Dear Levi's: You Suck

So Levi's apparently thinks the only thing wrong with the world is that men don't have enough rights. Yep, in an attempt to sell pants they're trying to convince dudes that they should be in charge of everything, all the time, and that will make the world a better place and make everyone happier.

Hey Levi's?

FUCK. YOU.

InfamousQbert has a post up about it with a screenshot, which I copied. See the fail for yourself.

I just can't even deal with how fucked up that is. Anybody else care to weigh in? And feel free to repost this everywhere. And I mean, everywhere. It worked with Method- who's to say it can't work again?

Hat tip to InfamousQbert.

Life Is Pain, People

Here at Things That Piss Me Off dot com, we're having an influx of annoyance.

People who annoy me today include:

-People who respond to my criticism of pop culture with something like: "You shouldn't take it seriously, it's just supposed to be mindless entertainment, it's not for criticizing (what does that even mean?), you're reading too much into it, blah blah blah I have no native intelligence blah". I get so fucking tired of that. It's not that I'm taking it too seriously, it's that you're not taking it seriously enough. For fuck's sake.

-The guy in my landlord's office today. The receptionist jokingly said "Would I lie to you?" at one point in the conversation. His reply? "Sure you would! You're female!" and then kept going "Never had a woman not lie to me". In a room full of women- the employees and me and another tenant! I felt my eyes get big. I turned and left as soon as I could, but what I wanted to do was say "Hey, asshole- maybe there's a reason all those women keep lying to you." I hope that guy steps in an ankle-deep puddle and has to slosh around with wet socks all day.

-The librarian who acts like I'M the criminal when a library book is stolen from me. It was rather difficult to hold on to my temper when she asked me for the third time how I could be sure the book was stolen. How could I be sure? Because there was a big empty spot in the place where I left it, that's how!

-Libertarians. Just in general.

That's it right now. I had a good post planned about the effects of art on our psyches, and about my upcoming TV blogging, but fuck it. My brain hurts. People suck today. That's it.

And Stay Out!

So I am feeling cranky today. Having had a week of period-induced mood swings and being banned from the computer after I read the news on Shakesville and broke down sobbing, I was looking forward to some Halloween fun. And there was some fun- I got to tie-dye my underwear, and be a really cute Velma! (These two facts really aren't related.)

Ferret and I were looking forward to going to the Halloween party at Local Gay Bar, checking out costumes, having a drink, and watching the drag show. One of the performers is a friend of ours, and we always like seeing her work. Unfortunately, it turned out to be not so fun. It was so crowded the Fire Marshal would have fainted, and so full of cigarette smoke our eyes started to water as soon as we stepped in. But we were determined to have a good time. There were some great costumes, good performance, plus we paid the cover charge, dammit! I was hoping to stick it out to see the costume contest, but we finally gave up and headed out. As we fought our way out, we heard the emcee say, "How many lesbians we got up in here?" [cheer] "Now how many gay boys?" [cheer] "And where are the straight people?" [really loud cheer].

Yup. The straight people outnumbered the queers in the one gay bar in town. And maybe it's my hormones, but that really bugged me. I try, I really do, to be inclusive. And I want everyone to get along. And I feel kind of... mean saying this, but:

Dear Straight People: EVERY OTHER BAR IN TOWN is for you. But hey, thanks a bunch for crowding me and my partner out of the one club we feel comfortable in because you want a cheap thrill on Halloween. Hey, you know what? The drag performers don't just do this on Halloween. They do it all the time. It's their thing. You can come see it even when you aren't in a costume. You can come see it even if you're sober. Yeah. But you'd know that, if you weren't all jerks. By the way, fuck you.

See? That's mean, right? But it's how I feel. There're never that many straight people there on a regular night, and there definitely isn't that level of binge-drunk stupidity.

Maybe if it hadn't been so crowded as to be the opposite of fun I wouldn't be bitching so much. Maybe. Maybe if there was that kind of crowd, with that percentage of non-queers, all the time, it would be different. Maybe I wouldn't feel like my community was made into a tourist attraction for one night. Maybe I wouldn't feel like my space had been taken over and appropriated. Maybe if there was more of a visible gay community, I wouldn't feel like this place is really all we have. Maybe if, I reiterate, every other bar in town wasn't a "regular" (meaning "for straight people" bar), this wouldn't be a big deal for me. Maybe.

Great. I feel angry, and I feel like an exclusionary bigot at the same time.

Oh well, next weekend it'll be back to normal.

Happy Halloween.

(By the way, if I go into the grocery store tonight and hear a bunch of cross-wearing preppies talking excitedly about their "Sam-hane night ritual", you'll see me on the news. I'll be the one in handcuffs.)

I really have no patience with anyone, do I?

