Patty and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I felt invigorated this morning; I actually got up and worked out.  I’ve heard that many adults do that in the mornings, and it’s not as fun as eating cheese.  Still, I did work out.  In my adventures, which included a brief and slow run, I went to my car to grab a CD (yes, I still buy them) I bought for a friend.  To my dismay, the door handle was broken.  Until I can find the part, figure out how to take the panel off, and replace it, I’ll be climbing in from the passenger’s side.

After that fun discovery, I took a shower, did my hair, went downstairs to pick out shoes… That’s when I saw a steady stream of water coming down from the ceiling of my closet.  Nearly all my clothing was soaking wet, multiple items were ruined, and it smelled great (just kidding).

I started pulling clothes of the rod, and piling them in the next room.  I ran upstairs to grab pots and pans to catch the drips.  I removed every shoe, shirt, skirt, dress, box, that one stuffed beagle, and my carved wiseman who looks like Jafar.  I exhausted my towel reserves and paper towels while sopping up gallons of questionably-colored water.  I individually cleaned every damn shoe.  I did hours of laundry.  It was so fun… no.

In the midst of the mess, I called my landlord and he assured me that it had “never happened before” which totally helps me in this situation.  I mentioned that it was convenient that the last maintenance they’d done in my apartment had left sawdust all over my closet.  Isn’t it nice that they failed to clean up earlier in preparation of this coming disaster.

For the next few hours, I watched water leak from the ceiling, then inexplicably and inconceivably coming out of the floor.  Because this is such a high-quality apartment, the floors are uneven and so are the ceilings.  The linoleum seemed to be soaking in the water, then rejected it for being far too natural to live in the horrid floor.  Even the spiders started to run away.

When the landlord and his “boy” arrived, sans plumber, they first decided to paint one of the garage doors brown.  They never use tape around here, it’s all just nearly straight.  Upon sight, he forced me to hug him, called me “sweetheart” and said “oooooooohhhh” about seven times.  I cannot fully capture how intensely I dislike them; all the bitch in me rises up in my throat and begs to be thrust at their puny little minds.  I held back.  I needed to go buy more detergent anyway.

When I returned, they had managed to open the ceiling and promised to go get a real plumber and real parts.  I inspected the whole in the ceiling while they were out – so many spider carcasses!  Yay!

The plumber arrived, with the landlord and his boy, and they proceeded to run up and down the stairs, call me “sweetheart”, and not understand plumbing.  When they finally realized that the issue was an incorrectly installed fixture in the tub.  My landlord, being a creative deflector type, told me it was because I hung a sponge from the faucet.  He said that the water was deflecting there and going into the crack.  If I hadn’t used that sponge, no water would have gotten into the cracks and holes.  Wrong.  Water goes lots of places in showers.  The sponge wasn’t there very frequently.  I use the shower, not the bath, so the water comes out of a different spout – it’s amazing.  That’s not even a sponge, it’s shower puff, dammit.

The plumber explained that the issue was a wrongly-installed part and not the (f’ing) “sponge”.

My landlord literally said, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about this.  We’ve taken care of it.”

I repeated it back in my grown-uppiest voice, and then said, “You know that I’m a grown woman, right?  I’ll be sure to not ‘worry my pretty little head’.  I’d hate for it to get too full with ideas.  That’s for men!”

He stared blankly.  His boy laughed and appreciated the anger I was holding in.

I escaped to my computer where I was clearly working, when my landlord decided to start a very personal conversation with me.  Mostly, he was defending how great he thinks this place is, but he also wanted to push his fun opinions on me.  He asked about the guy I’d been dating when I moved in, I said that we were no longer together.  He then gave me tons of great advice.  He asked what happened, and how, and why, and so much more.  I said, “Yeah… I don’t want to talk about that with you.”  Then, it got weirder.

He said, “That’s too bad.  He seemed really successful.  You should really ask him to reconsider.  A girl would be lucky to have a successful man like that.  He seemed nice too, and he was pretty good-looking.  You should really ask him to get back together with you.  Seriously.”

With big and crazy eyes, I replied, “Wow.  That is so far over the line.  You need to stop talking.”

He said, “Oh, I’m sorry.  I just don’t want a nice girl like you to end up alone.”

