“It’s tough to get out of bed; I know that myself. You can lie there for an hour and a half without thinking anything, just worrying about what the day holds and knowing that you won’t be able to deal with it.”—Ned Vizzini, It’s Kind of a Funny Story (via durianquotes)
I have a question for you, tumblr. How do you deal with street harassment, as a woman who probably wouldn’t be able to defend herself if the guy decided to stop the car and punch me?
In the past two weeks, on the days I’ve had to walk to work, I walk down two streets that see a lot of traffic. I have been whistled at, honked at, and once called out to from a van containing at least four men stopped at a gas station (and later cat-called as the van passed me).
I don’t turn my head down, I don’t engage their words or smile, if I make eye contact I roll my eyes at them or scoff but have not gotten to the point of audibly yelling out yet, which I’d like to make my next step - but there’s always that possibility that the car parks and I’m not sure what I’d do.
It helps that I’m walking on busy streets. It helps my sense of safety that the storefronts are open and frequent, and I can probably dart in one if I need to. It helps, but it also doesn’t because somewhere in the back of my mind are statistics that prove that people witnessing a crime are less likely to take the initiative to call for help, assuming someone else will instead (the short story I remember was titled something like “38 People Who Saw Murder and Didn’t Call the Police”, and it’s been in my subconscious since I read it back in tenth grade).
I think the scarier thing is when a car stops, or sometimes stops and backs up so that the driver - older male, so far always older male - can lean across the passenger’s seat and offer me a ride. I smile and tell them “I’m fine, thanks”, all the while hoping that they don’t do anything more, don’t get out of their car or pull a gun out of their glove compartment, don’t follow me as I continue walking, don’t linger as if I’m going to change my mind. I had a guy offer to give me a ride last night while I was stuck under a building entrance way by the downpour that hadn’t been in any weather forecast I’d checked that morning. He drove past me, yelling out of his car window, and I had my headphones in and pretended not to hear. I saw him turning around in the street at the end of the block and making his way back towards me, so I took out my phone as some kind of a security blanket, like that piece of technology would magically protect me in time against a gun or a fist. He stopped and asked again and I gave him my standard answer - I’m fine. Thank you. He waited for a moment as I motioned to my phone as if “look, I have friends, I’m sure they’ll be here soon” and drove off.
I desperately want to believe that everyone who stops to offer a ride is just a nice person - especially that guy in the rain. I really do, but they’re always alone in their car, always older, always male, and nice person or not, I’m not about to accept a ride from them.
However, I also desperately want to do something about the guys who honk or whistle or yell out of their windows, something to let them know what they’re doing is not flattering, not ok, not something they should do to me or anyone else. (Especially the anyone else.) Every time a man passed me with such a response and I do nothing, I can’t help but think of the next girl he’s going to do that to. Maybe thinking he’s made her day. Maybe thinking “man, that was a nice compliment of a loud car horn I gave her” or “women must love all of this attention”. Or maybe thinking more sinister thoughts and realizing that every time that reaction happens, it makes the woman feel unsafe, objectified, like she needs to wear more clothes and then maybe it won’t happen as much, maybe liking the power he gets when a woman gets visibly embarrassed.
Either way, I want to do something about it. I want to let guys know that, no, I’m not flattered when you whistle at me from the safety of your car going down the road at 40mph. Prevent men from getting the satisfaction of thinking they got to me, or that I feel less safe because of them. I want to fight back.
"You wanted to find scars," she eked out, voice straining, and he bit at her throat while her fingers scratched at his shoulder where the Recovery sigil would be if he'd ever been emblazoned with one. He hadn't needed it; everyone knew. Except her. "You wanted to make them." "Only after you wounded me," he said, and she pulled him closer because this revenge mixed with old, old love was something she could understand.
All of the love for all of this. And the scars and the sigil and revenge mixed with old love and this is perfect and lovely and yes thank you <3
This deserves to see every light of every day ever.
mumblybee left this in my inbox because she is made of rainbows and puppies.
