"It's because Shirou said they looked good on me."

Say it with me now: awwwwwww.

Just finished episode 11 of Fate/stay night and Saber is the badass I want to be when I grow up, homg. She is the coolest ever. Although Rider's got some lurking awesome in her, too. And let's not forget Rin, the Tsundere rival girl. Damn, girls of FSN, why you all so cool?

Last night I spontaneously got tired of my hair and so I cut it. Keep in mind this is the first time I ever cut my own hair, ever, and that I am too broke to go to my usual salon (which means that when I finally go back Heather will be all, "what the HELL did you do to yourself?!"). I meant to just trim it, but now a few inches have been taken off and it's rather shorter. I like it. Pictures will be upcoming as soon as I can take a decent one.

I realized I didn't explain the story of why I'm knitting a lampshade (you heard me), so here goes. For Christmas, my little sister got me a book of knitting patterns for the home by Suss Cousins (Home Knits, in case you were curious). It has some truly gorgeous things and some highly practical things, sometimes even combining the two which I consider a success.

One of the first patterns in the book is for a striped cotton lampshade. I know Matt's mom loves homemade and vintage things, and his parents had me over to share Thanksgiving with them, so I thought that this would be a suitable thank-you present - also, I really like Matt's mom and I knit things for the people I like! (FYI, Matt's getting some gloves as soon as I get the money to order the yarn.) So I went out and bought some worsted-weight 100% cotton yarn and got cracking.

It's a very sunny yellow and white combination, which I think suits her really well. It's bright and lovely and happy. I'd prefer a darker color for contrast, but it's really hard not to like this happy yellow color. I'm knitting it while watching FSN, which is double bonus, I think.

Today, I think I'll leave you all with a video I posted on Twitter yesterday: happy manta rays jumping out of the water and flapping around! If this doesn't put a smile on your face, you are lying to me. Ta!

A (Far Too) Comprehensive Look at My Day

Today officially began the Great Job Hunt of 2010 for Dom and Matt. I dropped off an application at Victoria's Secret and made sure I was remembered, so hopefully I'll get a call for interviews soon, especially because the manager who took my app said to expect one week after next. They'll be group interviews too, so fab, I suppose.

Matt had a considerably less awesome day - he locked his keys in his car at the restaurant he went to, paid $40 for a guy basically to break into his car for him, and then had to go get his oil filter changed because yesterday they wouldn't do it. Yeah. So when he got back to his place, I tried to cheer him up with the usual girlfriend antics - hugs, cuddling, putting on Yu Yu Hakusho. (It worked.)

Speaking of Yu Yu, Matt got me into it (obvs) and homg hilarious. But still awesome! We're at the end of the Dark Tournament and I am so hooked it's scary. The humor translates really well, and the characters are actually interesting. (We're past that whole era where it was really dorky to love anime, right? Because I've got some serious anime crushes and if anyone makes fun of me over it, I swear I will go crazyscary!Dom on their asses.)

Also started Fate/stay night - the anime, not the game - and I'm pretty in love with that too. Very dark, very interesting, and very mytho-centric, which is a sure hit with me. I'm obsessed with mythology; have been since a very young age. Anything that references mythology is something that has me going, "omg what did you see that?" in a very good way. It's the reason I love Arthur, King of Time and Space so much. A webcomic about King Arthur in various retellings? Sign me up! As soon as Guinevere and Lancelot realized they were in love (dude, I am not even spoiler-tagging that, because if you don't know that then there is clearly no help for you in the pop culture department), I starting fangirling something FIERCE.

Ahem. Anyway. Fate/stay night.

I just finished episode 4, and I want to watch episode 5 sometime when my body isn't "OMG I AM NOT USED TO BEING THIS ACTIVE GO BACK TO KNITTING". I'm interested to find out who Saber and Archer are - I'm flipping through my mental database of both mythological and historical heroes that fit their descriptions, but so far nada. Then again, Cuchulainn was a blue-haired, red-eyed dude with a Tamahome ponytail, so this may be more difficult that previously anticipated. Maybe I should just wait.

On the knitting front, I had to rip out this lampshade start FOUR TIMES CHRIST. First two times, the cast-on edge just wasn't right; third time, it was the wrong gauge; last time, I misread the directions and knit too many rows in one color, so I had to rip out over ten rows of stockinette. Keep in mind it's 72 stitches per row, and then I had to reinsert the needle because I am really tired of casting on. Now I finally have it where I want it, but all that work for five rows? aaaarrrrgh. Lace knitting is less stressful than this, I swear. Which reminds me, now that I have size 4s, I should get crackin' on that Swallowtail again. (One of my 4s broke before which left me all D:-faced, but now that I have a new pair of interchangeables I can go back to it.)

Okay, I think that's enough for one day, especially on so much. Maybe tomorrow my day will be more interesting and less hectic? I did schedule a coffee date with Trey (not to be confused with a real date), which means that I will probably go back to my usual plans of crossword-solving and knitting in Starbucks (shut up it's in the student center and has huge windows to let light in; I gravitate towards light) like I used to before my month-long break at home. Oh routine, I missed you so.