Techno-Bitchy

So at the risk of sounding like Lynn Truss (who I think is actually pretty cool), I'm going to rant about People Who Never Learned Manners With Technology. I'm not talking about trolls on the tubes here. Nooooo, that's another, long, rage- and frustrated bafflement-filled post.

I'm talking about people who can't own a cell phone and function in public. I'm not even going to waste time talking about people who talk on the phone while driving on the freeway (partially cause I've been guilty of that) or people who can't sit down to lunch without taking 15 different phone calls.

No. I'm going to bitch about people like the boss I had once, who on a 45 minute drive, spent 40 of those minutes on the phone with her boyfriend. While I was in the passenger seat. Not only do I consider it wildly rude to ignore the person sitting next to you with nothing to do, I had to listen to her side of the conversation the whole way, since I was stuck in the car. And believe me, I had no frickin' interest in their dinner plans for that night.

Or I could bitch about people who, when I worked at a video store, would come up to the counter- still on their cell phones- and not pay any attention to me as I attempted to complete their transaction. If I need to see your ID or a credit card, I shouldn't have to get your attention first. And then they acted like I was the rude one.

Or in the elevator. Or in line at the deli, so busy texting that the poor guy behind the counter has to get their attention not once, not twice, but four different times. Or standing in the middle of the aisle at the store, yakking away while their kids are throwing eggs at the ceiling or pulling the display racks over. Or that guy in the restaurant who talks about his bodily functions loud enough for everyone else to hear while they're eating? Hell, that coach at the Olympics who was on his Blackberry while his athlete won the silver in the pole vault, and then yelled at her? (Actually, that guy was just a jerk all around. But still.)

How do people not learn these rules? How does one fail to grasp that actual human interaction should take priority over that chuck of plastic and circuits in your hand?

I personally find it hilarious that as a fairly radical queer feminist who is also kind of socially awkward, I care more about being considerate and kind to other people than a lot of other folks who are more likely to be classed as 'respectable' or 'acceptable company'. I guess the logic of what is respect and what people should accept is too complex for my lady-brain.

Ah well, at least the Internet is still a bastion of civil and reasonable discourse. ...Hey, why are you laughing?

No, It's Still Not Okay To Say

So today, I am going where I haven't gone yet. I have been reluctant to discuss any issues of race/racism, because I feel I don't know enough about it to make statements. Also, because I have a lot of privilege, and I know it, and am trying to deal with it.

But apparently there's still people who think that because slavery was abolished, we no longer have a social debt to the oppressed and can say anything with no baggage attached.

I can't believe Renee has to make a post about this, because it's one of those things that people should just know. One of those mostly-unspoken social rules, like "Don't punch someone because they won't give you a cookie", and "Don't pee on the sidewalk".
Kanye West did a really rude and uncouth thing, and there's a lot wrong with it. It makes him anasshat. It doesn't make him a n****r. Hey, folks? It's not okay to say the word nigger. (And that's the only time I'm typing it out.) It's just not. Especially not if you're white. I think even if you're a POC, it's not a nice word. But if you're white, can you stop? I hear too many people say this to justify it: "There's a difference between black people and n*****s".

Super. I'd like to see the mathematical equation you've worked out for determining which dark-skinned person deserves which label. Oh, you don't have one and your basis for identification is whether you disapprove of how [x] POC looked or behaved? Why not the phases of the moon? Or the Homeland Security Alert color code? It'd be more consistent.

For those who don't understand the myriad of things wrong with it to begin with, try remembering this before you blithely spout that "disclaimer": for a long time, there was no "difference". All POCs used to be "n*****s". And for some people, even today, that is still true. Yeah, crazy, right? Racism still exists! Oh em gee! So saying that word makes you sound bigoted, ignorant, and mean. It's not okay to call anyone this. It strips them of their humanity.

Did you know? The War Between the States is over.

I can't believe I have to say these things. In small syllables. For the people out there who live in the 1950s. Really, I personally would like to see this word fucking retired. And I bet I'm not the only one, fancy that!

I have gotten one member of my family to stop saying this. I'm working on a few others. And now hopefully, I'm working on some of you, reading this blog (although I'm pretty sure if you read this blog, most of you already get this).

If some dude cuts you off in traffic, and he happens to be a black dude, it is ok to call him a jerk, asshole, or douchebag. (Road rage, me? Never. Ahem.) It's not ok to call him 'the n-word'. If you can't think of a better insult, let me help you.

Death Panel For Teeth

So we are having a bad month here at Casa Lemur-Ferret. My poor Ferret has apparently neglected her flossing. And also her sacrifices to the gods of Teeth and Health Care.