Once upon a time, Ree was walking along feeling a bit under the weather. This was partially because of the weather itself, which, as weather does, had defied expectations and inconvenienced everyone around (and within?) it. Ree sighed and bowed her head in great and tragic sorrow. Then Agent Washington came out of a bush. “It’s been a bit rainier here,” he said, “if you know what I mean.” He tried to raise one eyebrow at her but ended up with both. Ree blinked and said, “Wash, get back in your webseries where you belong.” But Wash did not move. He did not move at all, for he was inexplicably encased in cement. “I can’t,” he said woefully. Ree surveyed his situation, and came up with the perfect plan. She went and beat up a small child and stole his skateboard, and then lifted Cement Wash with her super strength and deposited him onto the skateboard gently, like a summer breeze depositing a feather onto a daisy. “Wait,” Cement Wash said, “this isn’t going to —” The rest of his sentence was inaudible, because Ree had made a dreadful miscalculation. They were on a hill, and Cement Wash was rolling away into the sunset. Ree sighed. “That plan never does work,” she muttered to herself, and went walking on her way. Then out of the bushes appeared York, who immediately offered her his hand in marriage. Ree politely declined because she’d had many prior betrothals in the RTumblr area (?), but said she would love to grab coffee sometime. He accepted. The End.
Emma, AJ, I love you guys being my internet wives, but if York ever asked for my hand in marriage, I don’t even know you two. Coffee is a good start, though…
I love you guys. Seriously. Everyone who sent/is sending me messages deserves a medal for being awesome. Actually, they deserve at least two. Five. Five is good.
I haven’t had a day that swung from ok to this completely awful in a long, long time, so I think I’m going to go and make myself some food my lack of appetite won’t let me eat and come back to this calmer or less-freaking-out or something and be, I don’t know, better or less worse or less awful or something because that’s how life works, right? (it’s a rhetorical, idealistic question).
And maybe I’l watch Doctor Who and ignore the strain in my wrist and write until it feels better or until I forget how bad it felt and I remember what it’s like to wade water instead of drown.
Back to job hunting tomorrow because my hours were cut (which I knew would happen), but at least I still have that one paycheck of two weeks of full time to look forward to, and wave goodbye to as it pays bills and loans and all those things.
After dressing for rain for the past three days and finally seeing a forecast of sunny skies, I am stranded in a grocery store a mile from home because walking the res of the way now would surely end in some degree of pneumonia.
My ipod has less than 20% battery left.
I haven’t written anything substantial or inspiring or, really, good in far too long for comfort.
Receptionist:Don't you feel like your generation is just lazy?
Me:Lazy? I'd say apathetic.
Receptionist:Isn't it the same?
Me:No. My generation is criticized and toiled with, and I don't see why not - just turn on the TV and watch what they're feeding us. But my generation is not lazy. My generation fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. My generation fought for womens rights in a fury that hadn't been seen since the 19th Amendment. My generation got our first black President elected. My generation fought for Gay rights for the first time in American history. And with all that, we are apathetic, and that's because things aren't going to be better for us down the road. We are the first generation expected to make less than our parents. We are the first generation to see America lose its status as a super power. We've lived through the worst economic times since the Great Depression, and are forced to take out thousands of dollars in student loans at the same time, all while our college degrees slowly turn into a highschool diploma. We've done plenty, and expect nothing. So no, I wouldn't say we're lazy, just apathetic.
“A woman’s worst nightmare? That’s pretty easy. Novelist Margaret Atwood writes that when she asked a male friend why men feel threatened by women, he answered, “They are afraid women will laugh at them.” When she asked a group of women why they feel threatened by men, they said, “We’re afraid of being killed.”—
This reminds me of a discussion we had in school, and one girl was talking about living in fear of her safety because she is a girl, and this guy chimed in and was all “It’s hard for guys too! I’m so awkward around girls! It’s embarrassing!” Yeah, not the same thing, exactly?
This reminds me of an article about online (heterosexual) dating that I read a while ago. It listed men’s and women’s worst fears about meeting someone from online. The highest ranked fear that men had was that their date would be fat, whereas the highest ranked fear that women had was that their date would turn out to be violent and kill them.