As a parting gift, I leave you the video of one of my favorite artists, Zee Avi, covering Morrissey's song "First of the Gang to Die". If you're familiar with Zee Avi, YEAH I KNOW. It's really great, too. Enjoy, and good night!

Relock and Reload (or Why Do I Always Seem to Revamp My Life After Hangovers?)

I'm starting over with this blog.

It came to me after reading What Claudia Wore intermittently all weekend ("But Dominique," you might say, "it's only 2:30 in the afternoon on Sunday." To which I would explain that my weekend started Wednesday night, when I got back to my apartment after a very interesting Christmas break with my family. Also, because shut up) that I would love to be one of those cool blogging people with their crazy blogging stories and whatnot. And then I realized that I had a blog, but most of the posts were kinda angry and bitchy in tone. Plus it was "opinions only hurr" which I quite frankly suck at. Yeah, I get a little squicked over the navel-gazing of the personal blog sometimes, but man do I love to talk about myself! (just like everyone else on the internet.)

So here I am, re-introducing you to my life, o humble reader who may not even exist. I don't really have a catchy schtick or anything, but I do like to think I have a wry outlook that gets me through a lot - which is great in my life.

The Cast (of my life, yeah, I know, don't judge me):

Dominique - this is me, starring role, ta-da! Twenty-one, sometimes college student who is currently not in school because of some runaround with the Receivables department at Alabama. Looking for a job, likes to knit, likes to write (le duh), sing, music (om nom nom), the usual. I also like to live above my means, which sometimes gets me into trooouuuuble. Right now I am just trying to get through with a few luxuries (I had to forgo lamb at the grocery store and my face looked like this: ;_;), most of which are hand-knitted by yours truly. I have a weakness for Jack Daniels (don't we all), Noro yarns, Riesling, Ella Fitzgerald, and books. omg books. My room is full of them, which sucks when you don't have a bookshelf to put them in quite yet. Also have a weakness for my adorably crazy boyfriend.

Which leads me to the supporting cast.

Matt - aforementioned adorably crazy boyfriend. He's actually really good at being the level-headed rationale to my crazy babblings and emotional outbursts (I'm working on it). Really funny, really cute, makes me really happy. To give you an idea of what our relationship is like, for Christmas he gave me a Catwoman comic that I had not previously read (I'm a DC comic book junkie, and I ell oh vee ee LOVE Catwoman. She's been my superstar heroine/idol since I saw Michelle Pfeiffer do her up with style in Batman Returns at the tender age of four). I gave him a laser-guided NERF gun with suction darts. Matt and Dom: clearly the couple everyone wants to be. He makes silly faces all the time, too, which my roomie/biff adores. He's an actor, double-majoring in theater and psychology. (Yeah, puts my solo English major to shame.) In short: best boyfriend ever.

Danie - Roomie #1 and one of my closest friends here. Danie is supertinyomg and super-adorable. She looks a lot like Audrey Hepburn and Natalie Portman. Danie is so slim she gives solid-size-4 me a complex when we stand next to each other in front of a mirror. Yeah. Also an English major, also a poet. She has an unhealthy love for lolcats, but who doesn't? Besides, it's adorable when she comes in my room asking for noms. Danie doesn't know how to cook anything more complex than canned soup. It's really fun watching her make mac and cheese. (I've tried to stop intervening.) I introduced her to Pizza Rolls and she thinks they are the food of the gods. She's hipster but so aware; she used to be the picture of Southern Belle du Jour (born and raised in Georgia) but has given up pageants and sororities for skinny jeans and scarves. We are fashion junkies of the worst kind.

Ward - Danie's boyfriend. I actually met Ward first, but since Danie and I are cosmic soul twins, she kind of took over my life via osmosis. Ward's a writer and English major, like everybody I know zomg I am in English major hell. (AKA Morgan Hall.) He's funny and weird; rides a bike everywhere; tries to get Danie into biking, but whenever the subject comes up Danie makes the scared pouty Danie face and it drops. He knows all sorts of random shit that may or may not actually be useful but is hella fun.

Josh - Roomie #2 and the guy I share a bathroom with. Josh says shit that makes you think "that is not right and I am going to hell for laughing at this" but dear god is it funny. One time our apartment complex left us a note for leaving the trash on the front walkway and Josh wrote a response on the back of it. It was so wrong (made reference to "Jew gold") but Danie and I fucking howled. We still recite it to each other when we're in a good mood. Josh is attractive and knows it.

Scott - Roomie #3, shares a bathroom with Danie. Scott is gay and omg if you can't tell it is time to replace your brain with one that wasn't handed to you by Igor that morning. He's in the marching band, which is no small feat especially when you go to Alabama. Hipster-fab cranked up to eleven. He's sarcastic and bitchy and it works. Is also completely in lust with Josh - the not-so-secret of our living arrangements.

