Why Animals Mean So Much More to Me Than, Say, Michael Vick's Career

"I swear, y'all care more about animals than you do people."

This is the common response I've seen to Michael Vick's situation. In fact, it's the common response to anything wherein animal abuse is brought up, and as happens with most casual brush-off responses to any kind of abuse, it inspires an almost inarticulate rage in me.

It's widely known that animal abuse is unacceptable. Torturing animals is one of three early signs that many serial killers display in childhood (the others being obsession with fire and wetting the bed until a late age). Local news programs have whole segments devoted to animal abuse and showing the victims, burned and discolored and blinded, with their bruises and cuts and sad, limpid eyes. We don't think that it's okay to kick your dog around, but when it comes to the person being punished, nobody seems to think it should be that bad, except for those wackos who "care more about animals than people".

I acknowledge that I'm harder on animal abusers than most. On that note, I am harder on any kind of abuser - child, sexual, elderly, domestic - as to me, abuse of power is something unforgivable. I don't think that there is anything wrong with this line of thinking.

Why? you may ask, or maybe you'd make some comment to the effect of how people must not mean all that much to me, or maybe I'm a crazy cat lady and I'll end up sad and alone in life with my sixty-three cats. This, I assure you, is not the case, and I'll thank you kindly not to tell me how I'll end up in life or what I'm like because if you're condemning me for condemning animal abuse, I don't have much respect for your opinions anyway.

Because, you see, abusing an animal - any animal - is taking the trust that a domestic animal, who has been bred to trust and crave human companionship, places in you; the devotion and love that they automatically give you; taking your role as the sole provider for a domesticated animal in a world civilized by humans; and shattering it so you can prove your dominion, something you never needed to prove anyway.

You are the caregiver of a much smaller creature who cannot do a quarter of the damage you can. You are the provider. You feed, bathe, care for, and protect this creature, who implicitly trusts you. And you take advantage of that implicit trust so you can... what? Kick your dog around? Set your cat on fire? Have people bet on dogfights?

Unforgivable.

And why? So you can feel powerful? Get some extra money? Is there ever an excuse for abuse, any kind, at all?

An animal can not fight back. It can try to defend itself, but as previously mentioned, it cannot fight you back as an equal. You have the upper hand at all times.

Again: unforgivable.

Someone who abuses their animals... well, they're despicable. Abusing the trust of something that gives you untold devotion for simply feeding it? Disgusting. Not so elevated after all, as we humans profess ourselves to be.

Now do you see why I don't care about Michael Vick ever playing again, and if it were up to me he wouldn't?

Walking in My Shoes (another retro post)

So after all that's happened recently, I think I should put up another Retro Post for Justice. This one gives a tiny tiny glimpse into my and many other women's everyday lives. No joke, no bullshit - just straight up trying to make you listen. Don't get defensive or butthurt about it, because I'm not putting you on the defensive here. All I'm trying to do is speak my story that gets brushed off by people who think that sexism isn't a problem or their problem any more. I hope I show you that that's not the case by a long shot.

--

Here are some things that the average woman can look forward to experiencing in her lifetime (conjectured from a lot of experience and storytime with women I know):

• Catcalls from guys in cars when you wear a miniskirt.


• Catcalls from guys in cars when you wear jeans and a T-shirt.


• Catcalls from guys in cars when you wear anything at all, really, and happen to be walking to the library/grocery store/bus stop/anywhere at all.


• At least one guy at the bar who doesn’t understand “no”. "C'mon, please, it won’t hurt, just a few more drinks, you’d really like me.” No, because I certainly don’t like you now, so why should my opinion change in five minutes?


• Men staring at your boobs and not at your face constantly.


• Unlimited unsolicited comments about the size/shape of your breasts and/or ass from guys. Any guys. They might be your friends, they might not be. And it will be said to your face.


• That “friendly” hand on your ass from your friendly neighborhood creep.


• Some dude who doesn’t understand boundaries and insists on putting his hands all over you when you’re like, “Um, who the hell are you?” Mostly found at clubs, but can also be friends of a friend, someone you’ve barely met, or some dude in a crowded public space.


