So here’s some holy-shit-don’t-ever-do-this advice for the day.
Now I’ve written a fair bit about why this is a shit-tastic idea but there’s a section that really takes the taco and puts this well into “what the fuck were you thinking?” territory:
This. This right fucking here is one of the things that drives me up the wall when it comes to dating advice for men: the idea that women shit-test guys.
OK, first of all: no. No they don’t. A woman who’s ignoring you waving your hand in front of her face (yes, he tells you to do this) isn’t testing you to see if “you’re strong enough to be her man”, she doesn’t want to fucking talk to you.
Second of all: Yes, I know that there is the odd statistical anomaly out there who actually does shit-test guys. I’ve met one or two. However, there’re two relevant facts in play here. The first is that the odds of your running into a woman who does want you to push past her no is so remote that they don’t make numbers small enough to represent it.
The other is that mind games are bullshit and you shouldn’t be rewarding them with your time and attention. And more to the point: why in pluperfect hell would you want to fuck them?? Trust me: ain’t nobody in the world so good in bed to put up with that level of assholery.
If, in your travels, you come across this fantastical beast (you won’t) and she wants you to try harder after the initial rejection (she doesn’t), then give them a hard pass. You have far better uses for your time up to and including reorganizing your Pokemon by color. If she really wanted you to try harder to impress her, then she can damn well use her words and say so.
The myth of women shit-testing guys is just an excuse for guys to ignore a “no”, “I’m not interested” and “go away”. It’s teaching that a “no” is really a “yes” if you try hard enough and holy shit that’s an insanely bad thing to teach.
So, yeah. Fuck that noise.
Here’s some other great responses to this article:
Speaking at a rally in Wilmington, North Carolina on Tuesday, Donald Trump made an offhand comment that “Second Amendment people” might have some unspecified way to stop a President Hillary Clinton’s judges from abolishing gun rights.
“Hillary wants to abolish, essentially abolish the Second Amendment,” Trump said. “By the way, and if she gets to pick — if she gets to pick her judges, nothing you can do, folks. Although the Second Amendment people, maybe there is, I don’t know.”
Trump’s remarks are a bit garbled, but they appear to be a joke that gun owners could use their weaponry to prevent the government from rolling back their gun rights.
Yes, this really happened.
This was literally today in my town . Disgosteng
remember when sarah palin released a list of democratic senators to challenge and literally put target crosshairs on the names after years of glenn beck et al crying that ‘someone’ should do ‘something’ and gabby giffords was on the list and then someone who watched a lot of glenn beck came to a gabby giffords rally and shot her in the head, along with eighteen other people, killing six, and then when they asked sarah palin if she felt responsible she said no
anyways this is that, trump literally advocating for domestic terrorism, just softly enough that his followers can hear him but he can also try to deny it if anything does happen
It started when I was in kindergarten, and I was so proud I did not have to go to Bingo class, unlike my friends, because I could speak good English –
although I had no idea what a yellow dog that could spell had anything to do with Chinese.
(I figure out now that it was probably called Bilingual class)
I am lucky. I speak the fluent, accentless English of newscasters, the dialect spoken by the children of immigrants, that we learned not from our parents but rather from watching Sesame Street and other things on tv.
Last year, a white facebook friend of mine posted, “In order to celebrate Chinese New Year, me talk rike chinese man arr day.”
And then told me that she was “sorry I was offended” and “she didn’t mean anything by it” when I (nicely, sweetly) told her that that shit was not okay. She said that she saw it the same as doing an accent, like Irish. Or British. Or Italian. (for bonus points, she even said that she has lots of Asian co-workers and friends, and LOVES Asian people, and so is not a racist.)
And when one of my white friends gets drunk, he thinks his “Asian accent” is hilarious.
And I was told by a coworker about the time my Asian coworker mispronounced “Barroway” as “Bwawwoway” and how hilarious it was.
Here’s the thing – can you guess how many Asian people I know who actually say
me rikey
me from _____
me so solly
(or, if you like, the fetishized versions: me so horny, me love you long time)
if you said ZERO, then ding ding ding! Congratulations, you have working brain cells.
