why are blonde jokes so short?
so men can remember them
this took an unexpected turn
Not if you just asked for directions.
crushing my enemies, seeing them driven before me, and hearing the lamentations of their women
What in the actual fuck?
I’m just so fucking blown away by the fact that someone actually published a Reddit post in a newspaper.
Good for you. Want a cookie?
For use on people who expect cookies/kudos for being a decent human being.
Oh my god. Made my day.
art by Glenn Arthur for the Forever Fabled exhibition at Thinkspace gallery (June 1 - 29, 2013)
Acrylic on wood panel
Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Goldilocks, Little Red Riding Hood
Fucking beautiful omg.
Why Society Still Needs Feminism Because to men, a key is a device to open something. For women, it’s a weapon we hold between our fingers when we’re walking alone at night. Because the biggest insult for a guy is to be called a “pussy,” a “little bitch” or a “girl.” From here on out, being called a “pussy” is an effing badge of honor. Because last month, my politics professor asked the class if women should have equal representation in the Supreme Court, and only three out of 42 people raised their hands. Because rape jokes are still a thing. Because despite being equally broke college kids, guys are still expected to pay for dates, drinks and flowers. Because as a legit student group, Campus Fellowship does not allow women to lead anything involving men. Look, I know Eve was dumb about the whole apple and snake thing, but I think we can agree having a vagina does not directly impact your ability to lead a Because it’s assumed that if you are nice to a girl, she owes you sex — therefore, if she turns you down, she’s a bitch who’s put you in the “friend zone.” Sorry, bro, women are not machines you put kindness coins into until sex falls out. Because only 29 percent of American women identify as feminist, and in the words of author Caitlin Moran, “What part of ‘liberation for women’ is not for you? Is it freedom to vote? The right not to be owned by the man you marry? The campaign for equal pay? Did all that good shit get on your nerves? Or were you just drunk at the time Because when people hear the term feminist, they honestly think of women burning bras. Dude, have you ever bought a bra? No one would burn them because they’re freaking Because Rush Limbaugh. Because we now have a record number of women in the Senate … which is a measly 20 out of 100. Congrats, USA, we’ve gone up to 78th place for women’s political representation, still below China, Rwanda and Iraq. Because recently I had a discussion with a couple of well-meaning Drake University guys, and they literally could not fathom how catcalling a woman walking down University Avenue is creepy and sexist. Because on average, the tenured male professors at Drake make more than the tenured female professors. Because more people on campus complain about chalked statistics regarding sexual assault than complain about the existence of sexual assault. Priorities? Have them. Because 138 House Republicans voted against the Violence Against Women Act. All 138 felt it shouldn’t provide support for Native women, LGBT people or immigrant women. I’m kind of confused by this, because I thought LGBT people and women of color were also human beings. Because a girl was roofied last semester at a local campus bar, and I heard someone say they think she should have been more careful. Being drugged is her fault, not the fault of the person who put drugs in her drink? Because Chris Brown beat Rihanna so badly she was hospitalized, yet he still has fans and bestselling songs and a tattoo of an abused woman on his neck. Because out of 7 billion people on the planet, more than 1 billion women will be raped or beaten in their lifetimes. Women and girls have their clitorises cut out, acid thrown on them and broken bottles shoved up them as an act of war. Every second of every day. Every corner of the Earth. Because the other day, another friend of mine told me she was raped, and I can no longer count on both my hands the number of friends who have told me they’ve been sexually assaulted. Words can’t express how scared I am that I’m getting used to this. Because a brief survey of reality will tell you that we do not live in a world that values all people equally and that sucks in real, very scary ways. Because you know we live in a sexist world when an awesome thing with the name “feminism” has a weird connotation. Because if I have kids someday, I want my son to be able to have emotions and play dress up, and I want my daughter to climb trees and care more about what’s in her head than what’s on it. Because I don’t want her to carry keys between her fingers at night to Because feminism is for everybody, and this is your official invitation.
college organization.
of the survey?”
expensive.
Could. Not. Fathom.
Weird, right?
protect herself.
After changing to fit into society, you are eventually going to want your old self back sooner or laterThis. This is powerful.
well, or you’re going to feel pain of not being truly accepted in either attempt to fit in.
Forever on the island of misfit toys
What it’s like
Want to know what it’s like to be trans? Go ahead. Try it. Move to the other side of the binary. Present as the opposite gender. If you truly want to understand, though, you can’t just do this for a day or a week. You have to keep doing it until your body feels wrong and inadequate. Keep doing it until you don’t know how to handle yourself so you devise all these little coping mechanisms to keep the pain locked away in a dark corner of your mind. Keep doing it until it takes considerable willpower just to look in the mirror. Until you’re sobbing alone in your bathroom because you can’t stand the way you look. Until the thought of going out in public turns your stomach because you don’t want to share your face with the outside world and you’re so tired of seeing danger and fear in everyone who looks at you. Until the simple experience of being gendered correctly feels like a wave of relief because as a rule you don’t expect it. Until you can’t or won’t feel the love of the person embracing you because it’s true that you can’t love someone until you love yourself and in this moment you have literally no idea how to even begin to love yourself. Until you forget what hope feels like. Then you’ll understand.
The Dysphoria Post
I’ve been thinking about making this post since I read the new Hyperbole and a Half. To be honest, I’ve been a little scared to actually do it. I’m afraid of the feelings and memories that will be dredged up by writing this. And that’s exactly why I’ve also been itching to do it. I’m one of those people who finds fear of the unknown to be intoxicating. If I’m afraid to do something, it usually makes me want to do it more.