We've been told she has some fairly heinous stuff going on in her mouth- terms like "root canal" and "extraction" were tossed around. Shit, I want a Vicodin just thinking about it.

She woke up feeling like she'd brushed her teeth with battery acid and hot barbed wire, so we went to the local dentist, where we spent 3 hours sitting around, filling out forms, and in Ferret's case being probed and ending up 2 hours late to work.

And at the end of this delightful outing was the educational part. I learned that if one does not, as I previously did, have the privilege of being insured, then dental work costs one, as Bradley Nowell once so poetically wrote, "un chingo de dinero". (Yes, I did just bend over backward to work in a Sublime reference. There're worse crimes.)

Does dental care really have to be this expensive? Do enamel, root canals, and WaterPiks require this much overhead? I really don't know. I don't have a reason to care, unless I suddenly remember where I misplaced that extra several thousand dollars.

Our other choice is to call in a same-day-only appointment, radio-contest style, to the county dental clinic. The care is much less expensive, but they open at 8 and are booked by 8:30. And they aren't open on weekends, which seems like poor planning to me- most of their patients would be working, yes? So why close on the days people are most likely to be off?

The sad thing is I do realize we're lucky to have that option at all. If we were in a more rural area, I doubt we'd have any other choice than to pay the huge costs of "normal" dental offices. And if there was no way we could afford that, at all? (Which really, we could not have. Just so you know.) Then what? Live with the pain? Grab some pliers and fix it ourselves? The fuck is this, medieval Europe? Are people going to start dying from an abscessed tooth because they can't afford to fix it?

And people are arguing against the government somehow getting everyone decent healthcare. WHY? Gods, why? I would give almost anything to not have to worry what will happen if she or I get really sick or hurt. I know it's crazy but I'd like to be able to go to the eye doctor without saving for 8 months, or the dentist without having to sell a kidney.

Thing is, I'm freaking out on behalf of my Ferret, who with a little luck just has to last the next few days, and we have some painkillers, thank Gaia- or else she couldn't manage to eat.

What happens to people who don't luck into county resources? They pay $300 a month for 36 months- or...? Or what? Or what??

Women Die, It's All Their Fault

So last night watching the news- with my mom, no less- I heard about the shooting at the gym in Collier county. Some nut opened fire on a bunch of women, posted about it in his blog for months beforehand, and I bet the media/cops will talk about how 'he was a nice clean-cut quiet guy' and 'nobody could have predicted this'.

And, I'm sure, something about how women rejecting him is the cause of all this. When has it become okay to kill someone because they won't date you? When the fuck has rejection become a normal cause for homicide, and has it always been the woman's fault?

If a woman were to do this, the media would be all over her, talking about how crazy she was. If a man does it, the read-between-the-lines consensus seems to be, "the women should have known he'd become violent, what with all those rejections, and thusly should have gone out with him so he wouldn't kill them."

I don't suppose it's worth it to point out that lots of people can't get a date/have a good relationship, and somehow they manage not to murder anyone.

I don't know. I really don't have any good words about this. I'm angry, and scared. Maybe all those shut-ins living on the Net have the right idea. Stay home, and your chances of being randomly killed by some misogynist bastard drop drastically.

Shakesville has a more coherent rundown.

I'll be in my bed, hiding under the covers. Yeah, that seems really good right now.

The Worst Blog Post Evar

That award goes to: This guy, who thinks rape is funny. BIG trigger warning.

But if anyone else would like to go and comment to the effect that the guy's a douche, that'd be great.

Because I almost blew out my Obstreporal Lobe reading that shit.

WHAT is WRONG with some of these people?

Language Is Never Innocent; Also, Much Capitalization!

So I am one of those ladies who is Friends With My Ex. I seem to notice ladies want to stay friends with their exes more often. Guys tend to avoid exes (when they don't hate them entirely). I'm not sure why- maybe it's because women are encouraged to be introspective and sort out the feelings of "You're Not A Bad Guy And I Like Spending Time With You" from the knowledge that "We Have Issues That Make Dating A Not-Fun Idea". Guys (she says, generalizing away) seem to not be trained to compartmentalize relationships like that. If a woman isn't romantically interested in them [anymore], it's a Total Rejection of his Entire Being. Yada yadda. I have a few ex-boyfriends who got over that and with whom I'm still friendly. And one of the reasons I ended it was because of his amused dismissal of my (highly feminist) worldview. It makes for some interesting discussions, which is what this post is actually about.

My ex-now-friend, referred to as S, thinks of himself as a stand-up guy (don't they all). His actions are (usually) benevolent; if you go by the rule that says Actions are More Important than Words, he's right.

What if you think that the things you say are maybe even more important, because they are the things you're thinking?

