[link] Here is a cute bat taking a drink of water on the wing, just for a change of pace.

I don't get catcalled. Not that I want to; it's shitty,obviously. I would hate it. But I also know it's not because they respect me too much not to do it. It's because my chair neuters me. That's not exactly a feminist victory.

That's not exactly a feminist victory.

Yeah. There's a whole disabled sexuality thing that confuses this issue a whole lot for wheelchair/walking aid users (and presumably many other people with disabilities too).

I've found it really shocking when I have seen cat calling, etc.because, much like Erika, it never happens to me. However, I'm usually extra paranoid if I am out past dark alone because I know I can't run fast if the situation calls for it.

New disabled feminist blog: [link]

One reason I let myself get as fat as I am is to stop the remarks. My tits developed fairly exuberantly, and the random remarks didn't stop till I was a size where they weren't as noticeable. I don't get strangers saying anything to me about the fat, perhaps because I'm standing straight up and moving with a purpose that suggests being fat will not stop me from dealing appropriately with them.

About ten years ago now, I went on a business trip to Philadelphia, and twice I took the train up to New York for the day. I got back very late and had to walk back from the station to my lodgings through the empty streets of Central City Philly. I never felt threatened, but I never saw anyone who wasn't about their business, either.

I used to get catcalls and propositions a lot. It eased up after 30. But it was often miserable before.

The worst wasn't random strangers, though. The worst was the men I barely knew and had classes with, because somehow, knowing my name upped their fucking sense of entitlement.

Signed, had one class she always left early so she could hide in the restroom to avoid her stalker.

I had a stalker for a while. I didn't know him, and I think he just picked up on me because he saw me walking to work. He'd trail me in his car. Stalkers shouldn't drive distinctive cars. I ignored him until the day he followed me into my work building, then I told Hubby. He disappeared after that, and I was afraid Hubby had done something that could get him in trouble, then a while ago he told me he'd immediately gone to the police, who said, "Well, that's something that will endanger his parole, thanks for telling us."

Joy.

New disabled feminist blog

Interesting link - thanks, Hil.

The one I get all the time, which I really hate, is if I'm walking somewhere while thinking about a problem I'm working on or something, some guy will inevitably come up to me and tell me to smile.

Hil is me. Only I get the "why won't you smile, sugar?" version. Sad thing is that my instinct is to smile to most Strangers I Want Away From Me, because usually I know that will usually get them away from me faster.

But to this? I want to pull up any grain of attitude I have and go "what the fuck do you think I owe you? Stop harassing me!".

ION, made final changes on my schedule. Dumped China, got Islam, Dumped Israeli Demographics to Society, State and Well Being (which is given in English, and I want to experiment with a class that's given in English.) I'm at my Great Aunt's, and I really need to go to bed now. But my mind is full of thoughts, expectations, fears. Well, I guess they could wait until tomorrow.

Barb, lots of house and calm~ma. Ginger, I'm sorry it went bad; better luck next time!

omnis, baby, why are they working you so hard? Tell them I said you need to eat, too!