Its interesting also that these fears sit subconsciously until woman are asked to exams their responses to men. We women will operate with this fear in mind, the way we protect ourselves, make sure our friends know where we are when we go on a date, words that we use while interacting with men, all in hopes they will not kill us, but simultaneously love us.
I think bell hooks made a point about this in her series on love. something along the lines of how can women hope to love and receive love from men when at the foundation of our relationships there is this strong fear of men. you can’t build true trust when your foundation is crumbling under you.
the scariest part is, once you recognize this fear, and face it, how do you address it when there is evidence of “good” men abusing, hurting, and killing women everyday?
I was in my early 20’s when one of my homegirls broke this down for me.
I was in a broken relationship, and one of the things was that bugged me at the time was that the girlfriend at the time would freak out whenever I got angry - I never yelled, never throw or hit things, mostly, I just needed some time to cool out.
“Why does she get scared when I’m angry? I’d never hit her!”
“But she doesn’t KNOW that. She can’t assume that. Look at how many dudes are out there pulling shit.”
And that stuck with me for a hot minute. The relationship was broken on so many levels anyway, but that fact still remains, as a man, I can’t fault women for assuming the worst in order to protect themselves, especially how the world’s patriarchy and misogyny rolls.
My brain knows that my husband won’t hit me. Really, the logical part of me totally gets that. But when we’re arguing he has to stay on the other side of the room & not yell too loud because my fight or flight instincts have 25+ years of being hard wired that loud = violent & our 11 year relationship isn’t long enough to undo that.
I’ve had continual discussions with Tchy about this, and I don’t expect to stop. It’s fair to say that there’s no one in the world that I trust more, and he has been extremely careful with me, but… the fact remains that he leans quite a bit towards the masculine, and this means that that fear is always there. The news of transmasculine folks abusing/raping people doesn’t help that fear any. :(
I’m learning not to apologize for it. It’s not my fault (nor, really, is it his) that I’m scared of dude-type people. But it’s always there. Which is another reason why I get so pissed off when trans men try to make transmisogyny about them.
reblogging again for these newer comments that i find to be extremely important. You don’t have to be abused in any way to have this kind of reaction to men. It’s important to understand that when you live your entire life with this internal, instinctual fear that’s constantly in the back of your mind, that you can trust someone
She had thought about how to greet him, too. She thought about punching him out of anger, or rolling her eyes in that familiar way he always inspired. She thought of taking out a lighter or stealing his, because of course he’d have a lighter if he met her again. She thought about laughing to his joke, for the first time in so long she can’t even remember.
She thought about doing something she was afraid, without him, she’d forgotten how to do. She thought about showing her affection, for once, with kindness and sincerity rather than a thinly veiled jab or playful violence.
She thought about how he would greet her for days and nights, months, weeks, years. She thought about it until Wash unceremoniously pronounced him dead, and dreamed about it until she went to where it had happened.
She was too busy listening to the memory file journal entries to think, but after they finished that missed meeting was all she could see in her dreams, some kind of masochistic cruelty playing all of the scenarios he mentioned and a bigger part - bigger than the hurt or loss or pain - wished it would never stop.
She thought, naively, that more violence and death and holding the director accountable for everyone’s sins would make it better. She thought just one more thing, one more mission, and it would all be worth it.
She thought, but really she hoped, and she imagined it was a fitting tribute to the one guy who had always hoped the best for her.
Dream report: hold onto your hats, folks, this one is weeeeird.
Looking for a new job and I find a restaurant that is just opening down in town. I go over and get an interview right away, and then get my roommate to apply there too. Get a call back about coming in, do so after a town feetival to discover that this restaurant has a bunch of dorm rooms built in and I have one ready for me, with my roommate’s cat already at the foot of my bed (because that’s not creepy). I go wandering around and realize the owner has some sort of a bargain with Zeus (yes, the Greek god) and she’s offering up people she’s hiring as sacrifices because otherwise he’ll do something unspecified but terrible. I try to get people to help but all that happens is more of my friends fall under her employee spell. It gets to the point where we’re all zombies, basically, and two of us break out (I honestly think it was Diana Agron and Pervy, for serious) and come back hopeful and the lady is all “what is this shit” and I distract her with swing dancing and fail so I get punished (by JGL, who is under a spell to rape me so we have a giant physical fight until it kind of breaks for both of us and we have a very nice sexual experience in a tastefully shown cut scene) and then my friends come over to visit me and I try to warn them to run while they still have time and they obey but skeptically and and and
What the actual fuck brain? I don’t understand you.