He accuses me of being "too PC". He makes racist jokes, and then points out that he has "Black Friends who think [those jokes] are funny as hell". He refers to women as "bitches", and then claims he respects women (because he's not saying it in a mean way, don'tchaknow!). This is the same guy who once called me "easy".

He's an able-bodied, hertero white cis male who *will not* acknowledge his privelege in any way. Every time we have a discussion about feminism/racism, I end up frustrated. Because eventually the subject gets around to language, and his total misunderstanding of The Way Language Works. His claim is that "words don't have power unless we (personally) give them power. If we treat certain words as taboo, that only gives them more power." He's like Randal from Clerks 2, wearing a shirt with "Porch Monkey" on the back with the claim that he's "taking [the phrase] back." At which point Dante loses it and tells him that that's incredibly racist and he can't "take back" a phrase referring to black people if he's not black!

I outlined this comparison to S, who came down on Randal's side. Sheesh.

His idea is that if he personally treats a normally taboo word as if it has no power, eventually other people will pick up on this and do the same, and in time, racial and other slurs will lose their ability to wound. It's a nice idea. It's my opinion that it's also totally unrealistic to think that one, non-famous, whitemaledude has that much influence over how minority slurs are heard. In the meantime, it's also a really good excuse for using those words without thinking about them, or apologizing.

Am I right, or does he have a point? What's an Angry Feminist^TM to say?

(Aborted) Children of the Corn

So my Ferret and I were taking a road trip yesterday through the lovely central MidWest. And it was scary. No, seriously, I was freaked. Not just because I now have a better understanding of the phrase "the middle of nowhere" than I have ever had before. Not just because I saw a sign advertising a tree and landscape company whose motto apparently is "We eat trees... they taste like chicken". (True story.)

It's because I also got the chance to see something I never even imagined: Anti-choice billboards in cornfields. Yeah. Farmer Brown's doing his part to Save teh Baybeez. I counted 4 on a 3-hour trip. The first time I saw one, my reaction was "Did that say what I think it fucking did?!"

I asked my Ferret not to route us on that particular highway anymore, although it is one of the more direct routes to [Large City], because every time I saw a sign in a field like "Abortion kills a baby every 24 seconds", or "It's not a choice, it's a child", I felt like I'd been slapped.

And I wondered, how must a woman who has had an abortion feel, driving past these awful things? What kind of person puts or allows someone to put that on their property? Why that issue? Why that sentiment, when there are so many other things for your field to say?

I mean, I can get behind "Support Our Troops", "Buy Local Produce", "Join AAA". I'd applaud "Eat at Joe's". But "don't kill your baby, you slutty evil female" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

I'd never seen anything like these billboards before. I don't understand it, and I almost couldn't believe it. And I was shocked, and sad, and upset, and mostly? I was pissed. Really pissed. Royally fucking pissed. I wished I could've stopped and bought spray paint because that is a vile thing to inflict on a driving feminist.

Some days, I want to get the fuck out of the Midwest, no matter how pretty the trees are in the fall. I want to go back to South Florida. Yesterday was one of those days. It really was.

On Weddings

So I've been thinking a lot about weddings lately, partly as a way of avoiding thinking about marriage. When I think about marriage I not only have that nervous fear of "can I handle my lover's dirty socks for the rest of our lives?" but also anger at things like power of attorney, insurance coverage, and taxes. So why then would I be thinking about marriage? I'm unmellow enough as it is, yeah?

Because, finally, my ever-fabulous Ferret and I have decided on a date for our wedding. It's months away and it's driving me crazy already. I'm thinking about flowers and food and guests and budgets. I'm rolling my eyes at my own descent into madness: as I make lists and consider aesthetics, I'm a stressed-out combination of classic femme and professional organizer (which is what I am, after all).

I've been not-so-jokingly saying we should elope- weddings are a waste of time and money, they're heterosexist and patriarchal, and who the hell needs to deal with seating arrangements and froufrou when all you really want is a party, followed by a vacation (and at some point in there, lots of sex).

My Ferret changed my mind when I asked her in all seriousness why we didn't just do it and save time, money and stress. She simply replied, "I love you. I want to be with you for always, and I want the world to know it."
And I realized: I want that too.
…I hate when she's right. Damn crafty ferret logic.

That is it: the real and necessary reason behind the ceremony and celebration. All that fuss, all the energy expended and arrangements made and time and money spent and relatives gathered; it's because this is an important moment. I know lots of people still think of this as a coming-of-age rite. I have my doubts about that, knowing lots of single grownups and immature married folks. But either way, committing to the person you want to spend the rest of your life with is a big deal. And all the hoopla is there to tell you and the world that this is important. You've found your love, your life, your partner, and it matters. At least that's how it seems to me.

