Some days I hate myself.
Some days I hate my life.
Some days I wonder how the heck I got here.
Some days I just want to give up.
Some days I just don’t give a fuck.
Some days I don’t even know what I believe.
Some days I have hope.
Some days I’m optimistic.
Some days I feel like I’m crawling under the weight of the burdens I’m carrying.
I have a new blog crush. I stumbled across The Jort Report at work last week.
It came about when I decided that I need to actually print/buy prints of all the quotes that get me through the day. My all time favorite quote, and probably the most true for my life is this:
The cure for anything is salt water, sweat, tears or the sea
I did a google image search because I couldn’t find any prints that I liked. And that brought me to The Jort Report which is the greatest name for a blog ever. I quickly read the recent posts, then in true creeper fashion I started reading through her archives while at work. Which led me to this post from several weeks ago.
And it got me thinking… In high school, Kelis “Bossy” was my anthem. Everyone said I was bossy. I loved it.
But the reason I loved it was because I knew about half of the people who told me I was bossy were actually saying I was “bitchy” and I was okay with that.
As I got into college though I realized I didn’t want to be described as “bitchy” and I started to resist the bossy label. I always felt the need to defend myself when people called me bossy. I would try to clarify that I wasn’t bossy, just in charge. And the reason I was in charge was because no one else was stepping up to the plate.
And that really was true about 95% of the time. No one ever took initiative and made plans or decisions when we were hanging out. And I like things to have a plan; plus my parents would never let me out unless they had details on what we were doing. So if I wanted to go someplace and no one else had made plans for me to run by my parents, I had to make the plans or not go.
I still find myself fairly regularly saying “I’m not bossy, I just…” fill in the blank.
But I’m done with that. I know the whole point of this campaign is to ban bossy. But I love the way Queen Bey said it, “I’m not bossy. I’m the boss.”
I’m gonna try to embrace it next time someone calls me bossy. I’m going to assume that they are actually complementing me on my leadership abilities. After all, if I were a man they would probably have positive feedback for the same behavior that they are labeling me bossy for.
Maybe I will even thank them and say “Thanks, it’s nice to know you think I would make a good boss.” Or “Wow, what is it about me that makes you think I have good leadership skills?”
Maybe… Probs I will just get a margarita and lament to my sisters that I’m not bossy. I just like to be have responsibility.
I like to think of myself as an intelligent, strong, independent woman.
I assume most women like to think that about themselves.
I work hard. I take care of my responsibilities. I take care of my finances. I take care of my car.
My husband considers me his partner. We share responsibilites equally. Except laundry…cause he won’t touch it no matter how much I hint or ask or declare I’m not doing it all.
But I don’t do dishes, so it all evens out.
I do not do things in my life based on antiquated gender roles. My daddy raised me to take care of myself and be a specific kind of person not woman. My husband treats me as his equal in everything. Because I’m his partner in life. Not a 1950s version of a wife.
I studied gender and feminist theory in school and I love it. I dearly love it. And if someone wants to hold the door for me because I’m another human being and that’s the polite thing to do more power to ’em!
But if you hold the door because I have a vagina, I’m not gonna be impressed…
A few weeks ago we had lunch with Homie’s family. At one point during our lunch my fil made some comment about how the last time he rode Amtrak he had to give up his seat to a woman.
The comment alone wasn’t entirely the problem. He said it in a bragging/lamenting way. As in “oh it was such a drag and so inconvenient” but at the same time his facial expression and his tone and body language were demonstrating that he was so proud of himself. He literally did a fake humble shoulder shrug. “She said she didn’t need to sit, but I kept insisting she take my seat until she finally did. But ah what are you going to do? If there’s a woman you have to give your seat.”
Seriously? You don’t have to give your seat to someone just because they have a vagina. I find that to be disgustingly insulting. If someone is older, or obviously injured, or maybe pregnant then by all means offer your seat. But if there are more people than there are seats and you are capable of standing and don’t mind doing so then you should offer your seat to anyone around you.
A male standing near your seat might have an injury that makes it difficult or painful for him to stand. Or maybe he’s just tired. But our stupid cultural norms have made it unacceptable for him to admit that.
So ask around, offer your seat, but don’t badger and insist that someone with a vagina takes it.
I didn’t say it that explicitly, but I chuckled and said “well…it’s not really necessary to give your seat to someone just because they are female. If I were that woman I would think it was rude of you to insist that I take your seat when I politely refused.” And he was incredulous.
I had kind of pushed that conversation and my outrage over it to the back of my mind until now. I just got a call from my fil. He never calls me. I didn’t answer because I’m at work. I listened to the voicemail and it said, “I know (your husband) is at work, probably busy, and working hard so I thought I’d call you since you’re not.”
Umm… I’m assuming you meant you knew I’m not at work and not that I’m not busy or working hard. But fa real?! Do you seriously not realize that by saying that you are implying I’m not at work, I’m not working hard, and that I’m just sitting on my ass?
It’s especially irritating because he doesn’t know anything about my work schedule. Or really much else about me.
Love how I never get a call until you want something, and in the process you’re going to insult me. And maybe I wouldn’t quite read it like that were it not for the whole Amtrak story. But fa real man?!
This is exactly what needs to be said about this.
“Tell yourself that a knee-jerk reaction of you must be lying or remembering it wrong when faced with a victim’s accusations of rape is not a sign that our society is so very, very fucked up. Tell yourself that it’s rational and logical to want to know all sides of the story, though you never want to know the other side, the perpetrator’s side, when your house is broken into or your wallet is stolen or your child is hit by a car.”
If you stand silent, you stand for a rape culture that brutalizes the victim. If you stand silent, you stand with those who have committed heinous acts.
Trigger warning for talk of rape
Preface the victim’s open letter about the sexual abuse she suffered at the hands of her father with a statement saying that he deserves the presumption of innocence. Always approach situations like this with the thought that the victim might be lying; remind yourself and others that the burden of proof is on her.
Insist on referring to the victim as the rapist’s “adopted daughter,” as if that mitigates what he has done. Using subtle language cues like this, imply that though it might be rape, it’s not really incest because the the rapist is not the victim’s biological father. Pretend that adoptive parents somehow feel differently about their children than biological parents do.
Like the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, insist on your ability to differentiate between an artist and their art. As a spokesperson for the organization said, “The…
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