Thistle - You have to listen to Thistle. It’s two identical twin brothers who live in the woods, and each morning, they chop down a single tree, whittle two ukeleles from it, then record a song inspired by that particular wood. Their music is haunting.
I think it’s time for us ladies to grow the fuck up.
Ok, that was harsh. Let me explain:
I get it. I do. I have had the same experiences as this lady, I’ve been touched, yelled at, followed, and had horrible things whispered at me. It’s terrible and degrading and it’s something guys will never be able to empathize with.
This crap will always be there. And though we can try to make it better, that responsibility falls solely to usL the ladies. Your body and your dignity is yours to protect - don’t wait for someone else to save you.
If a stranger ever touches you inappropriately in public, scream as loud as you’ve ever screamed. Immediately. Even if you’re in the library. Hit them. Throw shit at them. Flip out. React outwardly the way you’re reacting inwardly. Go nuts. What they are doing is ridiculously inappropriate and does not need to be met with any amount of politeness. (No, you don’t have to shove or hit them, though I can tell you from personal experience it’s extremely satisfying.)
And if some dude calls you a bitch for not responding to his advances? Either grow a thicker skin and ignore him (because why would you even give a person who would do that credence as a human being?). Or, relish the fact that the opportunity to really cleverly insult someone who truly deserves it just fell in your lap. Seriously. That is just the best.
In summation, don’t sit there and wait for men to give you respect, get out there and take it.
Also, carry mace.*
*And if your common-sense meter is telling you to run, run. I would never recommend someone go out of their way to try and assault a dude in a dark alleyway alone at night. I’m a bitch, but I’m not a stupid bitch. I just believe in fighting back.
Some opera singer doesn’t think my blog was as good as “The Same Picture of Dave Coulier Every Day.”
BRB, going to go orchestrate a fake rally with 7 people (6 are employees) in lower Manhattan and then post a bunch of pictures of cats that everyone’s already seen (just kidding I love you guys).
I liked the part where I made Matt take Tyler Oakley off of the list (because duh), which he did but then freaked out/added him back after some random tweeted Tyler to tell him he’d made it, just in time for Tyler to post it to Tumblr with a Photoshopped picture that makes it look like he was *~Number One~*. My mom @aurosan would NEVER do something like that.
I like how there’s 90 friggin Tumblrs on here. At least 5 of which seem to be photoshopped cat pics (which are hilarious, btw), but KateMiddletonFTW gets no shout out? I GET IT. WHATEVER. EVERYONE HATES ME. I’M GONNA GO KILL MYSELF. PEACE OUT.*
My first boyfriend’s name was Zack. I was in the 6th grade and, since the cool thing to have at that time was a boyfriend you didn’t do anything with, one of my friends decided to ”set us up”. This involved her giving him my phone number. Zack lived about a half an hour outside of Omaha, so, to an 11 year old, it was basically a long distance relationship. He and I would talk on the phone every day, mostly quoting Beavis and Butt-head if memory serves.
Zack and I had been “going out” for a couple weeks when we finally arranged to meet. As is the custom among 11 year olds, we were going to meet at the mall in a huge group of friends.
I had just gotten a haircut. And it was bad. Back then my haircuts were usually short, with bangs that only came halfway down my ginormous forehead. To adults, this looks cute. To an 11 year old, it looks dorky. To cover it I decided it would be a great idea to wear one of my dad’s old ball caps that even he didn’t wear. It was black and said WESTSIDE HIGH SCHOOL on it. I’m pretty sure my parents must’ve gotten for it free in a gift basket, as there was nothing about it that suggested someone would be enticed to buy it in a store.
When we got to the mall I was really excited, but that excitement quickly turned to panic as the boys approached. I basically flipped out and tried to leave. My friends, Margaret, Sarah, and (possibly?) Amanda, had to literally drag me over to meet Zack. I don’t remember saying a word to him. I think he tried to hold my hand? At one point one of my friends ripped off my ball cap, and proceeded to make a joke about the size of my forehead. So I got to have hat hair the rest of the date as well as a keen awareness that I wasn’t the only one who thought my forehead was freakish.
The next day my friends all called me from Margaret’s house. They told me that Zack didn’t want to be my boyfriend anymore. They said that he had asked Margaret out, and so now they were dating, and she wanted to make sure I wasn’t mad at her about it.