- 15th January
- 28th December
How is this even a thing? I’m a dude. I get it. Girls can be scary. They look just like humans, but they make Weird Things happen in your pants-area. It must be magic. They are the Gargamels to your dick’s whatever-Smurf-your-dick-is.
(Sidenote: the makers of The Smurfs meant for each Smurf to represent a different kind of dick. There are 99 dick archetypes. Mine’s Vanity Smurf because it’s so god damned beautiful. Yours might be Baby Smurf because it’s so tiny or Fakir Smurf because it’s racist as hell.)
Actually, none of that is true. Girls are normal humans, and I’m pretty sure Smurfs aren’t dicks, though the hats are suspicious. The problem is that when you see a girl your body goes all Breaking Bad and starts manufacturing chemicals that Jack You Up. That’s scary. I know. I overdosed on PCP once.
Before I launch into this I need to say that if you’re a high school kid, and you’re getting “friend zoned,” I do not blame you for being an idiot. You’re going through a lot of bullshit right now, and your body is more like season 4 of Breaking Bad where for a grown man it’s more like season 1 or 2. But read this article and become wiser than your fellow dweebs. Stop fearing girls as capricious and devastating forces of nature and start seeing them as people who are EXACTLY LIKE YOU except with different pants-parts and, in many cases, different shirt-parts.
If you’re a grown man (read: 19 or older, and I’m cutting the 18 year olds a fucking break here) and you get “friendzoned,” then the following words are for you, Friendzone.
Stop it. How is this even happening? What are the events that are occurring? This is what I imagine:
You become attracted to a woman.
You are friendly to that woman in the hopes she will show you her vagina.
She mistakes your friendliness for friendliness and befriends you, neglecting to show you her vagina.
You act like a butthurt little asswipe, forever placing yourself firmly outside of the circle on the Venn diagram of dudes she will ever show her vagina to.
You complain about it on the internet, and 1000 other maladjusted bro-dudes go, “I know that feel,” and you are validated in your misogyny.
We’ll call that Scenario 1 because there is a second scenario I imagine where “friendzoning” may occur. We will refer to this as Scenario B. (Did that throw you off, Friendzone? Keep on your toes. I am the ninja master in your training regimen to stop being a douche bag.)
You become attracted to a woman.
You befriend her in a passive-aggressive, it’s-us-against-the-world kind of way.
She tolerates that because she’s too nice to tell you, “fuck off, you creep.”
She dates an actual interesting guy with an actual personality.
They break up, and she hurts.
You offer your shoulder to cry on.
She cries on your shoulder.
She dates another interesting guy.
You go, “What the fuck? You cried on my shoulder! Show me your vagina!”
She reacts something like, “I thought we were friends, you creepy-ass, fucking creep!”
You tell the internet you’ve been friendzoned.
The internet validates your misogyny.
So, what’s wrong? You’re a nice guy, right? Why aren’t theses Stupid Whores showing you their vaginas? Probably because you’re too nice. You should be a douche bag like that guy she dated who had interests besides pretending to be her friend while simultaneously trying to eye-laser her pants off. Well, good news: you ARE a douche bag!
Consider something for me. Imagine that I, an incredibly good-looking, nice, eligible man, was walking into a shop ahead of you. As I reach the door I stop to look behind me, and I see you there only a few paces away. So I wait and hold the door. Maybe you say something like, “Thanks, bro. That was really nice.”
To which I respond, “Yeah, it was. Now you know what you have to do, right?” And I take my dick out.
Would that be uncomfortable for you? Would it be unpleasant for you to live in a world where, if a man was nice to you, it meant he expected you to pleasure him sexually? Guess what! That’s uncomfortable for women, too. Isn’t that weird? It’s almost like they’re the same kind of person you are. WEIRD!
No, actually. It’s not weird. It turns out they are the same kind of person you are, and having unwanted dicks around is as horrifying to them as it is to you. So, stop. Stop it with your unwanted dick.
Here’s the hard truth, Friendzone. You’re not a nice guy. You are a gutless, pathetic, sad, horny little worm who’s too afraid of rejection to just tell a woman how you really feel. Your anger when she doesn’t psychically glean your unspoken desires and automatically reciprocate them is actually just you externalizing the disgust you feel for your own cowardice. You think pretending to be friends with a woman will get her to have sex with you because women are sex-objects to you. You can’t imagine a non-sexual friendship with a woman being rewarding in any way because you don’t think of them as whole, real people. It doesn’t occur to her to date you either because your pandering comes of as unchallenging and uninteresting or because your creepiness is obvious and unnerving.
