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women in the military=still invisible

Ok, this week FINALLY the law was changed so that the military could acknowledge women in combat.  They’ve been there quite a while, apparently, but they couldn’t get combat pay.  That, Thankfully has changed.  

So why are we still seeing memes like this:



or this:



Seriously, just WTF?  We won’t even get into the exploitation of greiving children for propagandistic purposes, let’s JUST deal with the sexism here.  Seriously, “I’ll take care of mom?!”  YOU”RE 4 and you’re mother is a grown woman!  Why is it never, “I’ll take care of Daddy, Mom?”

Women die in the army too, assholes.  And btw, they are also raped in STAGGERING numbers, nobody is really sure how many because women who report the rapes are often, and by often, I mean a fucking lot, drummed out for “psychiatiric reasons” cuz it’s totally CRAZY to betray your battle buddies, and then get a bit PTSD-y about having to serve in the same unit as your fucking rapist??

I’m mad.  Perhaps you can tell.  I’m mad that there is still such a a huge amount of sexism.  Women serve.  Women die.  Women leave their husbands and loved ones behind to “protect our freedoms”…where are the memes showing the grieving daughters in uniforms promising to take care of daddy?  Where are the women soldiers with a “good boy” standing behind them?  Where are the screams and outcries against those who would violate OUR troops whom we claim to support so much?!?

This needs fixed.  And I’m about to figure out how to work a meme maker, and do my fuckin part right now.  


OH, my God. Thank you, Sex Geek! I HATE poly policing, and the whole if you’re not doing poly my way you’re doing it wrong. Also, I may start to punch anybody who spells it Polly.

Sex Geek

Polyamory is getting a lot of airtime in the media these days. It’s quite remarkable, really, and it represents a major shift over the last five to ten years.

The problem—and it’s hardly surprising—is that the form of poly that’s getting by far the most airtime is the one that’s as similar to traditional monogamy as possible, because that’s the least threatening to the dominant social order.

Ten years ago, I think my position was a lot more live-and-let-live. You know, different strokes for different folks. I do poly my way, you do it your way, and we’re all doing something non-monogamous so we can consider ourselves to have something in common that’s different from the norm. We share a certain kind of oppression, in that the world doesn’t appreciate or value non-monogamy. We share relationship concerns, like logistics challenges and time management and jealousy. So we’re all in this…

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trying to reconcile the irreconcilable.

I am a staunch, liberal feminist, of the anything a man can do I can do just as damn well….except, maybe for pushups, and that’s a biology thing..

I”m also a staunch defender of gender freedom, the type that cringes every time somebody uses the word “gender” when they mean “sex,” the type who identifies as “pansexual” because I want to reject the gender dichotomy and accept that gender is a spectrum and an identity, not necessarily biological.

I am also a lover of all things princess-related and pink.  I own tiaras that I wear, non-ironically, whenever the opportunity presents itself.  I use pink pens, sometimes on pink paper–damn being able to actually read the note, IT’S PINK.  Make up is my profession, my art, and kind of my passion.  I hardly ever wear pants if I can help, I’d far rather wear skirts. I have a love of Disney princesses.

Now, these two things, my hatred of patriarchy and the class system and enforced gender rolls have lived side by side in my brain with my OOOOhhh, a PRINCESS!, and the glitter and the pink spattered detritus that surrounds me for years.  I’ve made my peace w/ my love of my gender performance because I CHOOSE it.  I perform my gender beautifully in many many ways.  (in some ways, I”m an epic fail, but that’s an entry for another day friends)

But now there is a problem.  Somebody very near and dear to me is going to have a baby in 6 or so months.  This couple is close enough to be that this child will be a god child, if atheists had such things, and I expect to be a very important person in this childs life.