That’s when I asked him to leave.

In conclusion, I hate this apartment, I hate my landlord, and I hate sexist norms about women needing men.  I just wanted to not have wet clothes.  I just wanted to have the whole in my ceiling plugged.  I just wanted them to pay for dry cleaning.  I just wanted to go to work.

Great.  What a great day.

Close Listen: Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” Glorifies Rape Culture, Is also Catchy

Oh, Robin Thicke.

Oh, “Blurred Lines.”

“Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke (who, I will admit, is super sexy) is everywhere these days.  The song, upon first and somewhat-distracted listening, is another generic pop song about sex or dancing or something…  It’s really catchy and it’s got some sonic soul.  The aesthetics of the song itself are groovy and cool.  If I hadn’t listened closely, I would probably like this song.

However, taking the time to listen to the lyrics provided me with the sadly not-so-shocking truth: “Blurred Lines” glorifies rape culture, portrays women as objects without agency, knowledge, or power, and suggests a problematic passage of women from one man to another.

Take a listen for yourself.

Wait… Before you do that, we need to talk about the video too.

THE VIDEO

The unrated version is below – very NSFW.  The video features three disaffected models wearing flesh-colored thongs…  As in, ONLY THONGS.  The boobies are out.  The models are sort of dancing.  It’s really rather weird.  Imagine what it was like to film that video.

Oh, so I just walk from side to side not really doing anything while these guys sing?  Okay.  Oh, and I’m naked.  Oh, I get a thong.  Great…

Awkward…

They let her wear clothes (sort of) but turned her into a road, on which they could drive their toys.

These very pretty, young women are strutting around while fully dressed men – all in suits –  perform a smarmy song around them.  It’s uncomfortable and everyone looks uncomfortable.  The women are making an effort to cover themselves some of the time, other times enjoying the bouncing… I guess.

At one point, one of the girls is holding a goat.  They’re wearing 90s shoes, plastic, and other weird stuff.  The men are all being horrible.

Ugh… Here it is.

BLURRED LINES – UNRATED – ROBIN THICKE, PHARRELL WILLIAMS, T.I.

THE LYRICS

The problem continues.

While the song is largely, well, stupid.  It’s a poorly written song about wanting to bang a hot chick.  We’ve all heard a lot of songs about this and many of them are offensive, reinforce stereotypes, and the objectification of women.  Even female artists participate in this a fair amount of the time.  Women often sing about how hot and desirable they are…  Men sing about their dicks.

The thing is, it’s a real problem to talk about women’s behavior meaning they want or need sex.  Consent is what’s sexy.  A girl dancing in a sexy way doesn’t mean she wants or needs to suck some dudes wiener. 

Women are allowed to be sexy, sensual, hot, attractive, pretty, and alluring without sex.  Nothing but consent is consent.  That’s just how it is.  Seeing a woman from across a room and having a feeling that she might “want it” doesn’t mean she really does.

Writing a song that repeats “I know you want it” six times per chorus sends a bad message.  It teaches young men and women that  seeming like they want sex is enough to consent actual sex.  But that’s not okay.  Sex should be something all participants agree to USING WORDS.  Not using eye movements or nods.  Telling men that they can tell when a woman wants sex by the way she dances isn’t helping anyone.  That’s teaching men that they know better.  They know something women don’t know.  Women need men telling them when sex should and will happen.

Except… WRONG.

The Chorus
And that’s why I’m gon’ take a good girl
I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it
You’re a good girl
Can’t let it get past me
You’re far from plastic
Talk about getting blasted
I hate these blurred lines
I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it
But you’re a good girl
The way you grab me
Must wanna get nasty
Go ahead, get at me

 

Stop Calling Mindy Kaling an “Up and Coming Comedienne.” She Has a Show. She’s Up. She’s Come.

If I see one more fucking article or blog post about how Mindy Kaling is “up and coming,” I’m going to lose my fucking mind.

SHE HAS HER OWN SHOW.  IT’S CALLED “THE MINDY [F’ING] PROJECT.”  SHE’S MADE IT.  SHUT UP.  SHUT UP.  SHE IS AS SUCCESSFUL AS ANY MAN COULD HOPE TO BE.

