quiggly and the dire questions of interference

 

There is a girl in the building with a White French Bulldog puppy.

He’s a really cute puppy. His name is Quiggly.

Tonight it’s really late and I go out on the balcony for a smoke and I see a woman in the corner talking to a man.

I get a little worried about that.

Okay a lot worried about that.

Not because a man is talking to a woman. Because of the hour and the place and because she is in a corner.  So —

I put on more clothes and trudge out there just to make sure that girl is okay.

She is. It is the girl who owns Quiggly. And the man she is talking to is a friend.

And I get a Quiggly kiss. Which rocks.

When I walked out there, I was not thinking that would be the outcome. I was thinking I might be walking into physical harm’s way.

Nothing was wrong. Which is the best possible outcome.

Also I have no idea how to attach tags now in the new WordPress set up. Ahhh!

 

 

i am so moving to iceland

 

 

:::FIND OUT MORE AT FEMINISTING.COM:::

#InternationalWomensDay

*Hey, it could work, dammit. The official language of Iceland is
Icelandic, which is Germanic. I speak some German already. Also
there are a lot of English speakers there. Quit laughing.

 

 

consent: not actually that complicated

 

Dinosaur Tea Party

 

This is brilliant, and as most brilliant things are, simple.  It’s from Rockstar Dinosaur Pirate Princess.  Who has thrown me into a dizzying spin of blog name envy right there but anyway —

 

Consent: Not Actually That Complicated

~ Rockstar Dinosaur Pirate Princess

It seems a lot of people really, REALLY don’t get what ‘consent’  means. From the famous “not everybody needs to be asked prior to each insertion” to the student that (allegedly) thought he’d surprise his partner with some non consensual BDSM to that fucking song to almost every damn comment on any article by anyone that suggests that yes means yes; it seems people really have a problem understanding that before you have sex with someone, and that’s every time you have sex with them, make sure they want to have sex with you. This goes for men, women, everyone. Whoever you are initiating sexytimes with, just make sure they are actually genuinely up for it. That’s it. It’s not hard. Really.

If you’re still struggling, just imagine instead of initiating sex, you’re making them a cup of tea.

You say “hey, would you like a cup of tea?” and they go “omg fuck yes, I would fucking LOVE a cup of tea! Thank you!*” then you know they want a cup of tea.

If you say “hey, would you like a cup of tea?” and they um and ahh and say, “I’m not really sure…” then you can make them a cup of tea or not, but be aware that they might not drink it, and if they don’t drink it then – this is the important bit –  don’t make them drink it. You can’t blame them for you going to the effort of making the tea on the off-chance they wanted it; you just have to deal with them not drinking it. Just because you made it doesn’t mean you are entitled to watch them drink it.

If they say “No thank you” then don’t make them tea. At all. Don’t make them tea, don’t make them drink tea, don’t get annoyed at them for not wanting tea. They just don’t want tea, ok?

They might say “Yes please, that’s kind of you” and then when the tea arrives they actually don’t want the tea at all. Sure, that’s kind of annoying as you’ve gone to the effort of making the tea, but they remain under no obligation to drink the tea. They did want tea, now they don’t. Sometimes people change their mind in the time it takes to boil that kettle, brew the tea and add the milk. And it’s ok for people to change their mind, and you are still not entitled to watch them drink it even though you went to the trouble of making it.

If they are unconscious, don’t make them tea. Unconscious people don’t want tea and can’t answer the question “do you want tea” because they are unconscious.

Ok, maybe they were conscious when you asked them if they wanted tea, and they said yes, but in the time it took you to boil that kettle, brew the tea and add the milk they are now unconscious. You should just put the tea down, make sure the unconscious person is safe, and  – this is the important bit – don’t make them drink the tea. They said yes then, sure, but unconscious people don’t want tea.

If someone said yes to tea, started drinking it, and then passed out before they’d finished it, don’t keep on pouring it down their throat. Take the tea away and make sure they are safe.  Because unconscious people don’t want tea. Trust me on this.