• Being told you’re a frigid prude with a repressed sexuality because you don’t like unsolicited comments and/or gropage.


• Being told you’re a cocktease because you are “dressed for it” and you don’t want unsolicited comments and/or gropage.


• That really creepy guy who doesn’t understand why you don’t want to let him touch you and freaks you out really badly.


• Telling a police officer that a man is not leaving you alone and you’re a little scared now and being told that he has more important things to deal with than your standards for men.


• Hearing this statement: “I bet if Johnny Depp were the one asking random girls to fuck him in the parking lot of a university campus, those girls who were saying ‘eww’ to the regular guy would jump all over him!” Uh, no, I would still be scared and I would still tell the cops and hope to god they listen to me.


• Getting scared because some guy is getting really angry that you aren’t saying “yes, please grope and fuck me now”.


• Having a man take you out on a date and paying for dinner, then letting you know that you owe him sex because he paid. (Newsflash: I don’t owe you anything, asswipe.)


• Being told by a lot of men (not all, but a lot) that all of the above is “a compliment, jeez, can’t you just take a compliment and move on?”

Ever since I was fourteen, I have known all of this and more. I have been called a fine piece of ass (by people who didn’t know me or who had just been introduced to me), a tease, a slut, a whore, a frigid bitch, and numerous other epithets. At fifteen a friend that I had just really got to know dubbed my breasts “boobles” because they were too small for his taste, and I got that nearly every single day of my sophomore year of high school. I have not yet made a trip to the library that hasn’t had a truck full of thirtysomething year old men honking and whistling at me involved. Guys have called me names and more for saying, “Sorry, but no thanks.” I have been felt up at clubs too often for me to list. And on one memorable occasion, I was pushed into doing something that ended in a paralyzed Dominique frozen next to the window of a car, getting fondled by a skeevy, sketchy guy that scared the crap out of me, and my friends knew about it, and they didn’t do a damn thing to help me. That guy robbed me of my feeling of security. He stole my assumption that if I said no, he would stop. And he took away the idea that if I spoke up, my then-best friend would help me.

I know that my experiences pale in comparison to some, and I know that they also exceed what some others have experienced. This does not make them any less true. I’m not exaggerating any of this. In fact, I’ve downplayed a lot of it.

Since I was a little girl, I’ve learned that I am a sex object. Whether I want to be or not, men will see my body as something they have a right to. Not all men, and I am grateful for that every day. But because of those men that do act like they can do whatever they want with my body and if I argue back I should be put in my place, I assume the worst when in a teetering situation. I will immediately go on my guard when put in these situations because I have seen it happen before, time and time again. So no, I do not hate men. Not at all. But I have to be cautious and careful because I never know which guy isn’t going to understand a polite “no” and keep pushing; I don’t know if the guy that keeps pushing will start getting angry with me; and I have no idea what a man that’s angry at me for denying him something he’s always been taught he had a right to will do.

Now do you understand why I think this hurts more than it helps, and why I think it doesn’t help at all?

Why I'm a Feminist (that's right, Virginia, I'm a feminist)

Just so you know, I'm tired.

I'm tired of being told, "Well, if you wear shorts, what do you expect, Dominique?"

I'm tired of being told, "That's the way men are, and if you don't like it cover up."

I'm tired of being told, "Men are stupid, but we just have to live with it."

I'm tired of being told, "That's life."

Really? No.

My friend Errol had a note today on Facebook talking about how girls that bitch and moan about getting stared at by guys or catcalls and whistles walking down the street really secretly want it, and hey, they're the ones dressing that way, so maybe if they stopped they wouldn't get all that crap! But since we know they really want it, they won't, and so dudes, feel free to stare!

Words like "advertising" and "teases" were thrown around in the comments.

Jacob held up a little and got hella criticized. And then I swooped in like the wrath of an avenging deity.

Here's a sampling of my comments and some responses at which point I started writing this post:


Dominique: We're gonna take this point. by. point.