I mean, she has her own show…  Right?

the mindy project

Also, she’s been a head writer and a cast member for The Office for almost 10 years.  They hired her at 24.  She’s established.

young mindy kaling writing for the office

Oh, and she wrote a bestseller.  BEST SELLER.

kaling_211

When dudes get their own shows, do we call them “new” or “up and coming?”  NO.  Now, they’re just famous, rich, and successful.  Mindy Kaling is famous, rich, and successful.  We need to accept that women can be successful, not just nearly successful, not just almost successful.  Women don’t get the same credit.  They have to prove themselves over and over again.  Men, however, only have to prove themselves once – maybe twice.

I mean, really, are we waiting for her to get rid of her boobs and become John Hamm?  By the way, John Hamm is not an up-and-comer, and he doesn’t even have his own show, and his show is on cable.  (I think it’s very good, but you get my point here.)

When Louis C.K. got his own show, people weren’t sitting around saying: “Wow.  He’s almost comparable to other successful comedians.  We should watch him to see if he gets more successful.  What a nice young man.”

Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Martha Stewart aren’t the only successful women in the world.  Many, many women have “made it.”  They didn’t “make it” with an asterisk, or any ifs, ands, or buts – they just fucking MADE IT.

When Hilary Clinton wins the 2016 election, are we going to sit around and talk about her like she’s ALMOST there, almost made it.  Having a vagina doesn’t make your success any more or any less temporary.  What else do people think will happen?  Having boobies shouldn’t mean you have to wait to get credit from all the dudes who like touching boobies – who, by the way, are probably way too intimidated by the success of those boobies to feel good about touching them.

It is harder for women to make it in Hollywood as writers.  It is harder for women to make it in politics, business, engineering, and many other fields.  That does not, however, take away the power, the position, or the accomplishments of these women.  It does not make their successes more vulnerable or their power less permanent.  We should be, and perhaps are, even more impressed with their triumphant success over rooms filled with dicks and dick jokes.  Ladies have to work a little harder.  Ladies have to prove themselves continuously.  Ladies have to show that they can be strong without being bitches, and that they can be sexy without being stupid or desperate.  Men can be gross or fat or assholes or hardasses or softies or whatever with so much more ease.  I know that some men will take offense to this – they should.  It’s awful that this is still true in so many offices and writers’ rooms, etc.  Change it.  If you are a man and you don’t like this point of view, challenge it.  Think about the women in your field, the women in your TV.  How many are there?  What are their positions?  What are your opinions of them?  How do the men around you talk about them?  If it’s sexist or unfair, speak up about it.  If it’s not, then YAY!  I’m wrong and happy to be.

mindy kaling sag white dress sexy

My point is that women’s success seems to be compartmentalized into “women’s success” instead of just success.  Mindy Kaling isn’t “one to watch out for.”  She is literally someone you can currently watch on TV– on her show — which she created — which she writes — in which she stars.  

She deserves a little more faith from the media.  She’s a pretty big deal.  Deal with it.

Yes, this is a real commercial.

After seeing this on TV for the second time, I felt compelled to share it with all of you. At least, I figure, I won’t be alone in my rage against this company and whatever marketing “genius” came up with it.

The first time I saw this, I thought, “Oh awesome! This guy built a mousetrap-style machine that refills his drink! This should be cool.” Alas, I was disappointed, aghast, angered, etc. to find that instead, the solution to the empty drink glass is the girlfriend (wife?). What the fuck. How is this on television? Why isn’t the whole world pissed about this? I mean, the Miller Lite commercials they used to have on TV promoting the “manliness” of drinking Miller Lite (e.g. don’t be a sissy, girls’-pants-wearing light beer drinker!) seem tame and almost endearing compared to the outright misogyny of this gem. I mean, really? We haven’t moved beyond “women belong in the kitchen and/or serving my every need including thirst”? It’s 2012 for godsakes.