No, my misguided fb friend, the “Asian accent” is not an actual imitation of an accent, comparable to your bad British/Irish/Italian – but rather a mockery of Asian people and their supposed inability to speak English. It is the perpetuation of the image of Asian people as perpetual foreigners in America.
Like that time when my family was at an Italian restaurant, and we were speaking to my father in Cantonese, and a drunken white lady said very loudly, “GOD when you come to this country at least learn the language!”
Or when my father was pulled over for speeding, and although he said “what’s the problem, officer?” the first thing the state trooper said was, “Do you speak English?”
Your fake “Asian accents” are not harmless and silly, because at the root of the joke, it says – you, you are stupid. You cannot speak English. You are Other. You do not belong.
my parents have been in this country for 30 years. They have been American citizens for 30 years.
And they are very self-conscious of their imperfect English, afraid that it makes them look ignorant, knowing that it marks them as immigrants. That, after 30 years, you can still be told (in not so many words) that you do not belong.
The Cultural Revolution started in China when my father was 13. He was pulled out of school and, later, sent to work in the fields. (He escaped to Hong Kong when he was 18, but that is another story for another time.)
When my father came to this country, he had a middle school education and did not speak a lick of English. He worked as a busboy at a Chinese restaurant, the evening shift that ran until 3 or 4 in the morning, and went to school during the day.
It took my father ten years to earn his bachelor’s degree. He is now an engineer.
Is this not your “American Dream?”
When my mother came to this country, she spoke very little English. She got a job as an entry level clerk. Over the years she earned one promotion after another. She is now management at a large federal agency, and manages funds for the whole state.
Is this not your “American Dream?”
And my father didn’t understand why his coworkers said, “flied lice, flied lice!” to him over and over and laughed.
And my father is still afraid to speak in a professional setting, even when he has ideas.
And my mother still checks and double checks her professional e-mails with me, for fear of mockery from the same people she manages.
And people don’t understand why I can’t take a harmless joke. Why I don’t think that shit is funny.
No, I don’t “rikey.”
No, I won’t “love you long time.”
And no, I’m not sorry.
So, please, kindly – FUCK OFF.
Reblogging this for, like, the fiftieth time because it has never stopped being relevant to my life and it always, always breaks my heart.
It’s not funny. It’s not okay. It’s not harmless. It’s alienating and hurtful.
So, on my night shifts (last for a good long time, I presume), I re-read my NaNoWriMo chunk – from 2013. It turns out I still don’t hate it, and I’d quite like to know what happens ‘next’. Which makes me think maybe it’s non-awful and potentially worth me fiddling with it some more.
I mean, there are problems, many and manifold, and there’s some continuity issues. But overall, I quite like it.
See, we called on Monday – agreed a rough time with our groundworks contractor – and then called the septic guy – and arranged a time. Then Kathryn called back our groundworks contractor – and couldn’t reach him. She tried 3 more times up to yesterday leaving messages each time. I tried this lunchtime – still couldn’t reach him.
Given that we were meant to be there tomorrow afternoon we finally gave in and rang our septic guy and said “we think we need to cancel, we can’t reach Chris”.
Our septic guy messages our groundworks guy and…gets an answer a few minutes later. Apparently he’s out of town now because ‘we didn’t confirm the time’.
Seriously?
So I think we now need a new groundworks contractor. Which is upsetting because we liked Chris. And he didn’t talk to us like we are idiots. Right at this point I feel more like going and renting a damn digger and doing it ourselves. I know that’s foolish, it would take far too long and wouldn’t be nearly the standard someone skilled would do. But it’s really, really frustrating.
So I’m feeling really demoralized. I realize this is just overflow stress because yesterday was my last day as an Emergency Nurse – which is what I’ve been for the past 9 years. And it feels weird to not be one, and to be technically unemployed* – and I’m having that whole existential angst thing related to my soul probably having made it about as far as Newport**, and me being here.
It’s not so much homesickness, it’s more trying to understand who I am when so many of the supports of the constituent parts of who I am have gone or are far away. If I wasn’t so set in being me, it’d be a great opportunity to reinvent myself.