I get catcalls no matter what I'm wearing, be it shorts, tank top, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie... if I walk down the street, chances are some dipshit in a truck is going to honk at me. Yes, Virginia, there is such a thing as sexism, and it is alive and kicking.

I. don't. give. a. fuck. if I am wearing a v-neck or a turtleneck; if I am trying to carry on a conversation with you and you are ogling me, there will be hell to pay. And there frequently is, because guess what? No matter what I wear, when I wear it, I will still get told things like, "nice ass, sweetheart," or, "ooh, girl's got some legs on her." Right now? I'm wearing shorts. Short shorts, to be exact. And I wear them because they are comfy and it's hot outside, not because I'm trying to validate myself through how many men give me unwanted and intrusive stares.

Because that's what it's about. Women do not get appreciative once-overs; we get leers. We don't get glances; we get long hard stares. We hear, "I want a piece of that ass," which is looooovely because it lets us know that that's all we are. If I'm with Jacob and I catch a girl checking him out, it's whatever because I know it's nothing. But if we were out and he saw a guy staring, you'd better believe there'd be shit going down - because *it's not the same*. And I wish it was, and it should be innocent, yes, *but it isn't*, and pretending like it is is bullshit, plain and simple.

(Oh yeah, and my chest does get ogled if I'm wearing a turtleneck, just for context.)

So if I say, "I wish guys would stop checking me out," I mean it, because it's not about the way I dress; it's about the assumption that my body is always there to look at, to touch, to check out, whatever. It isn't. It's mine. And maybe I like my v-necks and my short shorts, without having a man tell me, "baby you lookin' good today." We fix that idea, and I promise we will fix the complaints.

Oh, and I've been called a tease more times than I can remember. yyyyeah.

Errol: no one understands the mind of the Man that oogles girls....I have maybe seen 3 girls in my life time that I would STARE the hell down and NONE of them went to U0fA...lol..

Dominique: PS. If anyone wants to see about how it's not about covering up? Go study Iranian women's lives. Watch them in their chadors and then try and tell me it's about "covering up your assets".

[To Errol:] you poor poor misunderstood man. Try mansplaining to me again, and maybe I'll get it this time.

Errol: different culture

Dominique: Doesn't matter. Same idea, same complex.

Errol: its America, its just the way it is, Certain Men are gonna stare u down no matter what...Others wont pay u attention. IDK Y. We should do a Case study though

No, different Culture different Idea.

Dominique: ...and I'm supposed to accept it and change the way I feel comfortable because of it? No.

http://deepad.livejournal.com/18056.html
for an actual Indian woman's account (yeah, I know, not Iranian, but I love this post). Look, the idea is, in case you didn't catch it the first time: men and women are taught from a very young age that women's bodies belong to men. Boys can look aaaall they want and girls are told to either a.) put up with it, or b.) cover up. Boys aren't told to stop. They aren't told that's intrusive and makes the girl uncomfortable. They're taught it's acceptable. Covering up doesn't help one damn bit, because it doesn't matter what I wear, what deepad (linked) wears, what any woman wears - there will always be men leering and honking and catcalling. I could wear a parka and snow pants and still get whistles. Covering up or changing is not the point.

Errol: well the note doesnt apply to you, but it u dont have to change anything, your no more likely to be ok with men looking at you funny than, Men not doing it and everybody in the world speaking the same language.

And men are told to stop, U talk as if men are raised to be rude. I wasnt taught that and neither was a majority of my friends.

its just life.

Dominique: I'd just like to be something other than my body parts, that's all.

If that's life, then I want something more. I'd rather fight an uphill fight than give up early and let myself be shoved in a tiny corner.


...and then I stared at my computer.

What is wrong with this world, that I have to argue for my freedom to wear the clothes that I like and feel comfortable in? Why are people (usually men) so utterly dismissive of my opinion about these things, despite the cold hard fact that I live this every single day of my life? Why is it that when I dissent, when I stand up and call out loudly that this is wrong, I get shrugged off and ignored?