I mean, the idea of businesses like SportsClips thrive on the idea that women are meant to serve men both in deed and as eye candy (see also America’s favorite place to get buffalo wings and glimpses of boobies, Hooters). The problem isn’t only the proliferation of antiquated notions of what it means to be a Woman–that is, buxom, always sexy, kitchen- or service-centered, adorably dumb… the list goes on–but antiquated notions of what it means to be a Man. Commercials like this imply that part of being a man means treating all women like glorified servants and exclusively doing “manly” things like watching sports–and being unable to drag oneself away from such manly activities in order to groom oneself, because that’s for pussies. It’s not only women that should be outraged at commercials like this that appeal to undeniably sexist notions of male/female relations, likely located somewhere in the irrational amygdala.

I don’t want to suggest that we should be better than this. We are better than this and it’s about time we show it.

Christina Aguilera as a Hot, Scary, Brightly-Colored Serial Killer in “Your Body” (and she’s still not fat)

I know, I know… I write too many blog posts about Christina Aguilera.  I’m sorry, but I absolutely idolized her when I was a little girl.  I would sit in my room and stare at my stereo while I tried to figure out if I could ever get that good at singing.  Answer: nope.  I just want other people to realize that she’s pretty much the most talented singer to ever exist, and that she’s really gorgeous and not at all fat.  Once again, NOT FAT.  I also really want to like her.  I want her to be more likable.  I want to fall back in love with my idol.

Ugh.  Okay, now that I’ve done that part, let’s get on with the post.

“Your Body” is Christina Aguilera’s latest release.  It’ fun and cool.  It’s crazy and vulgar.  It’s probably just what her career needed.  Our popular culture machine is all about vulgar these days.  I mean, have you heard that damn song about “whistling” (goes something like: “Can you blow my whistle?  …  Just put your lips together and come real close…”)?  It’s terrible and it’s obviously about blow jobs.  We get it, Flo Rida, you like blow jobs.

Pop music these days is all about sex and drinking and drunk sex…  It’s not a new trend, but the crazy bright colors, upsetting patterns, and overly intense cartoon themes are all new to me.  I hate them.  That said, this video is kind of awesome.  I’m surprised I think that, but I do.  It’s like a candy-porn snuff film.

Even though I find the whole video questionable, I feel like it’s a not-sad comeback for her.  She looks sexy in a scary, trashy, dirty (maybe dirrrrty), scented-marker kind of way.  I should hate this video, but I don’t.

She’s a Crayola serial killer out to get men who’ve done her no wrong.  She’s just randomly killing.  I think it actually might be a satire of current culture’s acceptance, encouragement, and of sleeping around.  It might actually be an intellectual argument.  This could be a real, live satire.

The song itself is about screwing random people.  As she says, “So, don’t even tell me your name.  All I need to know is: who’s place?  And let’s get walking…”  She doesn’t even want to know your name, she just wants to love your body.  The song is about random sex and how great/wonderful it is.  Basically, “All [she] want[s] to do is love your body.”

But, maybe…  Just maybe…  This video is kind of making fun of that.  Christina Aguilera has always made pretty average pop music with a way-above-average voice; maybe she knows that.  Maybe she knows that she’s better than all of this.  She should be singing amazing ballads and jazz and more stuff that sounds like, “Beautiful,” instead of “Dirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrty.”  I think that this video might know that.

Why?  Well, because instead of loving all these bodies of men, she’s killing them.  Then, there exploding with glitter and blue goo.  Maybe singing that you want to love someone’s body, and then visually showing that you actually want to kill them randomly and viciously, maybe that is a joke.  Maybe it’s an acknowledgement of the absurdity of today’s pop music.

Perhaps more interestingly, Ms. Aguilera sings, “Fuck your body…” in the explicit version of the song.  Maybe she really means that she wants to “fuck up” their bodies rather than “love them sweetly.”

Okay, it’s probably just a crazy video for a crazy song.  I just really want to believe in my idol, a former “Genie in a Bottle,” and a forever bottle-blond.  She’s probably just a dirrrrrty girl.

Oh, and here’s some bonus goo:

Terrible Sex Advice from Magazines

Why are women’s magazines so bad at giving sex advice?  I would think that women who are comfortable with their sexuality, educated enough to work at a major magazine, and given these assignments would have some semblance of reasonable experience and the good sense to know what their partners enjoy to write decent and believable sex tips.  This is just not the case.  Sure, there are occasional gems in these sex advice columns; in an effort to be reasonable (unlike some people), I will give you a few examples of solidly decent advice.

