Despite the title of this blog, we rarely (re: never) actually post about the act of defecating. And for that, you’re welcome. That being said, I still felt somewhat obligated to post this… just… because:
So there’s that.
Shout outs to the Reformed Whores. You’re doing God’s work, ladies.
S.
Hey.
Happy New Year.
I’d like to add another resolution to your 2013 self-improvement plan. Ready for it? No more slut-shaming!
Some of you may read this and automatically think: “But wait…. why? Sluts are bad, aren’t they? And shameful! SHAME THEM! SLUTS!!!” And if you did, sit the entire fuck down and let’s have a chat about that. For those of you who thought: “Oh, I don’t slut-shame. I just think it’s REALLY bad when girls, like, just have all this sex with dudes that aren’t even their boyfriends, y’know?” You also need to sit down, right beside that other asshole.
Just to make it clear: slut-shaming is the act of making someone – usually a woman – feel guilty and/or inferior for engaging in sexual behaviour that violates traditional gender expectations. For women, that usually means those who became sexually active at an early age, those who have had multiple partners and those who engage in casual sex. Okay?
Besides the fact that judging other people instead of worrying about yourself makes you a useless asshole who contributes literally nothing to society, here are the two main reasons why slut-shaming is bad:
And just because I want to make it as EASY AS POSSIBLE for you to be a better fucking human being this year, here are some fun and easy ways for you to stop slut-shaming in 2013:
My friends. I hope you will join us in this crusade and I would love to hear your thoughts.
Here’s to a 2013 free of slut-shame.
S.
Nothing better than routinely celebrating a major holiday of a religious denomination neither you or your family have ever subscribed to, AM I RIGHT?!
Being back home for the holidays is always a little surreal. And by “always” I mean the two years that I’ve done it so basically, drink up from my deep well of experience. It’s strange to feel out of place in a place that was really the only place you knew for your entire life. PLACES. AND FEELINGS. AND FEELINGS ABOUT PLACES. And so on. My hometown feels like someone I used to be really close with but haven’t seen in a while; we pick up where we left off for the most part, but there are more awkward silences than there used to be. There is a gap between us that we both know is only getting bigger so we compensate with empty promises to “totally hang out more often.”
I’ve learned how important it is to stop comparing my own life’s narrative to that of my peers. But it’s not easy. Without exception, every one of my girl friends are now living with a significant other. One of them even reproduced. Like…a tiny human came out of her vagina, you guys. I met it in real life. It squirmed a lot and then it shit itself, but it was really cute. Anyways. The beautiful realization that I’ve come to is that I am not in some state of stunted emotional growth. I am not falling behind in some proverbial rat race. I choose not to chain myself to these expectations or deadlines or throw myself into situations simply because I feel obligated to fulfill these roles that I may not be ready to fill yet. I am the third wheel. I am a wheel of brie for dinner. I am whatever, whenever, with whoever. And that’s okay.
So my Christmas present to you is a challenge. Think about an area of your life where you feel like you’re not living up to other people’s standards or schedule and then UM YEAH, HI – STOP IT.
Also, I got you this picture of Snoop Dogg in a Christmas sweater smoking a blunt:
Happy Festivus,
S.
There are times when, for a self-proclaimed communicator and lover of the written word, I say literally the worst combination of words that could ever be chosen. Like when someone tells me something – something that is potentially a very big deal – and I feel so many complex emotions at all once it’s like they cancel each other out so I reply with:
Cool stuff, man.
Because that happened. And I can’t take it back. It happened, and it’s out there.
There are times when I am consumed with the universal truth that everyone has nicer clothes than me. Like everyone in the world is just one big, well-thought-out outfit. Is it possible for fabric to laugh at you? Because secretly, during these times, I think it does.
There are times when I am amazed at the quality of human beings around me. Even strangers.
There are times when I wish serious, legitimate, real life, physical harm on people who storm onto an elevator before I’ve gotten off.
There are times when I want to be everybody’s hero. But then I’m all like yo dawg (I call myself “dawg” in my head, see)…chill out. Just because you tend to shove all your feelings deep down into a hidden volcano doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden of other people’s broken emotions on your shoulders. But I do, you guys. That’s how I connect with people I love. I’m like a parasite, except with way less horrific side effects. You know, without the parts that are physically harmful. I won’t make you poop out your life, is what I’m saying. But I will, however, annoyingly worm my way into your heart and intimate personal problems until one of three things happens:
Obviously one (or more) of those thing happens far more often than the other. And by “far more often” I mean basically always.