How can you stop being such a douche bag? Well, I suggest forming a friendship with a woman. You’re going to need to find one who can put up with a lot of bullshit, because that’s all you’ve really got to offer at this early stage. A good indicator is if she’s been married a long time or has raised children. Invest time and energy in this relationship WITHOUT thinking about your constant loneliness-boner. Once you have internalized the knowledge that your new friend has thoughts, feelings, hopes, dreams, AND breasts, take a look around you. Look at the world. Look at all of the people with breasts. Those people are just like her, just like your friend. They, too, have thoughts, feelings, hopes, and dreams. Even the ones you want to fuck. Isn’t the world magical?
Here’s my last advice, Friendzone. People, men and women both, are complex, emotional creatures, and virtually all of them are horny. If you’re honest with yourself and honest with them you will form trusting, open connections with a large network of humans. Those people are called friends. You will be in many friend zones. You will be a better person. Someone will fuck you. Trust me.
- 22nd November
FOR AUSTRALIAN RESIDENTS.
Give the above number (0450 352 004) out to men or anyone who doggedly persists in trying to get your number even after you’ve already said no.
SAVE THIS NUMBER IN YOUR PHONE FOR EASY RECALL!
We have all had the experience of enjoying ourselves whilst out, minding our own business, when a strange man will bail us up with unscolicited attention in the effort to convince us to go out with him. These men will not take no for an answer, but will hound us with “kindness”, attempting to wear us down through the sheer force of their persistence even though we communicate a lack of interest. Such men will often become resentful and indignant when spurred because they believe themselves to be “nice guys” just trying to show us appreciation, despite the fact they cannot respect our boundaries and our wishes. They behave as though they are entitled to our attention and we owe them our time just because they decided they thought we were beautiful.
Often times, this degree of unwanted attention becomes a type of passive bullying, leaving us feeling unsafe, insecure and uncomfortable without any sure ways of getting out of the situation because the man in question is trying to set it up so the only exit is giving in. Women are groomed to be nice and pleasant always in social interactions and because these guys don’t use any obvious nastiness it leaves us more conflicted about being assertive.
DON’T PUT UP WITH IT ANY LONGER!
GIVE THESE DISRESPECTFUL MEN THIS NUMBER:
0450 352 004
WHEN THEY CALL IT, THEY WILL HEAR THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE:
Hello. If you have been given this number, it means that you have made someone feel uncomfortable, unsafe, perhaps even threatened. Most likely you have pestered a woman for her phone number, even after she said no. Maybe even said no repeatedly. You put so much pressure on this woman she had no choice but to give you this number in order to get you to leave her alone. If you want to have more success with women in the future, learn to respect our boundaries and our autonomy and accept that we don’t owe you attention. No means no, even when you’re not about to stick your dick in someone. If you would like to learn how to be more respectful towards women, please visit ialreadysaidno.tumblr.com
SAVE THIS NUMBER IN YOUR PHONE FOR EASY RECALL!
PLEASE REBLOG THIS AND SPREAD THIS AROUND!
- 5th October
That demonstrations are so heavily, so rigidly, structured in the minds of the police and also in our own minds was very revealing. If we hadn’t hared off to Paddington perhaps it would have been less obvious that we had been playing by rules, somehow allowed to demonstrate, naughty little girls given a small space in which to misbehave. It reminded me of all I’d read about why guerilla warfare works. Somehow I think we had collaborated in a standard view of the situation, of ourselves. A demonstration is such a predictable number, so within male expectations… so bloody useless, really. Talking about what we’d done, what we’d thought, led us into quite other areas, away from such obvious lefty and traditional actions. Confrontations with authority were played by rules that we accepted somehow but certainly didn’t create. For me, that particular demo illuminated the necessity to concentrate on us, not them.
- 3rd October
Note: this rant is not about anyone in particular.
So I have a vagina and I like orgasms. If I’m having sex with someone and they come, then I expect to come too. Apparently that’s not the case though - I worked out that approximately 80% of the people I’ve slept with have not cared whether or not I’ve had an orgasm, or have not wanted to help me achieve one. Now, I understand that some folks don’t or can’t orgasm or maybe don’t want them, some people prefer touch and the sexytimes itself, the sensory pleasure of it all. That’s great, I enjoy that stuff too, but I also want orgasms and I shouldn’t feel guilty about that.
Now, you might say, ‘oh well, maybe you’ll come next time’. But for me, the more you say that, the more I don’t come. It becomes a habit in which I feel like I’ll never come and you don’t care that I haven’t.