REALLY BAD SEX ADVICE MAKES ME MAKE THIS FACE.

Some Decent Advice:

Be confident.  Wow, this is an actual tip that sex partners will appreciate.  Sexual and body confidence will go a long way in the bedroom (hopefully they aren’t alone on the “long” side).  I think most people will also enjoy their own bedroom experiences if they feel good about themselves, know what they want, and have the confidence to try things with their partner.  This one is good.

However, it’s not great.  If you are overconfident in bed, it can really, really backfire.  Haven’t we all heard stories about, or perhaps even experienced ourselves, people who think they’re amazing at sex, but are actually quite awful?  I recall a tale from a male friend about a lady who gave some boring-ass blowjobs that she thought were the best in the world.  Her blowjobs were even titled, “The Seven Levels of Heaven” (or some other stupid name she’d probably heard in a magazine).  This basically consisted of some limp licks followed by startlingly toothy deep-throats.  By his account, they were creepy, terrifying, and very NOT enjoyable.  Yet, this poor misled girl thought that she was SO good at them.   He later learned that she had, in fact, been instructed to do so by a fashion magazine.  Sadness ensues.

Be open.

That’s also pretty good advice.  Just discuss what you’re being open about with your partner.  None of this surprise S&M business.  Be responsible sexers, please.  You have to ask before you role play.  You should discuss putting frozen coins on your partner’s vagina before doing so (you’ll see this later).  Just talk first.

Terrible Advice.

Before we start, let me remind you to NOT DO THESE THINGS TO ANYONE.

“Give your man a sexy massage by rubbing his buttcheeks and blowing on his crack when you spread them apart.”
That is a real piece of advice I read in Cosmo roughly five years ago.  I still remember it because it is so, so bad.

“Bite his nipples.”
What the what?  You should discuss this first.  Also, they should specify that you shouldn’t bite hard.  I can imagine this going so wrong…

“Text your man racy one-word messages that, when strung together, hint at what you want him to do to you that night.”
Why not just send a complete sentence?  For example, “I want you.”  Another example, “I’m gonna bleep your bleep so bleepy.”

“Build momentum by keying in to an ocean legend that the seventh in a series of sea waves is the strongest. Lie on your back on a bench and have your man make every seventh thrust his most powerful.”
This is impressively specific and ultimately weird.  What happens if you lose count?  Who taught them this?  How does this conversation start, “So, I know you’re really into sailing and screwing… I have a great way to combine your loves, and it’s not sex on a boat.”

“Pop an erotic film into the DVD player, and let the noises serve as inspiration — you’ll feel like you’re in the midst of an orgy.”
Obviously the person who wrote this piece of advise has never seen “an erotic film” because there is nothing realistic or romantic about them.  Watching two actors perform exaggerated sounds of pleasure while a camera crew watches them… That’s not sexy.  Also, do you really want to see a lady with the biggest boobs of all time right before you take off your own top?  I just think this one could end poorly.  You gotta really do some research.  Lots of research.

“Put a frozen grape in your mouth and warm it up a bit. Then hold it between your teeth and glide it down his neck, around his nipples, and over his lips. Finally, use your tongue to slip the grape into his mouth.”
This is really, really detailed.

“Pick up a couple of sushi rolls, lie down on your couch, and invite your man to enjoy a meal off your naked body. If he’s not a fan of raw fish, use Gummi bears instead.”  
Why Gummi Bears?  I just don’t understand why they went to Gummi Bears if sushi wasn’t acceptable.

“Try light choking.”
Again, this needs to be discussed ahead of time.  This is not a quick change.  Oy.

“Surprise him with anal.”
This should not be a surprise unless previously discussed and agreed upon.

“Put a bunch of very clean (seriously, wash them first) coins in the freezer.  Then, have your man use the coldness of the coins to toy with you while he uses his tongue.  The mix of hot and cold will drive you wild.”
Coins?  Do not put coins on your hooha.  I don’t care how long you wash them.  If you really want to try hot vs. cold, use ice or the grapes from earlier.  Don’t use money.  That’s so weird.  Plus, copper has that strange smell…  I just don’t think this is sexy at all.

I’m sure I’ll write a follow-up to this.  There’s a lot of weird stuff out there.