So when people are less than enthused when I announce my upcoming nuptials, it's hard not to take it personally. My father still hasn't said anything to me at all yet- I thought "congratulations" at least should be a no-brainer. My mother is the one who told me she wasn't sure my father would want to walk me down the aisle.
I have no intention of being "given away"- I'm not a possession, and getting married makes me no less my own person. But it feels like I am blazing a new path here, and I'd like to be able to cling to some traditions as familiar landmarks. (Hey, some we're losing. Fuck that toss-the-bouquet nonsense.)
But to hear that my own father doesn't want to participate in one of the more significant events in his daughter's life; to hear, as I do in my mother's voice, that my parents don't share in my excitement and happiness- it makes me wonder. It makes me reconsider the whole thing. I do have a good relationship with my parents and thought they were used to the idea that their one and only girlchild wasn't going to make that walk with a dude. Now I'm not so sure.

If they can't share in this with me and be as happy about my wedding as they are about, say, my brother's, then what is the point?

…having just typed that, I know that I am lucky that my parents didn't disown, assault, or evict me when they found out (which makes me angry that that happens at all), but that doesn't mean I feel any better about what I perceive as their rejection of the validity of my relationship.

And then I think, fuck 'em. The people who really love me and Ferret for who we are, all we are, will be behind us. We have people who will share this with us. If anybody "isn't comfortable" with us (have you noticed that usually means "I'm homophobic but won't admit it"?), then they can stay away. More cake for the rest of us. I want no one at my wedding who is not a true friend.

Okay, I'm done ranting for now- I have to go look at lacy things and flowers on theknot.com.

Newspapers: Hey, We Eradicated Rape!

So I was reading this blog post of Cara's about a woman who was murdered, and also this [trigger warning] disgusting story from Shakesville, and I can't help but notice something.
It's kind of scary how I never see the word "rape" in newspapers anymore, even when it's the kind of "extreme" rape that not even MRAs can argue with. What's with the self-censorship of newspapers on just this word? They're supposed to keep us informed- that is, tell the truth objectively. What the fuck is this bullshit then?

I'm wondering if there's a protest group or something I can join, just to stop newspapers confusing 'rape' and 'sex'. How many letters and emails and phone calls will it take?

You know what's fucked up? I hear people all the time saying women get confused about 'what is rape and what is sex' (IE, "buyer's remorse" and oh how I hate that fucking term when it's applied to this), but these newspapers seem way more 'confused' than any woman I ever heard of.
What is so hard about the concept: "consent should be informed, enthusiastic, and oh yeah, conscious"?
It's a big freakin' difference, journalists. It's not a fine line, okay? It's a big fat glow-in-the-dark line!

But everyone seems to be telling us there isn't one. Including the newspapers.

Rape isn't sex. Rape isn't sexy. Please don't use it for titillation value in your articles. Treat it as the violent and fucked-up crime that it is.
See, look: "Couple has sex on street corner as performance art" is fine. "Man has sex with unconscious woman" is so far from fine it's in a different country. The difference is not hard to learn. And it's not a minor issue. It affects how everyone thinks of sex and rape.

To all newspapers everywhere: Stop. Doing this. To us.

h/t Cara and Liss

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

That is what I have been having. For like, the last three days.
All the little things are going wrong, and a few medium-large things too. Oh and also, I'm having extra fun with PMS! Hooray for moodiness and back pain! I mean, fuck. It feels like everything I do is bound to go wrong, somehow. I'm afraid to drive because this feels like my week for being hit by a car (even though that already happened last week!). It's just been that kind of thing lately.
It leaves me in no mood to blog, be cheerful, be motivated, be businesslike, cook, clean, leave the house...
Actually it leaves me in no mood to do anything but lay on the couch with homemade chocolate-chip cookies and watch Monty Python.

Yes, I am now officially twelve years old. I'm pouting. I don't care.

Look for me to come out of my blue funk in like a week.
Til then, eh.

Your PC Fail

Here at Things That Piss Me Off dot com, I just thought I'd bitch about people who bitch about "PC".
"The thought police blah blah"!
"You're being oversensitive bark bark bark"
"I'm un-PC so I'm edgy and cool zzzz my penis zzzz zzzz"

These people are assholes. There's really no other conclusion to be reached. When they bitch about people "restricting" the language they can use, they're basically just saying, "But what about MY right to be an asshole?! What about MEEEEEE??!1!"
Because apparently their right to say dumb, rude, unconstructive bullshit is more important than not making someone else feel bad. If they can't say shit like "you're my bitch", "that's so gay", and "you're retarded", the world will end because someone tried to tell them they were being arrogant and mean.

Also, it made me very sad that I had a conversation with my ex yesterday wherein I had to explain that "donkeypunch" is not funny. Ever. Same goes for 'the Houdini'. If you think it is funny, you're a douchebag. The end.

