Boys are told from a young age that whatever they do will be excused under the “boys will be boys” mantra, and that “boys will be boys” mentality leads to what I call the “boiling frog” problem of women’s sexual boundaries. I call it that because if you put a frog into a pot of boiling water, it will jump right out, but if you put a frog into a pot of room-temperature water and slowly heat it to a boil, the frog will acclimate as it heats and never jump out, eventually boiling to death. Similarly, when we learn as young girls to tolerate “low-level” boundary violations like the ones we often are forced to suffer in silence at school, at home and on the street – bra-snapping, boob-grabbing, ass pinching, catcalling, dick flashing “all in good fun” relentless violations that adults and authorities routinely ignore – it makes it harder for us to notice when even greater boundaries are being violated, eventually leading to the reality that many women who are raped just freeze and fall silent, because that’s what they’ve been taught to do over and over since day one. You tell me what’s more infantilizing: repeatedly letting boys (and grown men) off the hook for their behavior because “boys will be boys” and we can’t ever expect any differently, or creating a consent standard in which all partners take active responsibility for their partner’s safety, and which acknowledges the truly diseased sexual culture we’re soaking in every day.
If Ronald Reagan were alive today. Sarah Palin would embarrass the shit out of him.
I must be The One That Got Away…
…or I’m The Only One Who Is Nice Enough to Still Talk to Her Ex’s.
Why? Why?! WHY?!? Do every single one of my ex’s feel the need to get back in touch with me after they are married and/or partenered for life only to tell me that they miss me/are sorry for treating me badly/should’ve called/just wondering how I’m doing?? The compliments are nice, but I’m not that hard up for compliments. Yes, it is nice to know you wanted me back, but you shoulda called when you were actually single—when something could have been done about it! At the very least, call me when you’re miserable and divorcing. Don’t call me when she’s bringing you homemade cookies by the fireplace and everything’s perfect. That just makes me feel miserable. Miserable and lonely. Unless making me feel miserable and lonely is your intent. Then just don’t fucking call me at all. I already am miserable and lonely. Don’t really need your help on that, thanks. One day, I hope to repay the favor, but you’ll probably have children and grandchildren by then while I’ll have wasted my fertile years dating assholes like you so I’ll be barren and fruitless and you’ll want to invite me to your family barbecue with your perfect wife and your perfect children and perfect dog.
You can’t stop homosexuality…sure you can disagree on it…but at the end of the day…it’s pointless. That’s like someone coming up to me and telling me,”Hey. You’re black. And I want you to be white like me…so I’m going to make sure you don’t get to have any rights.” What kind of logic is that?
brianfeldman:
theatlantic:
The New Economics of Girl Scout Cookies
It’s Girl Scout cookie season, and some of those bright shining faces in brown sashes and green vests are hawking more than Thin Mints and Samoas. They’re selling a new business plan.
This year, Girl Scouts is rolling out a pilot program that will try to increase profits by doing the unthinkable: cutting its cookie offerings to a slim six. Don’t worry if your mouth waters for Thin Mints, Samoas, Tagalongs, Trefoils, Do-Si-Dos, or Lemon Chalet Cremes. Those flavors survived the girls’ axe. Other flavors like Dulce de Leche and Thank U Berry Much weren’t so lucky.
The great cookie cutting of 2011 is part of an ongoing “efficiency” campaign at Girl Scouts to consolidate membership and boost profit at a time when youth organizations are struggling to keep all their girls and sell some of their cookies.
Read the rest of Derek Thompson’s very serious article on a very serious issue (Seriously).
C’mon, dude. Everyone knows that Samoas changed their name to Caramel de Lites years ago. Where have you been?
No. Caramel deLites/Samoas is a regional thing. Where you are determines the name.
I fucking hate Train for this line alone. This one. Not their shitty music, or…well, their shitty music is enough. But this line alone is selfish and makes dumb women think the singer/writer/band is awesome. No, asshole, I didn’t miss you. I was looking for MYSELF. You were the very last thing I was thinking about, you selfish little egomaniac. Call your Momma. She probably missed you. But I sure as hell didn’t.
agodamongmen:
worst movie ever!!!
This movie was only good because I went with a really witty friend. He and I made fun of the entire thing the whole way through, out loud (and we NEVER talk at movies), and that was fun. The movie was one bad piece of shit otherwise.
My fat ass needs to get back in shape. Old Navy’s sundresses are out and my heart is broken.