So, Pregnancy Is Inevitable Now?

DO NOT WANT.

I’m pretty afraid of pregnancy.  I think a majority of sexually active women in their twenties are also quite afraid of babies appearing inside their bodies.  Pregnancy is a constant threat weighing on us 75-90% of the time.  The other 10-25% of the time we have cramps, so we’re pretty sure we are not pregnant in those moments.  Those are good moments.  Those are moments that remind me of freedom, that ring of choice and birth control, and that remind that I am NOT ready to be a parent.  I’m far too creeped out by pregnancy.  I mean, my god!  Think about it.  Pregnancy is terrifying and a constant threat.  It takes you over.  It wins.  It is very, very scary.

Why is pregnancy so scary?

Oh, I don’t know… Maybe because a parasite grows inside of you?  Maybe because it makes your boobs go crazy?  Maybe because it’s the thing all women fear before some crazy switch goes off in their head?  Maybe because your body will never be the same?  Maybe because if you have a baby, you ALWAYS have it?  Pregnancy is imprisonment, and it’s a lifetime sentence.  Did I mention the stuff it can do to your body?

THERE ARE EIGHT BABIES IN THERE! EIGHT!

You might be wondering what prompted such a vile spew of anti-pregnancy thoughts, the answer is fear.  Pregnancy is not inevitable for me.  I believe in birth control and I know how to use.  It’s a good thing, y’all.

Lately, a lot of people (mostly my mother and my boyfriend’s friends) have been really chatting me up about babies. The message seems to be: “Pregnancy is inevitable.” I mean, I get what they’re saying. Maybe I will eventually decide to do that to myself or to let someone do that to me.  They all seem to think that for me not to know or for me to deny wanting children is blasphemous.  It’s not.  Some women don’t have children.  Some women don’t want children.  Some women don’t want to make their own.  Maybe I just don’t know.  I do know that I want to avoid this question.

Don’t ask.  Don’t wish babies on me.  That’s weird.

I know that a lot of women talk about the magic of childbirth, but I think many women have also experienced/are currently experiencing life as someone who is deeply and violently frightened of pregnancy and children. I’m tired of people telling me that I have to have kids. I don’t know what the hell I want. I’m 23. Back off.

Why is pregnancy being discussed as an inevitability?  Or at least, why is it being discussed as a fast-approaching, oncoming train?

No.

THIS IS WHAT IT DOES TO YOUR BODY. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS. OH MY GOD.

Basically, babies come from explosions in women’s bodies.  They are scary.  They shoot out of places and things go boom.  Then they cry a lot.  They cry so much.  There is so much stuff happening.  I get that babies are cute and stuff, but wowzers.  No thank you.

The babies get inside of you and then they try to get out of you.

There is just so much scary stuff about this. For example, THERE IS A HUMAN TRYING TO ESCAPE FROM THIS WOMAN’S STOMACH.

Sometimes I have dreams about babies happening, and I wake up in cold sweat.  I don’t wake up smiling and laughing and clapping my hands.  I wake up terrified.  Sometimes I have dreams about drinking and running and being awesome and single and not having babies and keeping my body the same shape.  Those are times when I wake up comforted and happy and joyous and giggly.  Good stuff.

Sometimes I think about my life in ten years.  When I think about that life including kids, it feels messy and sloppy and loud.  When I think about it without kids, it feels messy and sloppy and loud… Wait.  I guess those are the same.

Sometimes I imagine what would happen if I got preggers right now, and while it is better than a teenager getting preggers, it’s still not my favorite idea.

Also, this:

There are just so many things that can happen.  So many babies can happen.  So. Many. Babies.

More on Mr. Akin’s Bullshit (“Legitimate Rape,” etc.)

First, he begs for Forgiveness….

It makes me so mad that he is saying that his issue is “the words” but not his “heart.”  Yes, the issue is about words.  When politicians, when men use words like this to discuss rape, they put it on women.  In our culture we tell women to not get raped, instead of telling men not to rape.

When women are forced to jump through hoops and relive their traumas to prove they were raped, they are being forced and traumatized again.  Abortion is legal and it’s staying that way.  Maybe we should focus on educating men that sexuality is about choice, agency, and mutual desire.  Men should be taught respect and self-control.  Women should be allowed to be sexual and men should be better than raping.  Let’s expect more of the men in our culture.