* well, super-technically, I’m unemployed from Thursday – I’m just not working today or tomorrow.
** Arcturuan mega-camel speeds.
Some trans history for trans day of visibility! Here is a poem written in 1322 by a jewish trans woman! (source and alternate translation). In case you were in need of the knowledge that yes, trans people have been around for a long, long time. [this is an english translation from hebrew]
“What an awful fate for my mother that she bore a son. What a loss of all benefit! … Cursed be the one who announced to my father: “It’s a boy! …
Woe to him who has male sons. Upon them a heavy yoke has been placed, restrictions and constraints. Some in private, some in public, some to avoid the mere appearance of violation, and some entering the most secret of places.
Strong statutes and awesome commandments, six hundred and thirteen. Who is the man who can do all that is written, so that he might be spared?
… Oh, but had the artisan who made me created me instead—a fair woman. Today I would be wise and insightful. We would weave, my friends and I, and in the moonlight spin our yarn, and tell our stories to one another, from dusk till midnight. We’d tell of the events of our day, silly things, matters of no consequence. But also I would grow very wise from the spinning, and I would say, “Happy is she who knows how to work with combed flax and weave it into fine white linen.”
And at times, in the way of women, I would lie down on the kitchen floor, between the ovens, turn the coals, and taste the different dishes. On holidays I would put on my best jewelry. I would beat on the drum and my clapping hands would ring.
And when I was ready and the time was right, an excellent youth would be my fortune. He would love me, place me on a pedestal, dress me in jewels of gold, earrings, bracelets, necklaces. And on the appointed day, in the season of joy when brides are wed, for seven days would the boy increase my delight and gladness.
Were I hungry, he would feed me well-kneaded bread. Were I thirsty, he would quench me with light and dark wine. He would not chastise nor harshly treat me, and my [sexual] pleasure he would not diminish
Every Sabbath, and each new moon, his head he would rest upon my breast. The three husbandly duties he would fulfill, rations, raiment, and regular intimacy. And three wifely duties would I also fulfill, [watching for menstrual] blood, [Sabbath candle] lights, and bread…
Father in heaven, who did miracles for our ancestors with fire and water, You changed the fire of Chaldees so it would not burn hot, You changed Dina in the womb of her mother to a girl, You changed the staff to a snake before a million eyes, You changed [Moses’] hand to [leprous] white and the sea to dry land. In the desert you turned rock to water, hard flint to a fountain.
Who would then turn me from a man to woman? Were I only to have merited this, being so graced by your goodness…
What shall I say? Why cry or be bitter? If my Father in heaven has decreed upon me and has maimed me with an immutable deformity, then I do not wish to remove it. And the sorrow of the impossible is a human pain that nothing will cure and for which no comfort can be found. So, I will bear and suffer until I die and wither in the ground. And since I have learned from the tradition that we bless both the good and the bitter, I will bless in a voice, hushed and weak, Blessed are you, O Lord, who has not made me a woman.
On The Daily Show with Trevor Noah guest Reshma Saujani, an Indian-American lawyer and politician, discussed the initiative to encourage young women and girls to pursue studies and careers the booming tech field, where they are falling behind. But there are two moments in a girl’s life where we can reverse the trend.
Gifs: The Daily Show/cc.com
Purely in historical terms, coding used to be seen as repetitive, unskilled labour, like typing (look at any pictures of “computers” or “coders” from the 1950s and you’ll see a room that looks exactly like a typing pool) What happened is that coding became seen as a technical skill, which meant it became higher paid, which meant it couldn’t be for women.
This is important, because it reverses what we assume is the direction of the narrative. The PERCEPTION of coding had to change first before the job itself could change. Coding was always difficult, technically skilled and demanding work, but until it was seen as such, it remained “women’s work”. We see the same with roles today that are seen as “feminine” – nursing, for example, is incredibly challenging skilled work, but as soon as it is seen as such it becomes specialised care, which then becomes professional and masculine (and higher paid).
You can’t fix this by focusing on young girls. When someone is constantly moving the goalposts, you have to stop those fuckers first.