God, that's even worse than arguing back. Because if you argue back, you're acknowledging me as an equal. You're saying that I have a point worth arguing. This way? It's trying to make me feel silly and unimportant, like I'm making a mountain out of a molehill.

I'm not.

And you know how I know this? Because it happens to me every time I bring it up. I get shrugged off, gently moved aside, and told, "Well, that's life."

I said it before, and I'll say it again: If that's life, then I want something more. I'd rather fight an uphill fight than give up early and let myself be shoved in a tiny corner. It bears repeating, because it's true. I'd rather spend my whole life fighting this kind of bias and mentality than accepting it and having to cage myself and everything I stand for. Can't do it, ladies and gentlemen.

So you know what? I'm a feminist. That's right. And it's my soapbox issue. And if you fuck with me on it, be prepared to be met with plenty of evidence, anecdotes, and just plain facts. I know what I'm talking about. I live this every day. Boys, this is my life, and if you can't accept that or refuse to believe me, then sit the fuck down and shut up, because you clearly don't know what you're talking about or who you're talking to. I'm done with being told to cover up. I'm done with being told to stay quiet. I'm done with being ignored. If you can't deal with my voice, then get the fuck out of my way, because I'm not shutting up for you.

I'm not shutting up for anyone any more.

Why I have such a hate-on for Gretchen Wilson and her ilk

First thing: I enjoy country music. Quality country music, of course. Garth Brooks, Lee Ann Womack, Emmylou Harris, Brooks and Dunn, Miranda Lambert, Josh Turner... people who demonstrate actual talent in crafting songs and real music. I catch some teasing from friends about it sometimes, but I do see quality in country music, just like there is quality in any kind of overcommercialized music *coughhiphopcough*

Gretchen Wilson is not quality.

Let's not delude ourselves - nobody ever said she was. But I'll be damned if my ire doesn't pique every single time I hear that "classic" "Redneck Woman". It offends every single sensibility of mine in the lyrics alone.

Because I have such a burning hatred for this song, I'll show you and explain the lines that make me incoherent with rage. Fun!

Well I ain't never
Been the barbie doll type
No I can't swig that sweet champagne
I'd rather drink beer all night

The beginning of the song, ladies and gentlemen. The beginning. And already I want to break her beer bottle and stab her in the eye with it. What she does here is set it up nicely to explain that all women get divvied up into two categories:

1. "Ah don't b'lieve in bein' some uppity girl who cain't take a li'l beer now and again! Hey, wanna arm wrestle?" and
2. "Like, check out my BMW, girrrrrrls! But be careful you don't break a nail! *giggle*"

Seriously, Gretchen, fuck you. Some of us have never been from the country and quite frankly have absolutely no desire to - and are not perfectly-sculpted Barbie dolls that swill champagne. There are myriad other categories that women alone fall under that don't involve those two. How about the woman from the inner city who's worked her whole life to get somewhere? How about the hipster girls at the poetry slam? How about the moshers at the Nine Inch Nails concert? Way to acknowledge any of them - or, even worse, imply that all of those women are "the barbie doll type" simply because they aren't down-home country like you. Let me tell you, if somebody told my friends I was the Barbie-doll type, they'd laugh until the tears were streaming down their faces.

Worse, we're supposed to agree that she's inherently better because she's country. Uh, no, actually. I think I'll pass that one because it is just too easy.

I'll stand barefooted in my own front yard with a baby on my hip

You do that, sweetheart, but others kinda wince at the imagery of a barefoot pregnant woman. It's not like that's inflammatory or sexist at all, nope.

Also, I have nothing against having children, but seriously? Some of us would like to get some education before we go down that long hard road that is parenting. And maybe some of us don't want kids, for whatever reasons. (I know that having children is something I have to think seriously about because depression is hereditary and look at all the problems I've had with it. Not saying I don't want kids, but for anybody with a mental illness, it's something that requires thought.) Not everyone wants to live in a trailer with their infants chucked on their hips. Actually, if you can point out to me anyone who thinks that's desirable or a great goal in life, I'll... well, I'm not actually sure what I'll do. Probably bang my head on my desk repeatedly.