Let’s stigmatize raping, not being raped.  Victims are victims and they should not be ashamed.  Rapers are evil and they should never be excused.  All rapes are real and legitimate.

For Todd Akin to use these words makes me so angry.  For him to go on and “explain” that women who are raped cannot get pregnant… What the hell?  Who is this guy?  How can someone be that stupid?  Sorry, but pretty much anytime sperm goes into a lady’s vaginal crevasses she has a chance of getting pregnant.  That’s kind of how it works. Ugh.

Todd Akin is one of many politicians making shit up about women’s rights and bodies.  I’m sick and tired of men pretending like they understand rape and abortion.  Actually, a whole heck of a lot of men understand a lot about women – some even understand that there are things they can’t understand.  Many Republican politicians seem to be confused about vaginas, babies, rape, abortion, pregnancy, periods, and other such issues.  I would love to throw some tampons (new, don’t worry) at all the Republican senators… That would be amazing.

Leave our vaginas alone.  Unless you are invited, stay away.  Stay away.

Then, some really amazing grannies take him down.  I love when old ladies swear…

 

This girl also wrote an amazing song about it…

Only Forcible or Legitimate Rapists Need Apply

Okey dokey, Republicans in the U.S. Senate. Do we really need to go over this again? What the fuck were you doing during high school Biology and/or Health class, or did you spend the entirety of high school asking Jesus to punish you for your teenage boner from looking at Prom Queen Kelly Ann Simons too long? Todd Akin (R-MO)–you may remember him from the “forcible rape” debacle of a bill he co-sponsored with none other than our new pal Paul Ryan (R-WI)–apparently told KTVI-TV the following on Sunday: “From what I understand from doctors, [pregnancy from rape] is really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

I would like to tell the men of the U.S. Congress something very important: the female body is not magic. The vagina is not a mysterious pit that has the power to discern the motivations of the penis entering it and conveniently stop a pregnancy if the dick looks or acts rape-y. Since when did the discourse around the female body slide back into the mentality of fourth grade boys who have heard shady rumors from kids two years older than them that have grossly misunderstood their sex ed classes? (Sidenote: these are the same people who think we shouldn’t teach sex ed in school. Apparently “magical vaginas” should be the standard for biological knowledge of sexual intercourse.)

After apologizing for his comments, Akin went on to say he screwed up; what he really meant wasn’t “legitimate rape” but “forcible rape”:

Akin appeared as a guest on former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee’s radio show. When asked about what he meant by the term “legitimate rape,” he said, “I was talking about forcible rape, and it was absolutely the wrong word.”

His bad, guys. But seriously, what the fuck!? How has some nonsense term like forcible rape even entered our general lexicon? What the hell does it mean? And one of the idiots who co-sponsored the initial “forcible rape” bill nonsense is running for Vice President of the United F*&$ING STATES OF AMERICA!!! This isn’t a problem of terminology. Rape is forced. Any rape is legitimate because it’s RAPE. If somebody puts their dick in you and you don’t want it there, that’s rape. It doesn’t matter how you were dressed or what you ate for breakfast. It doesn’t matter what you look like, how skinny or fat you are, how old or young you are, whether you’re dressed like a prostitute or a housewife: if you say no, it fucking means no. It doesn’t mean that it’s not rape if she’s wearing booty shorts and he does a lot of begging and then just does what he wants.

Do we really need to parce rape into different degrees of culpability on the part of the rapist? Rape is rape. Period. And on top of this, citing some nonsense pseudo-science about mystery secretions and hormonal changes under stressful situations makes every woman who ever says no and is violated and impregnated a dirty, lying whore. Scientifically.

The discourse surrounding not only rape but women’s rights to control their bodies (and one doesn’t even have to look to the issue of abortion anymore, just birth control!) is in the toilet. From personhood amendments to ultrasound probes to “forcible rape,” there’s a lot of finger pointing at and distrust of women as a class of people. I thought we had made strides in this department. I guess not. I’m just hoping this forcible rape nonsense doesn’t turn into a steaming pile of forcible bullshit in November.