If you’re unfamiliar with the concept of dysphoria, Wikipedia is a good place to start. The entries on dysphoria and GID give us nice descriptive definitions, and a good foundation to understanding. But this post is about my dysphoria in particular; my journey in navigating it and my never ending war with it. While Wikipedia’s articles may outline the concept of dysphoria, I want to communicate what my dysphoria actually feels like.
So, what does my dysphoria feel like? Well, it feels like a lot of things, and it feels like nothing. I wouldn’t characterize it as an actual emotion; it’s more like a specific kind of depression. I made a status update on Facebook awhile ago that went like this:
“I used to think I could find a concise, poignant description of exactly what dysphoria is. Less consciously, I thought that characterizing it would help me fight it. But dysphoria isn’t just a simple emotion. It’s a demon that hides in the dark, attacks you when you’re vulnerable and looms over you when you’re trying to be strong. It is composed of self-doubt, driven by fear, and devours hope. It knows everything about you but you strain to even make out its face. It weakens you, sabotages you, and shrouds the world in a gloomy haze.”
Like I said, dysphoria is more like an experience than an emotion. It’s the dread that I experience each morning over looking in the mirror. It’s the stomach-churning disquiet that looms over me when I get up and look in the mirror and my eyes immediately pick out every little hair on my face. It’s the fear that quiets me every time I make conversation with a stranger - wondering whether they will realize they’re talking to an AMAB. It’s the frustrated dissatisfaction that rumbles up every time I open my mouth and my voice sounds too deep, too resonant. It’s the knife that cuts into my gut every time I am reminded of the organs I’m missing and the extra ones I’m stuck with. It’s the overwhelming sensation that my body is broken. It’s why the sensation of phantom vagina stops me dead in my tracks. Oh, have I mentioned? I get phantom vagina. It’s really not fun.
Maybe phantom vagina isn’t the right name for it. If you asked a psychologist, they might say that I’m not experiencing phantom limb but something else. But it feels like the best name to call it. Usually something specific triggers the sensation - most often, it’s when I’m already feeling dysphoric and I see a cis woman naked. For just a split second, I could swear I actually have a vagina and I can feel it and I’m aware of it and for once my body doesn’t feel wrong. Then my brain catches up with me and I remember that the part of me that should go in instead sticks out like a sore thumb. The space in my pelvis that was so briefly identified as my vagina just feels empty and wrong and broken. I don’t feel any physical pain, but my body is definitely missing something. That is phantom vagina; that’s dysphoria rearing its dark head.
Before I started transition, though, my dysphoria was a very different monster. Before I realized who I am and where this horrible darkness was coming from, it was obviously much harder to deal with. For most of my life, as far as I knew, I didn’t have dysphoria; I had depression, plain and simple. I spent most of my adolescent years sleeping, browsing the internet, playing video games, and not caring about much of anything. This might sound like a pretty good living to some, but to me, it was just perpetually coping with something I didn’t understand or even observe. From a very young age, there had always been a part of me that wondered what it was like to be a girl, but in my head, that’s all it was - wonder. Curiosity. I was so far in denial for so many years precisely because I accepted my feminine side without accepting my female self. That’s some pretty powerful cognitive dissonance, and I still wonder how I existed that way for so long.
Depression sort of came and went through those years. I spent most of my time in this sort of numb haze. The problem was I existed that way for so long that I didn’t know anything else. I had no idea how numb I was. And often when I did feel anything, it was pure, unadulterated fear and despair. The absolute absence of hope. The worst times for these feelings were my freshman years of high school and college. I guess a part of me had felt that the new beginnings might help me become a fuller, happier person, and when that didn’t happen I became scared and confused.
In a way, I also sought validation through my relationships. But what I didn’t realize was that I wasn’t just attracted to women; I was also envious of them. This is why I kept sabotaging my relationships and never dated one person for more than six months; there was this extra emotional want that wasn’t being satisfied, and again, I couldn’t even observe it happening because of my severe denial.
Today, my dysphoria is finally, slowly shrinking away. I’m becoming a more functional person all the time as my shaky emotions have started to take root and grow into the person I’m becoming. Times are becoming more frequent when I actually feel like a woman, completely and without effort. I’m still fighting dysphoria on a daily basis, but I know a lot more about myself and I’m much more aware of myself and my emotions. And in my war, at least, self-awareness is the greatest weapon I could have.
A Trans Cyclists’ Cycle
As I’ve explained to many people, despite not having ovaries, my body has developed a period. Since I don’t bleed or get cramps, though, my period is mostly emotional. So, do you want to know how I know my period has started? It happens the same way every time. In the 2-3 days leading up to it, I get really. Fucking. Horny. I become the epitome of insatiable during this time and Ashleah will attest to this. Then, on the first day, I get really fucking angry at everything for no reason. Seriously. The first time I experienced this, I was at work. If you could transcribe my emotions, they would’ve said, “Gods damn it, fucking sandwich. Why are you a fucking sandwich? Fuck you, sandwich.” Then, I get the craving. The irresistible gut instinct that there is one thing you need right fucking now: chocolate. Of course, I can’t do anything about this at work so I just live with it until I get off. Then I go home and sit down with some damn chocolate. And as I start eating the chocolate, I suddenly feel…complacent. For that moment, everything is OK. And then my brain catches up with me and all the little things leading up to this moment begin to dawn on me. I connect the dots, feel my tits (they stop growing during my period), and eat more chocolate to distract me from looking forward to another few days of anger, crying, and horniness, sometimes all at the same time. Then, I usually have sex. Or masturbate.
…do I talk about sex too much?