Tifarah - Tiff and I have been best friends forfuckingever since we were twelve and suffering through middle school gym. (That means we'll have known each other ten years this fall oh jesus I am getting old.) I cannot find words to describe Tifarah because I know her so well. She's blunt and has never minced words or fucked around with someone's head. Everyone knows exactly where they stand with her. She loooooves horror movies (and Twilight, yeah, I don't know) and scary stories. What's funny is that she's really jumpy, so post-horror movie is usually hilarious in an unintentional way. She and I sometimes are not allowed next to each other in movie theaters because we will Mystery Science Theater all over that shit. I'm pretty sure that Tifarah has more knitted stuff from me than anyone else because omg she LOVES it. She knits too, but not like I knit (I don't know anyone who knits like I do except maybe Colleen, my young aunt). She's planning on an apartment in New York with me one day, which sounds great but I don't know what I'll do. Lives in my hometown of San Antonio, which is sad because I don't get to see her often but she's such a visible presence in my life that it doesn't really matter.

Pablo - Is the leader of the "living above our means" movement in my life. Pablo and I like the finer things in life; unfortunately we can't afford most of them. We think we should be trust fund babies. Pablo loves suits like some boys love jeans. He's a ladies' man extraordinaire (I'm a flirt; we balance each other out). An example of me and Pablo: he drove over to Alabama from San Antonio for a masquerade ball I was planning. It went off fabulously and Pablo and I stole the show. He's all European intellectual, philosopher, Napoleon-lover (we both adore the name Josephine), adorer of art (real art, not most modern art), jack of all trades.

Trey - Close friend who is hipster MAX. Oh god, there are not words for how hipster Trey is. Yet somehow I overlook it, mostly because he's funny and always has something to say. Trey's like Awkward McAnxietypants, but it's sweet, really. He and I got each other through tough times in our lives and have since bonded. I keep saying that he's like the socially awkward little brother I never had (my real little brother is pretty cool and chill).

Whitney - Another one of my good friends. Funny enough, she's actually known Matt much longer, but Whitney and I get along so well (I sense a trend). She's such an alcoholic that it hurts, but somehow it's okay because it's Whitney. She crochets and dabbles in knitting, so we share crafty stuff together. We usually hang out with all the guys, even though she and Maggie and I want some time to ourselves.

Maggie - Awesome McAwesomesauce. We don't hang out as much as I'd like but hopefully we will switch that up.

Bryan, Jarrett, Robert, Paul - friendses who have the awesomes. I would describe them in length but I am exhausted and you are probably thinking, "holy shit, this post is long, does she ever shut up?"

There's a lot more, but as mentioned: exhausted. Plus I'm still recovering from a messy drunk night (one of those nights where you drag yourself across the floor when you arrive at your place at 3 am shouting, "I'M SUCH A WHOOOOOOOORE...!" Every time this happens, I tell myself I won't do it again, and then a few months later I'm ordering McDonald's in an attempt to appease my stomach), so I want some time to just me, thank you, to knit or watch TV or both. I have a lace scarf that needs work and a lampshade to start (long story, will explain later).

Okay. I feel better already about this. Let's go.

Wherein I Muse on Living

I've been thinking the past couple weeks.

That sounds ominous, but instead open yourself to that sentence and realize the infinite possibilities in it. "Thinking". "Weeks". Thinking isn't bad or a scary thing, especially when you are confronted with yourself.

I sat down and examined my life, and once all the tears were siphoned away, I could think clearly and decisively again. And oh, it was a relief! I haven't been this clear and true for a while now. I can see forever now and I know who I am, and who better to see you than yourself?

I'd lost faith. Not in others, but in life and in myself. I couldn't see me and who I was, clouded by doubt and confusion and fear, and so I forgot about living. I tried to focus on the trappings instead of the goal, and as a result I lost my footing.

Because I was so fearful, I forgot that life is the goal. I forgot about happiness, and how I am the only person who can find that for myself. I forgot that life is happiness, every day, and small things are what's important. Steps, Dominique, you take steps forward, and sometimes they're huge and sometimes they're tiny but no matter what, as long as you can find happiness in the day, you will breathe, and as long as you're breathing, it's still salvageable. I lost sight in that for a while, but now I can see it as clearly as I can see the words appearing on my screen.

Do you know how good it feels, to look at the sky and see something new every day? To wake up and find yourself doing something important and fun? To settle in at the end of the day with lamplight and music and maybe a glass of wine, knitting an intricate pattern that leaves your mind room to wander with no fear? I feel so brand new, but also so familiar, and most of all I'm unafraid of tomorrow. It's all a new day to me, a new start, and I have no regrets from now on.

Most of all, I've learned about unconditional love - for life, for others, and for myself. Love is what's important. There will always be room for it, and as long as there is love in my life I know I'll be wonderful. Love is always waiting for everyone, and I've opened myself up to it. I'd forgotten, but no more. Every day will be a story of love and happiness and life for me, because I'm writing it and that's what is important.

So: love, happiness, life. Sometimes you have to go through the worst in order to find all those things. I'm lucky that I found them again. Don't lose them.

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.