Thursday, February 5, 2015

Why True Sex Positivity Is Key

"Feminism" has come to mean we have to accept and glorify anything that anyone wants to do as long as they slap that label on it. 

It's a major issue for me when BeyoncĂ© slithering on a pole is considered a feminist act, and even more so when a man manipulating a woman into allowing abuse is considered a personal choice and empowering. I don't know when it became wrong to say "um, that might not be good for that woman personally or really women in general," but I think that's where feminism has lost its way. 


We no longer have any standards for women based on human dignity. That's why you can have porn stars claiming to be "feminists" when truly most are not sex positive at all but actively encouraging a culture that sees women as meat to get their rocks off to. Then we're up in arms when dudes catcall women on the streets. Seriously???? 


Why is it okay to privately use women but then such a shock when they do it publicly? You want to smash rape culture? Start by smashing porn. Start by calling out a practice that is training men and many women how to use others, in 2D form, because it will not stay contained to their computer screens. There's nothing sex positive about disconnecting sex from human dignity. That's actually anti-sex-positive and leads to nothing more than masturbation where you're using another person rather than your hand. 


I love sex, GOOD SEX, so much that I'm going to call out shit that I think hinders it. To me, that's being truly sex positive.




*************************************************************************










Post by Destiny

Sunday, January 25, 2015

The Pro-Choice Catfish

*Reposted with the fabulous Robin Marty's permission* We give you, the pro-choice catfish....


We've all gotten that email before... well, at least most of us probably have. If you're in any way vocal about your prolife beliefs people start reaching out to you when they (or someone they know) is facing an unplanned pregnancy. And it's awesome. It's an amazing opportunity to put our activism where our mouth is and help them find support and resources.

But then, every once in a while we'll get a troll. You know what I'm talking about... someone who's TOTALLY not pregnant, but they'll pretend they are in an attempt to a) get us to admit that their awful, crazy, completely insane situation is the one permissible exception for abortion, in turn "busting" us for not really being prolife, or b) once they realize we're never going to do that, they just want to waste our time with stupid hypothetical arguments.

And here's the thing, while it's usually pretty obvious that they're trying to reverse Lila Rose us, there's always that .00000001% chance it's legit, so we still go to the ends of the earth to find their headless AIDs baby with Spina Bifida and fetal alcohol syndrome medical care, right?

After a while cray stuff like that takes its toll, and with just enough wine and dark humor added, a video like this is made...

*Also, that's a picture of Robin Marty, a writer for Rolling Stone & Cosmo, who has never (to the best of our knowledge) ever tried to pro-choice catfish us. She'd just started following NWF on twitter and had the look of a women's studies major going on so we decided to borrow her face. Sorry about that RM.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

We interrupt this feminist blog to bring you… a mommy blog.

(*This really has nothing to do with pro-life feminism, but oh well. Two pro-life feminists are in it, so that gets us close enough, right?)
Ross. Short on apostrophes, but they have good deals in spades. For women.
After all, it's our world, ladies.

Dear Older Judgmental Woman at Ross who was judging me so super hard this morning, 

Hi. My name is Destiny, and I totally get it. I would be judging me hard too. Let's look at the facts:

I was sitting on the floor of a Ross while my almost three year old threw the most epic fit I'd ever seen him throw, with tears of laughter running down my face.

What you couldn't see:

The complete horror and frustration in my soul that this was happening and I couldn't do anything about it because I was temporarily peebilitated.

Let me start from the beginning so you'll have some background of how and why we arrived at this point…

This morning Kristen Hatten and I wanted to meet up to do some March for Life shopping, and decided we'd start at TJ Maxx. I had my little one with me and he was being a complete angel, like he normally is. We looked through their pathetically Texasy excuse for winter wear, then K-Hatt turns to me (while gently caressing a cashmere cord sweater) and says, "I don't really think this is my place, we should go to Ross." I asked her if there was just not enough clothing strewn on the floor here and she said, "yeah, that... and no screaming Mexican babies." I offered to pinch my Mexican baby if it would make her feel more comfortable, but we decided it would probably just be best to head next door. (Which according to Kristen is a federal law: you can't have a TJ Maxx without a Ross right next to it. If you find one by itself, let us know and we'll report them.)

As soon as we walked through those automatic sliding doors something came over my little. He didn't want to get in a cart. He wanted to throw his jacket on top of the racks and pull down multiple pieces of hanging merchandise each time he retrieved it. (I guess now we know why the floors are always covered with clothes.) Kristen and I decided to look for wool socks because evidently that's a thing people wear in other states, but of course we can't find any since, again, this is Texas.

