P.S. If you’re feeling ice bucket challenge fatigue, why not do the taco/beer challenge for safe and legal abortion access instead? It’s amazing. You get to eat a taco and give money to fund reproductive freedom and WHO DOESN’T LOVE BOTH OF THOSE THINGS? Read more here.

P.S. If you’re feeling ice bucket challenge fatigue, why not do the taco/beer challenge for safe and legal abortion access instead? It’s amazing. You get to eat a taco and give money to fund reproductive freedom and WHO DOESN’T LOVE BOTH OF THOSE THINGS? Read more here.

Tonight I went out to a small pub for karaoke, and the DJ happened to notice that I have big breasts. (MAZEL TOV, YOU HAVE EYES! WELL SPOTTED!)
So anyway, this guy decides to do the bar a favor and say, “Wow, I don’t usually single people out, but did you see this girl’s breasts? They’re amazing!” I was horrified. Men came over to talk to me, I huddled in a corner with my phone and tried to look as unapproachable as possible. I considered leaving, but I was there with my friends and didn’t want to go home.
Eventually, I felt comfortable enough to go up and sing (“Foolish Games” obvi), and I guess I should have seen it coming, but the DJ went ahead and did a 5 minute bit about my boobs with me standing right there in front of everyone. I was already pretty nervous what with being a writer hanging out with a group of professional singers, and by the end of his bit, I wanted to crawl under the floor and die. I cracked a joke about being uncomfortable (yaaaay comedy writer), and the DJ said, "Relax, it’s a compliment."
No. No. No.
Reducing me to the body parts you like best is not a compliment. Demeaning me and making me feel small is not a compliment. Reminding me that you and any other man who wants to can take my body as your own whenever you feel like it is not a compliment, no matter how jokey or flattering or whatever your tone.
I am sick of having to pretend harassment is flattery, and even more sick of being called ill-humored when I respond poorly. When I get upset about your harassment, I’m not ruining the fun. You are.
Sorry for the <rant>, but I’d like to pledge to be more outspoken in standing up for myself the next time this happens, no matter how scared or small I feel. Even more important, I hope I’ll have the guts to stand up for someone else next time I see something like this happening to another person — and I hope all of you (**especially you, male readers**) will do the same. Smooches! </rant>

Tonight I went out to a small pub for karaoke, and the DJ happened to notice that I have big breasts. (MAZEL TOV, YOU HAVE EYES! WELL SPOTTED!)

So anyway, this guy decides to do the bar a favor and say, “Wow, I don’t usually single people out, but did you see this girl’s breasts? They’re amazing!” I was horrified. Men came over to talk to me, I huddled in a corner with my phone and tried to look as unapproachable as possible. I considered leaving, but I was there with my friends and didn’t want to go home.

Eventually, I felt comfortable enough to go up and sing (“Foolish Games” obvi), and I guess I should have seen it coming, but the DJ went ahead and did a 5 minute bit about my boobs with me standing right there in front of everyone. I was already pretty nervous what with being a writer hanging out with a group of professional singers, and by the end of his bit, I wanted to crawl under the floor and die. I cracked a joke about being uncomfortable (yaaaay comedy writer), and the DJ said, "Relax, it’s a compliment."

No. No. No.

Reducing me to the body parts you like best is not a compliment. Demeaning me and making me feel small is not a compliment. Reminding me that you and any other man who wants to can take my body as your own whenever you feel like it is not a compliment, no matter how jokey or flattering or whatever your tone.

I am sick of having to pretend harassment is flattery, and even more sick of being called ill-humored when I respond poorly. When I get upset about your harassment, I’m not ruining the fun. You are.

Sorry for the <rant>, but I’d like to pledge to be more outspoken in standing up for myself the next time this happens, no matter how scared or small I feel. Even more important, I hope I’ll have the guts to stand up for someone else next time I see something like this happening to another person — and I hope all of you (**especially you, male readers**) will do the same. Smooches! </rant>

Let’s Make Fun Of: Anthropologie Furniture

Hysterical. Needs more notes.

lizgalvao:

I love to hate Anthropologie furniture. In particular, the way they stage it for their website. There’s this gross fantasy they’ve created of an art student who can afford to spend thousands of dollars on a paint-splattered flea market find. It’s like all their customers are aspiring to be Charlotte in Tiny Furniture (a loft-dwelling trust fund dilettante).

They’ve gone off the deep end with the juxtaposition. You know those fashion editorials every fall where models lasagned in Prada swing around street signs in Red Hook? It’s like that, but on acid. The settings are more deteriorated and the designs are more design-y. It’s like shopping from deep within Fuck Your Noguchi Coffee Table.

If you choose to purchase a piece of Anthropologie furniture, it will only really look right in one of three settings:

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1. An alternative gallery space six weeks from opening

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2. An urban cabin with faulty electrical wiring

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3. A crumbling Southern plantation (soon to be deemed “the new loft” by the NYTimes)


Let’s take a stroll through the Anthropologie furniture section together. What’s for sale today?

Read More

Hey lovely lady friends! A few of you had ish with this post, which of course you&#8217;re welcome to do, the whole point of this blog is about women with all kinds of identities getting to express voice, and obviously not everyone is going to agree with me all the time. I just wanted to clarify that the intention of this joke was not to skewer the beautiful joy and love that couples share, which I certainly think is amazing &#8212; but rather the absurdity of the wedding industrial complex that tells women that unless you spend all your time/money making wedding favors that are *slightly* different from everyone else&#8217;s, you&#8217;re getting married wrong. My opinion: have a party! get married! celebrate your love! I&#8217;m just not convinced that a party favor is anything more than a party favor, know what I mean? Smooches! 

Hey lovely lady friends! A few of you had ish with this post, which of course you’re welcome to do, the whole point of this blog is about women with all kinds of identities getting to express voice, and obviously not everyone is going to agree with me all the time. I just wanted to clarify that the intention of this joke was not to skewer the beautiful joy and love that couples share, which I certainly think is amazing — but rather the absurdity of the wedding industrial complex that tells women that unless you spend all your time/money making wedding favors that are *slightly* different from everyone else’s, you’re getting married wrong. My opinion: have a party! get married! celebrate your love! I’m just not convinced that a party favor is anything more than a party favor, know what I mean? Smooches!