To sum up: If you think that your privelege to say whatever you want, no matter how racist/sexist/homophobic/etc it is, is more important than the feelings of actual people... YOU. ARE. A. BAD. PERSON. No really, you are. Please fuck off and die now.

PSA: Lemur Worries

So my Ferret and I were driving her to work today and as we were driving down the Gods-so-annoying-still-under-construction highway off-road thingy, she asked me: "Do you think all this stuff will still be here in a thousand years? Will there be any sign that we were here?"

And the answer is: No. We're screwed as a species. We're fucking this planet hard, with no regard as to what's going to happen to it in the future. We're going to run out of oil in something like 50-100 years, which isn't long, really. We're fucking with the OZone layer, we're polluting everything we touch, and oh yeah there's famine in like, what, a quarter of the world. Meanwhile we're living in one the most wasteful nations on Earth.

I read somewhere that car companies bought up the prototype for an excellent working electric car a few years ago. Then, they destroyed it. Their greed was more important than the end of oil-based cars, more important than progress, more important than the environment. The money was more important the fate of the planet. 

I wonder what will happen to us, I really do.

Ferret says the planet will repair itself, given time. Yeah, I agree, I think it will. 

But we both know- and so do you- that the planet's repair would be much faster if we aren't on it. And sometimes I really think we won't be.

And so I worry. 

Jesus called. He wants his religion back.

Aaaand the Vatican once again proves that the leaders of the Catholic church are a bunch of aliens who have no concept of humanity or empathy.

You bunch of fucking assholes.

What the hell is wrong with these people?

This girl is NINE. Nine years old. She was raped and in all likelihood would have died. And quite possibly the TWINS she was carrying would have died. But on the off-chance that no one died, she would have had twins. At nine years old. The product of rape. At nine. By her stepfather. I mean, dear fucking gods have mercy.

So... she had an abortion, which is about all that could be done to preserve the life and sanity of this poor girl. And in a slightly saner world, that would have been it. It would have been private, and over with, and on to therapy. 

But then. Somehow, the church got involved. And then there was more torture. And a complete and utter lack of compassion.

And the church excommunicated the mother and the doctors, called it murder, and have been very censorious about the whole thing. Big surprise. Assholes.

Amazingly, though, the stepfather? He's not been excommunicated. In fact, not one word about him. Also? Not one word about this little girl and the suffering imposed on her- by men, who will never have to go through this but keep trying to control it.

I guess you could say I'm religious- I believe there's more out there than us; that there's things we don't know and may never know. I believe in the divine. 

As a Wiccan, I live by the Wiccan Rede and the Rule of Three: "do as you will, an it harm none" and "every action you take, for good or ill, returns to you, threefold". Watch what you do, try not to hurt people and be aware of the impact of your words and actions. It's not hard. 

Christians are supposed to be doing the same things- remember "love thy neighbor"? What about "let he who is without sin cast the first stone"? Religion is supposed to be there to teach us to be good to one another, to do no harm, and for those who are wronged, see that justice is done or at least that comfort is given to the hurting.

Why then is religion suddenly no longer concerned with these things? Where is this girl's comfort? Where is the justice for the man who harmed her? And why are all these Bishops surreptitiously picking up rocks? No wonder so many people are abandoning religion these days- it teaches them nothing good. 

Pessimistic maybe, but that's how I'm feeling.

People who are supposed to follow the example of a man of a man who sought love, peace, and the commonalities of all people- and they all seem to be promoting fear, hatred, and shame. What the hell is going on here?? 

...The cognitive dissonance makes my head ache.

I Can't Bear It

So I broke down and went to the coin wash to do my laundry today, and it was like time-traveling back to the 70's- big washers, dryers with names on 'em, a soda machine from before I was born... It was actually a nice little place, except for one thing.

On the corkboard that all these place seem to have on a wall somewhere ( you know, with business cards and ads selling stuff with the phone numbers on rip-off slips at the bottom), there was a picture of a big black bear sitting at a picnic table.

Cute, yeah? Not so much.

The text underneath read: 

"This bear captures a disturbing trend that is beginning to affect wildlife in the US.

Animals that were formerly self-sufficient are now showing signs of belonging to the Democrat Party... as they have apparently learned to just sit and wait for the government to step in and provide for their care and sustenance. The locals in [Some Midwest Park] named this one 'Bear-ack Obama'!

Get it? Get it????  It's not just funny cause the bear is black! Its funny cause Democrats just wanna hand things out to all the lazy people and/or have things handed them, and now, animals will do it too! LOLZ, amirite???

I mean, it makes sense. I know I've never heard of a Republican who get his job/money/life handed to him by a rich, powerful father. No no, all those Repubs did it themselves!