There are times when I feel like I am mediocre at a wide number of activities and silently curse those who are extraordinary at one. Those are the people who define culture, shape history, get all the babes. But there are other times when I feel like maybe this a good thing. Maybe it’s actually the people who are “okay” or “just-above-okay” at a multitude of things that make the world go round. Maybe it’s Jack of All Trades who is truly holding this world together and not Jack of The Best Jenga Player in The World or Jack of The Most Precise Turkey Carving Abilities. Although I would definitely invite both of those Jacks to a party.
AND….there are times when I write utterly pointless blog posts like this one. But that’s what blogs are for, right? Being devoid of points but hoping that someone out there connects to it and feels a little less….pointless.
Cool stuff, man.
S.
We just had (another) federal election in Canada and the results were historic, for many reasons. We ended up with a Conservative majority (ew) but alongside that comes some sweeping change in Canada’s political landscape – including gender representation in Parliament.
The first female Member of Parliament was elected 90 years ago and we’ve just NOW – for the first time in Canada’s history – reached the point where women make up a quarter of the seats in the House of Commons. That’s both good news and bad news though because…
Canada remains 52nd in the world when it comes to female representation in political office, and it’s falling further behind as other countries take more aggressive measures to even out the gender balance.
(Source: Globe and Mail)
52nd IN THE WORLD when it comes to female representation in politics. Our numbers are at an all-time high now, and that’s great, but it would be even more great (and FAIR) to see this number hit 50%. Gender parity in politics is necessary for true democracy, plain and simple.
Yet I say this as a woman who isn’t doing anything about it herself. Sure, I vote, but I’ve never actually considered getting into politics. I drink and swear too much, and while that seems to go over really well for some of our male counterparts in the political sphere – women (still) need to watch their step carefully. Kidding. But only kinda.
So I suppose all I can do is blog about it in the hopes of inspiring young, sharp, confident and competent young women to look at politics as a career path. Do it for us. For all the women that have too much embarrassing stuff about them circulating the Internet. For all the women who are passionate about politics but don’t have the attention span or the patience to actually make it work.
DO IT FOR US.
S.
It’s Friday night and I’ve got sweat pants on, eight tabs open and a jar of jalapeno-stuffed olives.
What?
SAY SOMETHING.
Anyways – check out this cool new blog-movement that our BFFIOH (that’s BFF-in-our-heads, for the record) Almie from APOCALYPSTICK recently blogged about. In her words:
The idea is to, well, get things off our chests. Our mission is to make the world an easier place for women (and girls and anyone who doesn’t fit into these narrow descriptions) to be happier, by helping them feel they’ve got permission to kick happiness-hating inhibitions, insecurities, cultural expectations, and ideals TO THE CURB. And also because there’s nothing more annoying than getting something off your chest only to hear, “Are you on your period or something?”
Word.
The story behind Off Our Chests is really cool. These two super rad parents are on a mission to rid the womanly world of “happiness-hating inhibitions” – basically, all those ridiculous things that stop you from being YOUR DAMN BEAUTIFUL SELF. Off Our Chests is a place to share (anonymously or not) “what is inhibiting you, limiting you, keeping you up at night, making you anxious, and hating on your happy.”
And let us be the FIRST to tell you how powerful simply saying (or typing) these things out loud really is….I mean, how do you think this blog even started?
So major props to everyone involved with this.
Check out the website here – http://offourchests.com/
Follow them on the Twatter. And Like them on Facebook.
And get some shit off your chest already, would ya?
S.
I wish I could laugh in the face of any woman who had insecurities about her relationship prior to Facebook and Blackberries. Because really…what the fuck did you have to worry about? Your man accidentally dialing the wrong number on your rotary phone and then magically falling in love with the woman on the other end? When he left the house, that was it. Sure he could have been doing whatever with whoever but how would you know? Your hairdresser’s sister who moonlighted at the local dinner theatre had to see them rushing out the back door trying to hide their faces and then bring it up the next time all three of you happened to be having a book club meeting. Try literally having a NEWS FEED that details every interaction he has with a living vagina right there in front of you. Or logging on only to discover that he hasn’t logged OUT, giving you full access to hidden photo albums and private inbox conversations, even though you’re the crazy one for snooping in the first place (right??). Ever sent a message on BBM and seen that little ‘R’ just staring back at you, unanswered BUT READ, for what seems like eight hours but is really only forty minutes? Didn’t think so, bitch.
Truth is – you are crazy.
Crazy as shit.
We all are.
The same beautiful spectrum of intricate emotions that make us the nurturing, compassionate and intuitive givers of life plays a secondary role, also making us unstable and irrational time bombs. Yeah….thanks, God.