This is the most convoluted dream of “don’t work there” EVER.
Funny thing was Wash had heard it too sometimes, just wafting through the airwaves: “I just wish that Grif was dead, put a bullet through his head…” and although he could sleep through a lot he knew he didn’t like the idea that teamkilling was the one thing the Reds, Blues, and Freelancers all had in common.
Ugh, I love these short little fics you do that pull at all the emotions so amazingly. (Seriously what is your secret?)
Just. This is wonderful and perfect and perfectly wonderful.
Hey, are you open for requests still? We were chatting on the RTumblr skype, and decided that we needed a fic of Wash finding North and York's bodies; oh, and that you would be perfect for it. We would absolutely love it, and you if you could write something along the lines? Emotional Wash would be nice. :) Thanks!
First off, good grief, rtumblr, I love you. I’ve been non-existent on the interwebs for how long and you guys still think of me. <3 I am nothing short of incredibly flattered. (I know it hasn’t been long that I haven’t posted, but it’s been way long that I haven’t posted rtumblr related fanfic and things…)
Secondly, I AM THE SAD MINER. (Which means yes. Very yes. All of the yes. Sometime by tomorrow night there will be sad things on everyone’s dash. Yes.)
“The (500) Days of Summer attitude of “He wants you so bad” seems attractive to some women and men, especially younger ones, but I would encourage anyone who has a crush on my character to watch it again and examine how selfish he is. He develops a mildly delusional obsession over a girl onto whom he projects all these fantasies. He thinks she’ll give his life meaning because he doesn’t care about much else going on in his life. A lot of boys and girls think their lives will have meaning if they find a partner who wants nothing else in life but them. That’s not healthy. That’s falling in love with the idea of a person, not the actual person.”—
I love that you guys took my last post as a reaction to rvb and not at all as what it was, a need to mentally reset so I stop being an ass to someone (mental reset that seemed to require sleep). It makes me giggle.
I did watch the episode and my reaction was pretty much the same as mumblybee’s, only silent because of my fluctuating mood. Happy about the events and my small shipper’s heart is taking this thrown bone as consolation to last week’s epic “nope nope nope nope” events. I also really liked seeing North.
Is it me, or are the faces different, both North and York look so much younger than in season 9. It works for North. It makes me think York is stereotypical frat guy I’ve seen walking around campus, which makes him less attractive D:
Got hired by roosterteeth, at first as like a gaming store cashier which then meant I needed to go to corporate where I was drawing a superhero comic about a girl who couldn’t remember she was a superhero and I was working on illustrations to pitch the story. I also worked close with Joel and we flirted a nearly illegal amount even if in the end I wound up accidentally kissing someone else (random). I also went to a dance event where another guy was confidently lavishing me in his a-game moves but something was off and I wasn’t having it. So i left, passing dancers I know on the way out and saying hi to some, and making faces at others. A girl gets scolded by her boyfriend for not wearing something pretty enough and runs off into the office building dance venue, i follow and comfort her. Abusive boyfriend comes after and I tell her to hide while I square off and tell him off, mentioning his complete lack of style or anything redeeming until he also retreats and I tell the girl everything is alright. Creepy a-game guy from before comes back and it all looks eerily like the two guys know each other and have asub-dom personality relationship. Creepy guy distracts me to be alone and almost kills me but I flee before he has a chance to. My friend who figures all of this out comes after me because she’s got a weird mouth thin made up of many many teeth and it’s like a horror game villain but creepy guy is all happy for his new prey until he turns around to see her, teeth bared, really fucking scary. I watch from the sidelines to make sure she’s alright.
And then I woke up.
Um. Any dream interpreter want to take a stab at this? Because I have no fucking clue.