What if this child is a girl?  I already see pink things, princess things, “girlie” things that scream to be purchased, to be showered on a little girl (I raised sons, so I’ve not had much chance for girlie stuff).  If it’s a girl, this child that I already love though she or he is merely a bump, I will want to give her all the pink, sparkly, girlie, princess things that I wanted as a girl, that I still kind of want as a woman.

But how do I do that, and still teach her that I love these things, but that doesn’t she has to do?  That biology is not destiny, and she can be a princess or she can be a super hero, or fuck it, she can be both?  How do I share my love of the girlie princess things …and honor the possibility that she may NOT want all things pink, she may prefer plaid and denim and ball caps to tutus and tiaras?  

How do I treat her like a princess, and like a feminist?


A is for Abstinence

Laci Green should be required watching for all young women between say 13-and whenever.

Piss: or, the conversation every kinky person trying to convert a vanilla person has had.

Movie Reviews on Codeine: #1 Conan the Barbarian.

So, basicly this movie’s plot can be summed up thusly:  “My name is Inigno Montoya.  You killed my father, prepare to die.  Rose McGowan has no eyebrows, and still manages to be sexier than me. Lots of Sword Fighting, and Jason Mamoa doesn’t ever put on a shirt.  Somebody should really tell Conan to stop thrusting his sword into the dirt (not a euphimism) it dulls the blade

You don’t say good bye all at once

Not inside, not really.  You say it a little bit at a time, as a day which to the two of you would have meant something slides by uncommented on, except in your heart.  In finally watching a movie that you were going to watch together someday, a movie which sat on your netflix unwatched for months, just in case he changed his mind.  When you return the tie you found on clearance that would have been the perfect valentines day gift, that you kept holding on to, thinking maybe, well, I’ll give it to him anyway, it’s still a cool tie, and then, maybe then he’ll know, and ….he’ll change his mind.

Good bye isn’t a shot in the heart, it’s a thousand little cuts, some deeper, some mere scratches, some that bleed and ooze for days, and some that you barely even feel. Sometimes, you think the good byes are over, you’ve mourned, you’ve accepted, you moved on,….and yet, there sits “Serenity” in your netflix queu, until the day comes when you realize you’re never going to watch it with him, and you finally click “play.”

It doesn’t hurt as bad as you thought it would, but that’s no quarentee that the next surprise letting go won’t.

titty pictures

here’s the thing about titty pictures. It takes about 20 attempts, on average, to get one titty picture you’re willing to show to somebody you want to impress enough that you’re showing them your titties.

Oh, Derps.

Received this message.  I have left the spelling pure and in it’s original format.

:  “hi hun. luking to meet some one near (X) for a date tonite. hmu if u r interested” 

Oh, yes, please can I?  Because I readily admit to liking sex, I MUST be ready to run right out and go on a date w/ some rando who can’t even master the spelling of “looking”  

You had me at “hun”  and I really would have gotten off the couch, and given up my 18 hour quest to find out who had killed Rosie Larson (btw, The Killing.  Watch it.  You’re welcome) to meet up with you in (X), cuz I bet you are a gift from the GODS.

Or, you know, not.  

BTW, I now know who killed Rosie, and you are probably jerkin it in a hotel.  So who wins?


2:45 AM

2:45 AM.  I’m grinning and giggling, feeling the soreness in my lips and my neck, the relaxation through out my body, the exaustion and the sense that I could keep going all night should I need to.  Tmw, well today actually, I’ll be very tired.  But I’ll grin randomly throughout the day as I remember the feeling of his hand on my skin, his lips on mine.  I’m giggle as I think about the ridiculousness of two 40 odd year olds making out in a car in the middle of the winter, cuz there’s no place else to go, and all we want to do is touch each other.  I’ll wonder idly if his car still smells like my perfume.  I’ll enjoy this feeling, the lust that resurfaces with the thoughts, the silliness of the situation, the bruises on my arm that was pushed against the steering wheel, on my hip that was pressed into window crank.  I’ll relish the feeling that is, and not worry and wonder about where it goes from here.