If someone said “yes” to tea around your  house last saturday, that doesn’t mean that they want you to make them tea all the time. They don’t want you to come around unexpectedly to their place and make them tea and force them to drink it going “BUT YOU WANTED TEA LAST WEEK”, or to wake up to find you pouring tea down their throat going “BUT YOU WANTED TEA LAST NIGHT”.

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:::READ MORE:::

 

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PS: That is my official International Women’s Day post.  But wait!, you say, you want more International Women’s Day goodness. Glutton for punishment, eh?  Okay, hit these babies:

•SERIOUSLY?
•BUT WOULD YOU WANT TO FUCK HER?
•4 GOOD REASONS FOR A MAN TO HIT A WOMAN
•HERE IS SOME PRETTY NAIL POLISH, GIRLS
•NOT YOUR MOM’S SOAP BUBBLES
•THANK YOU IO9 YOU MISOGYNISTIC FUCKTARDS
•10 RAPE PREVENTION TIPS

 

 

seriously?

 

 

Why is it any time I mention women wearing clothing or grooming themselves, everyone starts talking about women “trying to attract men”? Women groom themselves and put on clothing for other reasons. We have jobs. We go to church. We go to the supermarket. We travel on airplanes and go to the library and drive cars and pump our own gas and, you know, do stuff that requires grooming and clothing, we don’t just lie naked and ungroomed on the kitchen floor till it’s time to go find a man. What century is this?

 

ah the boy’s club

 

The Boy’s Club is fun. Well not so much if you are not a boy.

It means every single male “screenwriting guru” out there can bash you with cheap references to bras and popsicles and you are supposed to be nice about it. I guess?

I’m not nice.

I’m a kid from the streets.

I will fucking cut you.

Don’t do that shit again.

 

4 Good Reasons for a Man to Hit a Woman

 

 

FOUR GOOD REASONS FOR A MAN TO HIT A WOMAN
~ by Troy Dunn

Lately, there has been much discussion about violence against women by the men in their life. Many have said there is never a good reason for a man to strike a woman but I disagree and today I am speaking out! I have six sons and I have taught them what my father taught my brothers and I: there are four good reasons for a man to hit the woman he loves;

1. Fire. If you look over at the woman you love and discover flames have overtaken your girl, you should absolutely knock her to the ground and start rolling her around.

2. Spider. If your princess discovers a spider wandering across her shoulder and with sheer terror in her voice says “GET. IT. Off! You should smack that 8 legged sucker right off of her.

3. Choking. If over dinner she begins to laugh at another one of your amazingly funny stories and in the process, lodges a bit of her steak in her throat, you have my full support to yank her out of her chair, spin her around and start squeezing her beneath her rib-cage until she spits up!

4. Train. If, while enjoying a peaceful, after dinner walk with your lover, you notice she has wandered into the path of a quickly approaching oncoming train, by all means, grab her by her arm and like the strong man you are, yank her backwards aggressively.

 

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Max Note: Cardiac arrest might go on that list too. You know if your love’s heart stops and you want to get it going again it might be okay to smack that heart back to attention. This is also though the best way to commit murder in public, knock someone down and keep whacking them in the chest while shouting “Live dammit live!” So it’s kind of suspect.

 

my new favorite person

here is some pretty nail polish girls

 

 

Once upon a time in a galaxy far far away —

I am in a bar with a girlfriend.

We are both on the dance floor when I see a guy dump something in my friend’s drink at our table.

I grab a server, “A guy dumped something in my friend’s drink.”

He is blank.

“Blank Guy, get your manager.”

The manager shows.

“A guy dumped something in my friend’s drink.”

Manager Guy says, “What do you want me to do about it?”
 

---

 
Think about that. “What do you want me to do about it?”
 

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I tell him what I think he should do about it.

Club security forces are gathering — and not looking for a man dosing girls’ drinks. They’re looking at me.

Then the guy I am pointing out across the room pours something in another girl’s drink.
 

---

 
The difference between me getting thrown out and the guy dosing girls’ drinks getting thrown out? Ten seconds.

 

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This is the world I live in. I know that. I am “the problem” a lot. And I am going to be the problem again now.  Because the press is hyping “nail polish to avoid being raped.” And I am pissed off.