Also, why is it that once you come, it’s all over? Why is it that you call the shots and I don’t get a say? All I want is for you to stay with me for five minutes, maybe ten, and hold me while I masturbate and kiss me and watch me as I come. How could that be boring or not worth sticking around for? And how about working with me to achieve orgasm? Positions, techniques, toys and fun ways to play with each other and help each other come? I don’t understand why, after your own orgasm, you immediately give up on mine.
Usually I can only orgasm through clitoral stimulation - another thing that people often don’t want to accommodate in the bedroom. I thought the other day that, because my body seems to be increasingly responsive to g-spot stimulation, I should start experimenting by myself with a couple of vibrators. This would be fun, I thought, because I like experimenting and masturbating by myself. My second thought was this: that orgasming vaginally would make me more fuckable. That people with dicks would have less of a hard time making me come. That it would increase the ways in which I can orgasm and that might give me a better chance of coming during sex with people who don’t give a fuck about my orgasms.
Seriously, how epically fucked up is that? That I want to achieve something super awesome (vaginal orgasms) in order to accommodate a bunch of people (80 fucking percent) who don’t want to accommodate me!
I ranted to one of my partners about this last night. (Note: he is a very accommodating, orgasm-tastic sex partner.) He suggested that the best way for me to achieve orgasm and increase ‘good bed behaviour’ is to publicly talk about this. To rant about it on Tumblr, to rant in public situations when we’re with friends, to make people aware of the fact that a) not everyone orgasms as soon as you put your dick/fingers/dildo in them; b) it’s important to ask people what they want in bed, how they like to be touched and what their boundaries are, because that’s important to achieving orgasms (if that’s your thing) and it’s just good bed behaviour; and c) on a personal level, I won’t put up with any of this non-orgasming, ‘maybe next time’, non-accommodating bullshit, and I won’t be afraid/too shy to speak up about it.
(Note: I know the other solution people will say is ‘don’t sleep with assholes’. These people aren’t assholes - they’re sex educated, often nerdy, poly, feminist people, they just don’t always practice ‘good bed behaviour’.)
- 12th September
- 11th September
Femininity is depicted as weakness, the sapping of strength, yet masculinity is so fragile that apparently even the slightest brush with the feminine destroys it.Gwen Sharp in Policing Mascuility in Slim Jim’s “Spice Loss” Ads
- 9th September
There’s a poisonous double standard in our society which says that it’s reverse-sexist and wrong for women to feel threatened by creepy-awkward male behaviour because our fear implies that we hold the negative, stereotypical view that All Men Are Predators, but that if we’re raped or sexually assaulted by any man with whom we’ve had prior social interaction – and particularly if he’s expressed some sexual or romantic interest in us during that time – it’s reasonable for observers to ask what precautions we took to prevent the assault from happening, or to suggest that we maybe led the guy on by not stating our feelings plainly. The result is a situation where women are punished if we reject, avoid or identify creepy men, and then told it’s our fault if we’re assaulted by someone we plainly ought to have rejected, avoided, identified.
- 6th September
- 4th September
TRIGGER WARNING: harassment, abuse.
And then I debated whether or not to put it on Tumblr…but I decided it was important. Because in my own way, I can (unfortunately) point out exactly what is wrong with men when they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman. How we do not have equal opportunities and freedoms in everyday life. How most men, even good caring men, have no clue what we go through on a daily basis just trying to live our lives.
So here goes.
I often ride the Metro when I commute from North Hollywood to Long Beach in order to save money. I bring a book, pointedly wear a ring on my ring finger to imply I’m married (I’m not) and keep to myself.
Without fail, I am aggressively approached by men on at least half of these commutes. The most common approach is to walk up to where I am sitting with body language that practically screams LEAVE ME ALONE and sit down next to me or as close to me as possible, when the train is not crowded and there are many empty rows. Sometimes an overly friendly arm is draped over the railing behind me, or they attempt to lean in close to talk to me as if we are old friends. Without fail, the man or boy in question will lean to close and ask me
What are you reading?
Is that a good book?
What’s that book about?
This serves the double purpose of getting my attention and trapping me in a conversation. If I stop reading the book I enjoy to talk to you, random stranger, you hit on me or just stay way too close to me. If I tell you to leave me alone, you get mad at me. Because I somehow, as a woman, owe you conversation.
Tonight when I boarded the train in Long Beach at 10:30pm, it started up right away. I was not on the train more than three minutes before three boys who looked eighteen sat in the row behind me and leaned over the seats into my personal space, close enough to breathe on me. The one with his arm draped over onto the back of my seat asked me—surprise— “what are you reading?” I went through my usual routine. I told them loudly and firmly that I wanted to be left alone to read my book. They got angry. I was told “Why are you going to be like that? I just wanted to talk!” His friends start laughing at me and they don’t move, telling me come on! and why are you gonna be like that? until I tell them to leave me the fuck alone, stand up, and move to the front of the car near the three other people on the train, a couple and a business man in a suit. They spend the next two stops shouting at me from the back of the car, alternating between trying to sound flirtatious and making fun of me, shouting “I bet she’s reading Stephanie Meyer! I bet she’s reading Twilight or some shit! You reading Twilight or some shit?”
