I'd take martial arts training and a concealed carry permit to handle this shit myself.
Which I have considered. But have not done.
Right there with you. And I have spent many a moment considering the wisdom of getting involved in a community that is a sex thing (even when people say it isn't -- and I say that a lot -- it really is, COME ON NOW), when I don't want to be seen as a sexual object by anyone other than by boyfriend.* And people need to learn them some goddamn boundaries, I tell you what.
*(I get that I exist in the world, where people in the elevator with me, or at the gym, or in the deli, will look at me and very likely objectify me. Not that I am All That, but because it happens to pretty much everyone at some point. Anyway, I can't control those situations if I want to continue to have a job and grocery shop and whatnot. But I *chose* to get into a sex-oriented community, and in so doing, increased my exposure to the potential for creepy unwanted sexualization by about a billion percent.)
I wonder how many men don't realize that a lot of women interpret catcalls as a veiled threat of sexual violence.
Or not-so-veiled, like when they turn into "Hey! Why are you ignoring me I was just complimenting you, YOU BITCH!"
...uh, not the compliment you think it is, Scary McRaperson.
The thing is, no matter what kind of community you are in, be it sex or cooking or knitting or general or those-people-who-like-lichens, the bottom line is that women by and large get objectified and no matter how empowered you are or whatever, no matter how much you could beat the shit out of the objectifiers, it still ain't right. They're the broken ones. We have to live with it. And that shit stinks.
no matter how empowered you are or whatever, no matter how much you could beat the shit out of the objectifiers, it still ain't right. They're the broken ones. We have to live with it. And that shit stinks.
Goddamn fucking right. (I'm listening to the Proopcast, please excuse the profanity)
Yep. One day, some poor schmuck is going to tell me to smile at exactly the wrong moment, and my reaction is not going to be pretty, my friends.
I've stopped carrying a weapon-knife--as opposed to a tool-knife--but I have the pistol, and concealed weapons permits are considered almost as essential as a drivers license in Utah. But I don't want to be one of those people (and my Sig would be very heavy in my purse). An extendable baton, now, that could be useful. Don't come at the woman who learned how to throw a blow with a club-shaped weapon in the SCA, bro, she'll break your skull open.
I've got a neighbor down the street who thinks it's cute to sing "Sara Smile" at me every. time. I walk by. I haven't snapped yet.
egad Sophia, what horrid people! I don't get it.
I will be happy to throw Isaac's party for him. Assuming it's more of a beer party.
Sorry to take so long to get back to you, but this kids commandeered my computer all day and this is the first time I've gotten online. Hilarious Jesse. I gotta rule out beer for the 7 yo, but maybe for the parents, maybe. Except I think I've decided to have the party at a park, for my ease.
Kat, if your Cake Bible needs a good home, let me know. Although in my heart of heart, you are a better mom to a cake book than I am.
Being a fat guy is one of the few ways to get a taste of what women go through. Just a taste, not one thousandth of the full impact. But 18 to 20 something young men, shout from a passing car "Is this he first time you've been pregnant?". Or, a group of young men on the sidewalk, with one of them commenting mockingly, "Just because he's to big for his clothes does not make him a baaad person". It is a real temptation to stumble into someone who makes a comment, knock him to the ground and apologize "So sorry, you know how clumsy fat people are". But not a good idea, so I don't.