Cause I'm a redneck woman
And I ain't no high class broad

Extra "fuck you" for calling anyone not like you a broad (I hate that term with a passion). And ooh, if they ain't homegrown like me, they must be puttin' on some high-class airs! Not. Reality check, girl: there's a huuuuuuge middle ground between "redneck" and "high-class".

And I keep my Christmas lights on, on my front porch all year long

This is just a personal pet peeve, but that offends my sense of aesthetics. Have some pride in where you live, please.

Victoria's Secret
Well their stuff's real nice
Oh but I can buy the same damn thing on a Wal*Mart shelf half price
And still look sexy
Just as sexy
As those models on TV
No I don't need no designer tag to make my man want me

No, actually, you cannot buy Victoria's Secret-quality at Wal-Mart. And you never will. My Wal-Mart bras have all fallen apart at this point - it's the stuff I got at department stores that's still holding up. And I will be damned if a Wal-Mart bra gives you half the push-up that Vicky's gives me. Also: does Wal-Mart sell that sexy little lingerie hiding in my drawer? I didn't think so. Until they do, I don't take that section seriously.

And come on, no man gives a shit about the tags on your bra or lingerie, and saying that they do is stupid. Does anybody here know a man who cares if the bra you have on is xhiliration or Frederick's? But the quality does and should matter. If you can't afford it (god knows I can't), then that's fine, but don't sit there and tell me that it's all the same and nobody gives a damn. Well, I give a damn, because I like my stuff to last a long time. I'd rather buy one bra that'll last for years than a cartful of bras that'll last for six months max. (And if you really need to save, go buy Target or head to the mall and get something from a department store. It's still inexpensive and the quality's better. Maybe not as cheap as Wal-Mart, but when I say cheap, I mean price and quality.)

...and then the rest is mostly a lot of "hell yeah"s, to which I can only say, "woo."

Do you see now why I can't stand this song? I mean, I know I was just fucking around with that last part, but it's the absurd set up that women can either be down-home girls with babies and no education or airheaded bimbos with pneumatic tits and pouty lips. I happen to be a slight, intelligent woman going to college to further myself who loves learning and despises both of those stereotypes, mostly because they simplify women too damn much and partially because both of those types of women don't even care about taking the time to get educated.

Don't believe me?

"In 2007, [Wilson] completed the GED program."

You mean to tell me she had all that time, all that fame and money, and only recently bothered to get her GED? Ridiculous. And don't throw that "she comes from poverty, okay?" excuse at me, because if you want something hard enough, you'll do what it takes. My high school best friend came from poverty and frequently did not have enough money for essential things. There was no way in hell she could pay for college. But she worked hard and did what it took to be able to go. We've since fallen out, but if I'm correct she's still at college, working for her scholarships and loans. Do not tell me that Gretchen Wilson did not have the opportunity to go to a public high school where everything is funded for you and get her high school diploma.

Yes, I am intolerant of those who deliberately pass up education as an option and deride it as something for the elite. Education is for everyone. There is no excuse not to get one. Maybe it's my privilege speaking, but guess what? I went to public school too. I come from a lower-middle-class family who has had to strain and push for every penny we earn. There was no way my family could help me pay for college, and there was no way I could pay on my own. I had to bust my ass for scholarships and ended up landing a sweet one. I know what it's like to have to work hard in order to further myself.

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate this song because of Gretchen Wilson. I hate Gretchen Wilson because this song is a complete insult to any intelligent, thinking woman who uses her brain to do something other than hit the keg with the good ol' boys.

You might think I'm trashy
A little too hard core

Trashy? Yes. As for hardcore... darling, I know high school freshman more hardcore than you'll ever be. You are a woman who thinks "broad" is an acceptable term to call another woman. Any "down-home" thing you do is mostly to get the boys to love you because you aren't like those "sissy girls", undoubtably. There is absolutely nothing hardcore about you. Now go put that GED to some use, for the love of god.