Men will never understand what this feels like. They will never be able to fathom the savage and ruthless coup that your hormones stage on your common sense and confidence at least once every 28 days. Men do not have the capability to understand this because they don’t ever have to experience it. So don’t let them call you crazy and make you feel bad.
Let me do that.
You’re fucking crazy.
But as we just established – WE ALL ARE. We have biology (among other things…sexism, mass media…I’m looking at you, but that is another post) to thank for this. But you’re not off the hook, bitch. Because you’re an adult now and adults are supposed to have a better understanding of themselves than what you demonstrate by letting these thoughts get the best of you. What I’m saying is…if you take the time, slow down, breathe, and make a conscious note that this insecure, self-loathing, wildly creative yet terribly unhealthy broad that has hijacked your brain is not actually you – I promise, you will feel more powerful than you ever have in your life. Because your emotions are not you. Your actions are.
Your imagination is no substitute for reality. All truth comes to light.
So log out of Facebook.
Put your Blackberry away.
Start a blog and write until your mind has caught up with the rest of your train-wreck self.
And chill. the. fuck. out.
S.
A bill has been finalized in Louisiana that requires women seeking abortions to get ultrasounds (even ones who have been a victim of rape or incest), in what Jezebel is (rightly) calling “a sneaky move by pro-lifers to influence women out of guilt to change their minds about a perfectly legal decision.”
Currently eight states require that abortion providers offer ultrasound information but three of them have mandated that the ultrasound is carried out, and require the provider to offer the woman the opportunity to view the image.
Now this Louisiana State Senator broad, Sharon Broome, is talking about it being an “empowering” bill for women. Broome, mind you, originally wanted the bill to require medical providers to discuss the fetus’s development in detail and give the woman a photograph.
So what happens after these guilt trips have worked and these women bring their baby to full term? Well…that’s kind of where this whole “empowerment” thing stops:
Of course, they haven’t introduced any legislation to promote comprehensive sex education, nor backed expanded contraceptive funding for poor women, nor gone to town for expanded child care credits and subsidies to help the women who choose to have children but need to work. Once you get that baby birthed, sister, you’re on your own — just as God intended you to be when He punished you with the pregnancy in the first place. (Fundamentalists trying to guilt women out of abortions – Jezebel)
S.
Look. I know it’s been like nine days since I posted last. I’m sorry. I was busy not coming to terms with the fact that I’m basically 30. In case you’re wondering, being”basically 30″ means turning 25 because let’s be honest – I’M BASICALLY FUCKING 30 NOW.
I kid. In reality, turning 25 only freaked me out for a bit. Then I drank eight Red Bull and vodka’s and not only forgot about my age, I forgot my name, my general whereabouts and how to sleep.
Life has been good though. In fact, I have begun (again) to appreciate just how good my life really is this past week. The earthquake in Haiti honestly rocked me to my core. If there was one country that did NOT need a 7.0 earthquake, it was Haiti. Even before this earthquake hit, only about 40% of the population had access to basic health care. Ninety percent of Haiti’s children were already suffering from waterborne diseases and intestinal parasites. Haiti’s basic infrastructure – both physically and economically – was in no way, shape or form prepared for a major natural disaster on a scale like this. For an impoverished country as poor as Haiti, the devastation of an earthquake is magnified beyond comprehension.
So, please. Do something. Donate to the Red Cross if you haven’t already. If you live in Calgary, come to the Haiti fundraiser “Sak Pasé” happening at The Forum on Friday. I’ll be there. Staying far, far away from Red Bull and vodka.
S.
It’s October 4. Is your city covered in snow? Because ours is. So I’ve decided it’s a great day for a YouTube Throwdown instead of a regular blog post, because quite frankly, the only words that I have for anything right now rhyme with Bucking Smother Bucker Crastard Ass Buck. Or something along those lines.
Chris Abani is one of the most engaging public speakers I’ve ever seen. His life story is equally as amazing (link). If you’ve got the 20 minutes to spare, I highly suggest you spend them watching this. Just one of the incredible tidbits in this speech: before the genocide in Rwanda, the word for “rape” and the word for “marriage” were the same.
If this quote wasn’t so long, I would get it tattooed on my body.
If it does happen to be an arctic tundra wherever you are right now, grab your special someone, cuddle up and listen to this. Just don’t be surprised when you find yourself furiously making out with them like you’re back in grade 9. Pretty sure this song will play some role in my wedding and all that mush.
And this isn’t serious at all, but gawd DAMMIT it’s fabulous.
Enjoy. Sorry I’ve been neglecting you. Football is back.
S.