[Insert sound of crickets chirping]

Yeah, I had a hard time keeping a straight face when I typed that.
What I really wanted to do was write underneath: "If this same bear had gone on a rampage and gotten several people killed, he'd have been nicknamed 'John McCain'.

Instead I folded my shirts and put my business card up on the corkboard. Sigh.
I comfort myself by vowing that if I get any Obama-hatin' racist misogynist homophobe potential clients, I'll tell them I'm a big ol' liberal dyke. Oh, and that I'd rather see my tax money go to helping people- whether they've "earned" it or not- than go to more war, more CEO's private jets and more campaign funds.

Fucking Conservatives.

Listening to Fear

So I was discussing things with my Ferret yesterday. Mainly guy culture, and why I get so sick of it. Most of dude culture annoys me- things like (1)the glorification of bodily functions- except when women's bodies are involved; (2) the ritual of "bullshitting"- i.e., lying for the the hell of it/to make yourself sound 'cooler'; and (3) the building of trust not by talking or sharing or anything that makes sense, but by doing (1) and (2) while hanging out with each other forever until somehow you just know your compatriot's an "ok guy". The thing I really hate though, is (4) "bros before hos"- that huge part of dude culture dedicated to "keeping the wimminz in their place". You've heard it- make me a sammich, give me a blowjob, iron my shirt, don't talk, hur hur threesomes, blah blah blah I'm an asshole.

And even the guys that aren't, individually, so bad, become like this when a bunch of them get together. It's like the small amount of entitlement that lurks in the hearts of otherwise decent dudes grows in direct proportion to how many (hetero, generally) men you get in one place.

Ferret, of course, takes my tirade rather personally and jumps to the defense of her dudely brethren, which is totally depressing. "Sure, there are some assholes out there. But how many girls only want a guy for his money... blah backstabbing catty wenches, blah blah psycho chicks, blah blah, upshot: women are just as bad as men."

I disagree. Not that I am excusing the members of my sex/gender from being assholes- anybody can be an asshole. But I point out to Ferret that, while it can happen, I am wildly less likely to be physically or sexually assaulted (axe-murdered, raped, jumped on the street, et cetera) by someone with lady-parts. In other words, I am not afraid of women. Freaked out by, confused by, amazed by, afraid for, and often proud of, yeah. But I'm not afraid of women. Men, on the other hand? Allow me at this juncture to chuckle and look away uneasily.

There are reasons. It's my personal life experiences, it's the statistics and stories in the news. It's the things we are shown in the media. We are called hysterical, bitches, and dysfunctional for saying it, but it's true. Women are still the sex class, second-class, not considered "real people", still oppressed. And the pervading feeling of the underclass is always fear. Fear when I walk to my car alone at night, when I'm around a strange group of men, when I'm alone anywhere. It's not a huge! obtrusive! fear!, but a low-level wariness in my brain, and it's always there. And I don't think I'm the only woman who lives her life like this.

And...I hate this. I try never to admit it. I don't want to be that woman. I don't want the fear to run me. I don't want that to be the reason for my feminism, and I don't think it is- otherwise my blog would probably resemble IBTP a lot more. (I mean in a separatist sense- I'm not implying Twisty fears the dudez.)

But here's the thing: we have a group of teenage boys in our house on a regular basis (please don't ask me how that happened). They're good kids, they really are. But I tend to be a bit of a control freak when they're there, because I'm used to being ignored/talked over/dismissed by guys, and I'm not letting it happen this time. I'm the boss, dammit! Me! And I'm worried about getting the respect I think I deserve- keeping in mind that respect for teenagers is relative. I worry about control. Also, what I always think about with dudes is: how do they talk about women when women aren't around?.

And Ferret asked me: "Do you really think any of those boys are abusive rapist bastards? Really, Lemur?"

"No! But I'm afraid one day they might be, and it freaks me out, and I don't know how to fix it." 

I don't know how to fix them, or me, or whether any of us actually need fixing at all.

And I get so damn angry when I think about the fear.

Is It Over Yet? Cause Now I'm Pissed.

Is this whole "OMGZ BDSM can DIAF" thing over yet? Can we talk about something else? I swear to Gaia I would rather sit and discuss the Jessica Simpson Weight Nontroversy (thanks Liss) than hear one more comment about how bdsm'ers are pathetic or need therapy or what the fuck ever.

I'm starting to get righteously pissed about this whole thing- because while lying in bed with my partner (after some awesome sex that left me bruised and sore, since you're wondering), I remembered something, and have been given permission to post it on here. Ferret didn't really think about sex til she met me. When we started to be physical with each other, in our late teens, there was a memorable episode wherein she and I both came to realize that she was both Dom and a sadist. She, having not much experience or knowledge about the sexual randomness that's out there, freaked. She freaked completely and wouldn't come near me afterward, afraid she'd hurt me. Afraid she couldn't control herself, that I'd hate her and think she was a monster. Afraid she was actually an abusive bastard who couldn't love anyone without hurting them. 

