Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Legitimately Legitimate

I know what you're thinking, "not another rehashing of the tragic events involving the defining of rape in 2012," and I know, it's hack. But this is seriously serious. I'm talking about rape. On a more specific, and nonetheless grave, note, I want to discuss sext rape. Rape sexting. Rapeting.

It may have happened to you, and you didn't even realize it.

Have you ever found yourself at home alone, just sitting on the couch, drinking a magnum of red wine, watching a marathon of America's Next Top Model? Then, suddenly, you receive a text message. You're excited, at first, because you don't normally get texts after...normally. But when you see the content of the text, you realize, it is anything but a pleasant surprise.

You've just received a text message from that guy to which you gave your number at that club that night when you were drunk. You gave him your number because you thought he seemed like a really nice guy. He seemed like the kind of guy that would totally call (or text) a girl that he met at a club, and maybe they would go on a date, and maybe they would go on a few more dates, and then maybe they would find themselves in love and in a relationship, and the wedding would be so much fun because your friends would love you and each other and barbecue and sunsets on the river and kegs of low gravity beer and at least two dogs with a house and a yard with a garden and Obama and a beautiful utopian socialist future.

Well, you were partially right. He TOTALLY WAS the kind of guy that would text. In fact, he just texted you a picture.


Yes. I know. Your initial reaction is to laugh, and that's fine. For now.

You play coy, so as not to embarrass the poor guy, and respond with:

"who is this? ;)?"

He responds with another picture.


You continue to play coy:

"OH HI! I remember YOU! ;)"

He responds (how charming) with:

"Your turn."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. That's you. Alone at home. You're laughing because you think it's hilarious, this guy's gumption. Like he's just so sure he can get you to send him an infamous "tit pic," or "snatch chat." How cute.

"Yer aDORable."



"I'm good."

"I'm not."

Wait a minute. You don't remember asking this guy to send you a picture of his genitalia. Why? Because you didn't. And now, all of a sudden, because he's "taken the initiative," you've got to reciprocate?

I. Don't. Think. So. And I'm a damn feminist, mother-fucker (had to be said).

So you ignore him.

But he doesn't stop asking. And when you finally ask him to leave you alone, he says,

"But I showed you mine! Don't be a tease!"

So, now, all of a sudden, you're a tease for sitting alone on your couch on a Friday night, drinking a magnum of wine, and watching ANTM?!?!

I know. I know. My tone is changing. It's changing because I'm not talking about you. I mean, I might be talking about you, but I'm mostly just talking about me.

I don't want to parse words.

I am who I am, not who anyone else wants me to be. I imagine it's just as hard for men as it is for women, so let's be real.

Nobody is required to do anything they don't want to do, even if it seems as benign as sending a picture of his schlong or her jugs via media message. That's it.

Also, let's stop making one label for that one thing and another for this other thing. Words are just words and very often insufficient. That's why people write songs and paint paintings.

Think of the idea of rape as the same things as the idea of porn.
Maybe you don't know what it is exactly, but you know it when you see it.

I just hope you don't have to see it in the form of a poorly lit penis, photographed from a suspicious angle so as to make it seem bigger, or thicker, or whatever. I also hope you don't have to see it in the form of smooshed-together hoo-haas and duck lips.

J'ai fini.

I love you. All of you.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

The End of Innocence

As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve been trying the online dating thing these days, and, I must say, I've been semi-successful...and by “successful,” I mean, I’ve been on a lot of different dates with a lot of different guys. 

The thing about online dating, for…me, I guess….is that I could have the same luck if I walked into a bar and said, “Um, Hello! I am looking for someone to sleep with on a regular basis. Wah wah, wa wawawa. wa wa wawawawawa.” In other words, some in the online dating scene see no difference betwixt it and the bar scene. 

But I am not online to "get laid." I don't need online for that. I am a woman with a woman's body. It's SCIENCE. I'm online to seek out connections, to discover people in my area that are my age that I might actually be compatible with outside the confines of propagation. Am I getting too vocabulary happy with you? Should I include a glossary? 

With this is mind, one must first accept the truth that, when given the opportunity to “sell” themselves, SOMETIMES BOYS TELL LIES. 

Par Example. 

Photo Credit to these silly guys: http://www.rad-dudes.com/?m=200912
I was on a date with a super cute guy I met on OkCupid that was a pretty high match for me. We were both into a lot of the same things, shared a lot of the same philosophies, but most importantly, when asked by the robot on the website, “Do you prefer to give or receive massages,” he marked “give,” and I marked, “receive.” 

Are you kidding me? I just found hit the jackpot. If things work out with this guy, I could be looking at a future of free massages for the foreseeable future without any sort of compensation required...I thought.  

