly annoying but normal man a moment before is now talking to himself, becoming agitated.  In my years of being bothered by total strangers, I have learned how to hold a book and seem to be reading while taking in everything around me.  He is glaring at me, and says out loud in an angry baby talk voice “PLEASELEAVEMEALONEI’MREADING.  PLEASE LEAVE ME ALOOOONE.”

Then he’s up out of his seat and things go from bad to worse.  He begins pacing back and forth in front of his bike, alternating between screaming something about his mother being dead and calling me a slut, a hoe, a bitch.  I am frozen in place.  There is one other person in the car, and I’m not sure if trying to change seats will draw more attention to me or less. I trust my instincts and show no fear, doing my best to appear to be calmly reading my book, never once looking up to acknowledge the abuse he’s hurling at me.  There are four stops left until we reach the main downtown station where there are lights and security officers.  Those four stops are virtually abandoned, and I have no guarantee that leaving to wait for another train won’t motivate him to leave the train as well, leaving us potentially alone at a metro station platform just outside of Compton.  I’m frozen in place, trying to plan what I’m going to do if he decides to take all this rage directly to me.  I’m ready to kick him, scream, make enough noise that he panics and flees.  

At this point he’s punching the walls and doors of the train, screaming at me.  He stares me full in the face and screams

SUCK MY DICK, BITCH

YOU BITCH

YOU STUPID BITCH

YOU GODDAMN HO

IF I HAD A GUN I’D SHOOT YOU

I WOULD FUCKING KILL YOU BITCH

This went on for two stops.  No one came to see what was happening.  The man in the last row was as frozen as I was.  I’m not angry he didn’t come to my defense.  He was smaller, older, and frailer-looking than I was.  Again, I was worried if I got up, I would be turning my back on him to walk down the aisle.  In the state he was in, I had no guarantee it wouldn’t get physical, and I had more physical strength with my back to the window and feet in kicking position where I was.  If he had chosen to assault me, I would only be making it easier for him by standing up and putting myself directly in his path.  On and on, over and over, he screamed at me, screamed at his dead mother, screamed at me again.

The moment we reached the downtown station, I was out the door and down the stairs.  I still had to catch a connecting train to North Hollywood, and made sure there was no sign of Bicycle Man before I entered the car.  That’s when I finally starting shaking, and almost threw up.  By the time I exited the Red Line and reached my car I could barely breathe and my heart was pounding out of my chest.  Even now, in my own home, my hands are still shaking and for some reason the stress has made my back muscles feel cold and numb.  From all the tension, I can only assume.  I can’t eat anything, I still feel like I’m going to vomit, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cried so much, so hard I still have the headache.

So when people (men) want to talk about “legitimate” forms of assault, tell girls they should be nice to strangers and give men the benefit of a doubt, tell them to consider it a compliment, tell them to ignore the bad behavior of men, I want them to be forced to feel, for even one minute, what it feels like to have so much verbal hatred and physical intimidation thrown at them for nothing more than being female and not wanting to share.  

I just wanted to read my book.

It’s not my fault I’m pretty.

This is why I loudly and angrily berate men who are shitty to women. 

This is why I stand up for women’s rights.

This is why, as a 40 year-old man, I’m starting to realize that I’m more of a feminist than I thought I was.

Sharing because there are people who have never experienced or witnessed this.

But it hurts sometimes to think that I have been in so many situations like this that sometimes they just all blur together.

We need to be teaching people how to respect other people… :/

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