We worked it out- I got over the shock fairly fast and had a talk with her about BDSM, about how it can be okay, and about how I happened to share some of her feelings about sex and pain. We managed, and happily we found we had complimentary desires, and ten years later we still do. 

But if there hadn't been someone with her who understood? If there'd been someone who held the same views as, say, ND there that night? 

And if someone in the same place Ferret was in- that place of being afraid of yourself, denying that you want these things, hating yourself, wondering what kind of sick freak you are- happens to read that blog, especially the part about how all "those people" "need serious therapy" and "get off on torture" and should just "kill themselves"? What do you think that will do to them? What the fuck happens to that person?

How cruel is it to blast not just strong adults who understand their sexuality, but maybe trigger those people just discovering that side of themselves? How many people have you hurt, ND- really, cruelly, maybe destroyed, because you had to make judgements on a lifestyle you don't fucking understand and haven't really bothered to research? Do you know whether your words have driven any confused teenagers to "fucking kill themselves"? 

Is it worth it, dammit? 

Why Lemur Doesn't Make Lawyer Jokes, Part 2

Continuing from Part 1,  we have a very frightened Lemur, who finally managed to leave her abusive boyfriend. 

She was running out of strength. Her friends were distant, her family was losing patience, and she was becoming afraid to leave the house because every white truck she saw triggered fear. So as a last resort, she did what she'd been taught: she went to the police. She had called them before, but they never seemed to be able to help. This time, though, she had a goal: a restraining order. Something, anything, to make him stop! So she went- and got an interview with a bored-looking officer who not-quite-sneered at her lack of "hard evidence" and told her there was nothing he could do; a judge wouldn't grant a restraining order without evidence of threats of physical harm, which she didn't have. She walked out, feeling alone and helpless.

This was it. There was no way to stop him; the only other option was to try and avoid him- even though he knew her phone number, where she worked, where she lived, where her friends lived... even though he'd accosted her in daylight, in a public place, in his work uniform and seemed to have gotten away with it. There would be time to gather her strength and self-reliance and work out a plan later; at that point, Lemur was defeated. She sat in her car in the police station parking lot and gave in to misery and fear. As Lemur sat there and sobbed, there was a tap on her car window.
A lady stood there in the parking lot next to her car, looking concerned. Lemur opened the door and looked at her. "Are you ok?" asked the lady. At this bit of concern, Lemur lost her reserve and broke down, explaining that her ex-boyfriend was stalking and harassing her and that the police had told her there was nothing they could do about it. The lady's face darkened. "Like hell there's not! You come with me." Lemur followed the woman  across the parking lot toward a different part of the police building, at a complete loss. The lady explained as they walked that she was a public defender; when they got to her office, she sat Lemur down and told her in no uncertain terms that there were, in fact, laws for cases just such as hers, adding her professional opinion that the cop Lemur had spoken to "just didn't want to do the damn paperwork. Lazy ass. You realize if you'd gotten hurt, he's guilty of negligence?"

The lady looked up the laws, showed them to Lemur and gave her a copy of the relevant pages, and then asked for Jerkoff's phone number.
She left a message on his phone: "You should call me for some free legal advice, unless you'd like the first time you speak to me be when you're in jail on a felony charge." She hung up the phone and smiled. "Here's my card. Call me if he bothers you again, but I don't think he will."
She was right. Lemur waited anxiously for a day, two days, a week, a month. Nothing. It was like he'd disappeared. She was finally free, she could leave the house! (Still, it took several more  weeks before she stopped being afraid of white trucks.) She could drive by Jerkoff's neighborhood without detouring to avoid it. Several months later, she met someone nice and realized she was strong enough to try dating again. She grew, and she learned, and she mourned the things she had lost and the time she had wasted. And she held on to the lessons she'd learned, and swore she'd never be such a fool again. (So far, so good.)
But she never forgot the lady lawyer who saved her, gave her her life back, and gave her hope when she was on the edge of despair. Not the police. Not the system. One strong woman, one lawyer who cared about an anonymous wreck of a girl in a parking lot. She didn't forget.

And that is why this Lemur- badass irreverent feminist bitch- doesn't make lawyer jokes. Because a lawyer saved me when no one else would or could. Why did I tell this story? I don't know. Because I felt it important to share my experience. Because someone reading may recognize their own past or present; because someone may avoid that future. 

Because- thank you, Carol-  hope comes from unlikely places.