"Righteous woman, would you like Sabbath candles?"
This made me laugh and laugh. Mostly because of the idea of someone addressing *me* as "righteous woman."
I don't think I'm a negative sociopath person, though some of my friends may disagree, but when it comes to dealing with the rest of the mankind here's the thing: I rather not. It takes time, effort, sometimes money, and most of the times I'll end up frustrated. I'm having enough trouble to clarify my thoughts to my friends as is, so to strangers? Almost no good can come out from that.
Oh look, Shir is me. Hi me!
And me! Hi, me and me!
Open Source Knuckle Sandwich Project
Also: the Open Source Swift Kick to the Balls project:
As we all know, many women long to give a swift kick in the balls to some male person or other. Yet all too often women are prohibited from doing so.
Sometimes this is due to our culture's repressive attitudes toward female violence or because of societal pressure for women to behave in "ladylike" and feminine ways. At times women must censor themselves from administering a good solid boot to the greater masculine crotch due to historically justified fear of reprisal. At yet other times it is nothing more or less than men's self-serving, self-glorifying attitudes toward their precious little patriarchal testicles that lead them to cravenly avoid supporting women's emotional and political expression.
I wish this was the kind of world where say, 'Wow, I'd like to punch you in the face,' and people would understand that it's not a way of reducing you to a set of bruises and ignoring the rest of you, but rather a way of saying that I may not yet know your mind, but your face inspires passion.
The "Backpfeifengesicht Project", in other words.
"Righteous woman, would you like Sabbath candles?"
This made me laugh and laugh. Mostly because of the idea of someone addressing *me* as "righteous woman."
It made *me* think of "Octopus woman, please let me go".
The "Backpfeifengesicht Project", in other words.
I may need that one on a t-shirt.
Dude, the open source boob project sent me seething. Partly, because I don't know what the appropriate response is to that question, other than to take a pic and post to Holla Back.
I mean, my physical response is to spit in the face of the person asking the question. It seems the most appropriate and least violent (in terms of arrest and prosecution) option. Words fail. A big lung clam in the face seems to me the best way to shock and dehumanize the offender in the same way they'd be dehumanizing me.
I don't understand what the dude didn't get about it being on par with getting harassed on the subway.
Would you krav the dude, ita?
"Righteous woman, would you like Sabbath candles?"
It would kinda make my day to be asked this. Probably because I live in Seattle and the odds of it happening are only a teeny tiny bit above zero.
I'd like a "no" shirt. Anything to contradict the sign I'm evidently wearing, invisible to me but clear to everyone else, that says, "Hi! Ask me for directions! I know where I'm going and am kind and helpful!"
The problem is, it's mostly true. I just don't know why I get asked more often than any of the other people from my office, who are equally non-threatening and also wearing visible employee badges, especially given the way I walk around so locked in my own little world that you all but have to jump in front of me and say, "Boo!" to get my attention in the hall. It's happened all my life, though--it's just picked up in intensity since I started working at a hospital.
I don't understand what the dude didn't get about it being on par with getting harassed on the subway.
It's basically his own version of Mardi Gras, isn't it?
Which one is tonight? I've lost track of your schedule.
Empires. I'm going to watch their set, take some pictures if I can, possibly mock them to their faces if there's time, and then run away from them before they can give me mono. And before Al the impossibly hot bassist can tell me something gross that I didn't need to know. To ice the foot that hates me from standing for 11 hours a day and pogoing because Gerard Way told me to.