 

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“Dear girls, here is some pretty pink nail polish, wear it and maybe you will be saved from rape”?

Are you fucking kidding me?

One more message: Be pretty, be demure, be quiet, don’t make waves, just put on this pretty pink nail polish?

Fuck. You.

 

---

 

I don’t want to put on pretty pink nail polish and be demure.

I want to see people raging through city streets with torches and pitchforks hunting down and killing rapists.

 

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It is time for this world to understand the problem is not girls and the answer is not nail polish.

The problem is rapists and the solutions at the top of my list are castration and death.

 

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PS: Dear Rapists: I am armed. And it ain’t with nail polish.

 

max and the ptsd monster

 

A friend called Sunday —

To check on me. She knew I was physically okay. Facebook drama had settled by the time she logged on. I’d posted I was okay.

I laughed and said, I’m shaking off the PTSD.

She said, Yeah, that’s the part I worry about, the pacing stuff.

She has known me a long time.

I was pacing when she said that. Five feet up, five feet down, sharp turns. I tried to stop when she said that.

 

---

 

She and I are alike. We know that place. The pacing place.

 

---

 

Crap went down Friday night. Someone shot at me. Strange men pounding on my door. I posted some of it on Facebook because I wanted to leave a “last known location” trail if I went missing.

I talked to one person who called. Then I turned the phone off.

 

---

 

If people are hunting you, a phone ringing in your pocket is not helpful.

 

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I spent a night in a police station once.

I had been arrested for grand theft auto.

I’d found an old truck with the keys in it, started that baby up, put it in reverse, and slammed it backwards through twenty-two ornamental hedgerows.

Then leaned on the horn with the doors locked when the truck bottomed out on hedgerow number twenty-three and waited till every light in the neighborhood came on and someone with a badge knocked on my window.

 

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Back Story: I’d been attacked by three men, fought my way free, crawled a mile through shrubs and back roads to a neighborhood with enough houses to call for help.

The men trying to rape and kill me had hunted and caught me once on blacktop after I escaped and tried to run me down with a car.

 

---

 

People are mostly cowards. It’s easy to close the blinds.

I started up that truck and rammed it over all those hedges to make sure no one would close the blinds.

 

---

 

The police guys kept asking me for descriptions. I had to keep saying, Look, I was abducted before, I keep seeing that instead of this, I can’t give you a good description, my head keeps interchanging what happened then with what happened now.

 

---

 

I was seventeen.

Flashing back to an abduction at fourteen.

 

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The one thing I could give those police guys was a description of the car that tried to run me down. One of the police guys remembered it being on the outskirts of all the Max hedge truck excitement sitting on the road with two guys standing next to it watching the mayhem that ensued from my grand theft auto stint.

They were right there. Watching. Close enough to grab me off a porch if I made the wrong porch choice.

Fuckers.

I’m so glad I stole that truck.

 

---

 

Nobody pressed charges. They were nice people. They got it.

 

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People want to know what happened Friday night. They’re curious. They’re concerned. Here’s the thing. I’m a bad witness. I’ve been in so many fucked up bad you are about to die these fuckers are trying to kill you situations in my life? A martial arts instructor who only trained black belts once inducted me into his class because he thought they could learn something from me. And I didn’t even have a belt. How fucked up is that?

 

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I can’t give you details. It makes me pace. Also they might be wrong. My head goes into PTSD Max Mode. Past and present fucked up violence moments overlap in my head.

I’m still twitching every time there’s a noise in the hall.

I’m still pacing.

But I love everyone who expressed concern.

And.

I’m still here.

 

marketing genius!

 

 

According to my inbox, men are interested in:

•Hot Asian chicks
•Hot Russian chicks
•Hot Filipino chicks

AND MONSTROUSLY LARGER PENISES!

 

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I cannot be Russian, Filipino, or Asian, but —

GENIUS!

I can totally sell larger penises.

 

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All you have to put in the box is a magnifying glass and instructions to not use it in direct sunlight, right?

I am going to be so rich.

Yay!