I like getting massages and he likes giving massages. 

So we were on a date, and by “on a date,” I mean, we were making out on his couch, and I suddenly realized that I had never actually given him the chance/offered to let him give me a massage. So I asked him in my sexy voice "Hey...I hear you like to give massages,” and he answered, “Yeah. I do....I also like to get them.” 

...I laughed. HAHAHA. “Well, you wanna give me a massage?” 

He replied, "Sure. You wanna give ME one?" 



"But…on okcupid, you said you liked giving massages, and I said I liked receiving them." 

"Well, yeah. I like to give them, but I also like getting them. Who doesn’t like getting a massage?"


"...But…I don’t LIKE giving them. I like getting them...and I said that on OkCupid." 

"Well, there wasn't an option for both, so I just figured I’d say I like to give them because...why not?" 


…….Because why not? Because I don’t want to give massages. I don’t like it. It requires a great deal of effort, and, unless I’m getting paid, or…no….you’d pretty much need to pay me, I don’t want to waste my time rubbing on people’s bodies. I mean…is there anything wrong with that? I don’t think that makes me a bad person, or a selfish person. I think that just makes me human…and I was honest about it on OkCupid. I wasn’t like, “HEY! Why not?” I was like, "No. I don’t like giving massages."

BUT YOU. YOU skirted around the issue, “Sure. I prefer giving massages. I PREFER.”  The word prefer suggests you have an affinity for one over another. Given the choice to give or receive a massage, by marking that you “prefer to give” you are expressing to interested individuals, me, that you, more often than not, choose to be the GIVER of massages, and that, I say, is a noble answer. 

If someone were to ask me, “would you prefer to die in a violent car accident or die in your sleep,” my answer would, unequivocally be, “I would prefer to die in my sleep.” I don’t want to die in a violent car accident. I don’t want to do it. The same is true with giving massages. I don’t want to do it. If the fact that I don’t like to give makes me ignoble, then the fact that I am completely honest about that fact should absolutely absolve me of that sin. Along the same lines, If I fart in a room full of people, I will immediately own up to it. That way everyone can relax and not worry about whether they are no longer aware of or even in control of when they fart. I do that as a service to humanity. I tell the TRUTH. I believe there is honor in that. 

But now, thanks to you, my innocence is lost. I am painfully aware of the simple fact that YOU, sir, and perhaps a lot of others like you, are A BUNCH OF LIARS! AND YOU SMELL WEIRD. AND I JUST FARTED! TAKE IT TO THE DAMN BANK, WHY DONTCHA!?!?

AMIRIGHT?!?! Where my girls at?!?!

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

My Self-Summary

Before I had mastered the art of training my dog, he used to get out and go for these long runs about the neighborhood. I would, naturally, run after him, calling his name, taking it personally, waving off the angry looks of the neighbors around me that made up our small little town square in Dahlonega, GA where I was teaching theatre at the military college.

He always seemed to set off a pair of dogs who spent most of the daylight hours on the porch of their owner's home. They would bark furiously at us as we passed, Linus either on the leash or off, gleefully running in front of me. I often stuck my tongue out at them. I may have flipped them off once or twice.

I did so on one particular day when Linus had brushed past me and set off running as fast as he could away from the house. The dogs were barking in their little dog voices that sounded like screaming children, so I stuck my tongue out at them.

Once I had gotten Linus under control and headed back home, I heard the screen door screech open and slam closed as I passed the porch. Then, I heard a voice grunt, "I saw what you did."

Bewildered, I turned around. "You stuck your tongue out at my dogs."

I had no idea how to respond. I just apologized, ironically, and headed back towards my home. She tagged it with, "if you would keep that mangey mutt on a leash..."

At that point, the fire started burning a little hotter. I got home and watched Linus, his tail forever wagging, and his eyes forever loving. I thought, "nobody talks about MY dog like that and gets away with it."

So I went back to her house, and I stood in her yard. When she came out to meet me, I implored her to keep her dogs from yelling at me. Implore might be a bit too polite. In any case, she stuck her tongue out at me, and I began screaming nonsense at her to give her a taste of her dogs' medicine.

"You're a retard!" she gasped with a look of pure astonishment.

"Oh sure. that's right. I'M a RETARD. Nice one! That's real p.c."

"I don't care nothin bout no p.c., YOU'RE A RETARD!" She repeated.

And then I realized, this is one of those times you just walk away.  So...I walked away, laughing quietly under my breath, my heart racing with excitement.

**This is what I have written on a dating site, who's name I will not mention, as my actual self-summary. If this doesn't hook 'em, they may not be able to handle all this jelly.