But my toddler refused to leave the sock section which he'd now decided was his own personal jungle gym. K-Hatt went to look for the socks in the men's section (because the patriarchy) and I hung back. If we're being totally honest I was just dreading pulling my kid off the hat and scarf bench because I just knew…. He'd caught the Ross.

Five minutes go by when finally I decided enough was enough. I pried his little fingers off of the mitten adorned metal grid, and of course he started flailing and screaming, grabbing at the air as if he was trying to pull his way back over to it. I walked to Kristen and delivered the diagnosis: "He's got the Ross." At which point both of us realize how funnyawful this is and I had to put my temperamental toddler down and sit. Immediately.

Now there's something else you should know Judgey Judy. My friend Kristen has made me pee my pants at least a dozen times. So many times in fact it's mentioned in the endorsement I gave her for her website. At one point there was even talk of me wearing Joy Behars every time we hung out so I didn't have to do so much laundry. Usually, this happens in the comfort of my own home, but today… well, today it was unfortunately not. 

It started. I stopped it. I took a deep breath, regained my composure, attempted to stand, and there it was again. Just a few drops warning me I'd better sit back down fast. That's when I saw you. Glaring at me and my atrocious parenting. Like I said, I get it. I'd probably judge that chick too. I guess it could've looked like I was just laughing at my son's fit, but why was I sitting down in the tightest criss cross applesauce ever documented then? Did that clue not tip you off? I guess you could've thought my son's tantrum was so hilarious to me it caused me to pee, but that doesn't really make sense either, now does it?

Oh well, you went about your business, and after another 60 seconds I was finally able to stand *almost* completely upright. By this point I was only damp, and luckily, wearing black pants. I waddled to the register and purchased the most amazing pair of March For Life gloves I've ever found, all the while my kiddo was still Rossing out. When I went to pay I made the mistake of putting him down at which point he took off. Like…gone. He hid behind a car charger display, but at least he was momentarily quiet. 

Dude, they're the best, right? 
Ross owed me these gloves after it cast that spell on my kid.

I gathered my bag and moved towards him and we were like two negatively charged magnets. The closer I got, the farther he moved. I took a step, he took three. And that's when I remembered some highly touted parenting advice from one of those toddler whispering mommy blogs: "If your child is throwing a fit in a store, whether you're finished shopping or not, just leave. You have to just walk away."

I think they meant with your kid, but I didn't realize that until I was already standing outside of Ross sans spawn.

I stood.

I waited. 

I thought about texting K-Hatt since she was still inside, then I realized for all I knew he'd reverted back to his on-the-floor writhing and the cashier was already on the phone with child protective services.

I decided to go back in. I knew it would be perceived by my toddler as a sign of weakness, but considering he'd just watched me pee my pants on the floor of a Ross, I don't know if there was much authority left for him to respect anyway. 

Thankfully, my nightmare had not come true and he was still standing by the phone chargers, just looking. Staring me down. I took a step forward and he was off again, this time darting toward the back of the store. 

The worst part about dealing with Comedically Induced Incontinence (CII), is that even when you think you have it under control, you don't. It can strike at any hilarious moment. You might be trying to retrieve your toddler from a strip shopping center when suddenly your brain internally jokes to you, "It's the Roooooooooossssssss! Yo baby's got the Roooooooosssssssssss!" And before you know it you're hunched back over, kegeling like your life depends on it. I couldn't breathe. I was so furious, but also so enraptured by the absurdity of this moment. It was like an out of body experience. I had floated up above myself and was watching this crazy woman frantically pee-chase her out-of-control offspring across aisles of cluttered clothes. 

I finally caught him and pulled him out from between a faux leather ottoman and aqua arm chair (which was actually kinda cute, I might go back… wearing a disguise of course). 

By this point, I was more than just "damp." I was straight up soaked as I wrestled my husband's son out of that store. 

So in conclusion, Mrs. Judge Dread, I hope you can appreciate the fact that I was indeed trying. More than most people probably would have. But my body was working against me, which come to think of it, is also that little punk's, and his siblings', fault*. So there.

Wine,
Destiny


*This might be a lie. Growing up my brother made me pee my pants at the mall, at a CVS, and at a Brookshire's. It just happens a little easier now, that's all. 

**If you also suffer from CII, talk to your doctor.