They exit the train at the next stop, and I’m relieved. The train is going out of service at the next station, so we all exit to board a new train to Los Angeles. As we board, the business man steps aside to let me go through the door first and asks me if those guys were bothering me. I say yes, that it happens all the time, and he tells he’ll beat them up for me if they come back. He is a nice person who talks to me like I’m a human being instead of a walking pair of tits, and I make a mental note: This is how a real man talks to a woman on a train.
The business man and the couple exit our new Blue Line train an exit or so later, and I think my night is ending on a good note. A seemingly normal man enters the train with his bicycle. At this point I am three rows from the front of the car, another man was sitting near the back of the car, and the rest of the car is empty. Bicycle Man walks halfway down the row, and settles into the seat directly opposite me. Perfect, I think. Twice in one night.
It’s not the first time I’ve been bothered multiple times. As such, I’m still amped from the teenagers on the first train. So when this man leans across the aisle into my personal space and asks me, yes, what are you reading, I assertively but calmly tell him to please leave me alone, I am reading. The man stands up, moving to the front and muttering angrily over his shoulder that it isn’t his fault I’m pretty.
Yes. Exactly that. I am the bad person in this situation because somehow this is all my fault. I started this by being attractive. I am making a mental note to bitch about this to my friends later. I go so far as to write it down so I know I’m remembering it properly.
It is at this exact moment I realize Bicycle Man is not taking it well. The seemingly annoying but normal man a moment before is now talking to himself, becoming agitated. In my years of being bothered by total strangers, I have learned how to hold a book and seem to be reading while taking in everything around me. He is glaring at me, and says out loud in an angry baby talk voice “PLEASELEAVEMEALONEI’MREADING. PLEASE LEAVE ME ALOOOONE.”
Then he’s up out of his seat and things go from bad to worse. He begins pacing back and forth in front of his bike, alternating between screaming something about his mother being dead and calling me a slut, a hoe, a bitch. I am frozen in place. There is one other person in the car, and I’m not sure if trying to change seats will draw more attention to me or less. I trust my instincts and show no fear, doing my best to appear to be calmly reading my book, never once looking up to acknowledge the abuse he’s hurling at me. There are four stops left until we reach the main downtown station where there are lights and security officers. Those four stops are virtually abandoned, and I have no guarantee that leaving to wait for another train won’t motivate him to leave the train as well, leaving us potentially alone at a metro station platform just outside of Compton. I’m frozen in place, trying to plan what I’m going to do if he decides to take all this rage directly to me. I’m ready to kick him, scream, make enough noise that he panics and flees.
At this point he’s punching the walls and doors of the train, screaming at me. He stares me full in the face and screams
SUCK MY DICK, BITCH
YOU STUPID BITCH
YOU GODDAMN HO
IF I HAD A GUN I’D SHOOT YOU
I WOULD FUCKING KILL YOU BITCH
This went on for two stops. No one came to see what was happening. The man in the last row was as frozen as I was. I’m not angry he didn’t come to my defense. He was smaller, older, and frailer-looking than I was. Again, I was worried if I got up, I would be turning my back on him to walk down the aisle. In the state he was in, I had no guarantee it wouldn’t get physical, and I had more physical strength with my back to the window and feet in kicking position where I was. If he had chosen to assault me, I would only be making it easier for him by standing up and putting myself directly in his path. On and on, over and over, he screamed at me, screamed at his dead mother, screamed at me again.
The moment we reached the downtown station, I was out the door and down the stairs. I still had to catch a connecting train to North Hollywood, and made sure there was no sign of Bicycle Man before I entered the car. That’s when I finally starting shaking, and almost threw up. By the time I exited the Red Line and reached my car I could barely breathe and my heart was pounding out of my chest. Even now, in my own home, my hands are still shaking and for some reason the stress has made my back muscles feel cold and numb. From all the tension, I can only assume. I can’t eat anything, I still feel like I’m going to vomit, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cried so much, so hard I still have the headache.
So when people (men) want to talk about “legitimate” forms of assault, tell girls they should be nice to strangers and give men the benefit of a doubt, tell them to consider it a compliment, tell them to ignore the bad behavior of men, I want them to be forced to feel, for even one minute, what it feels like to have so much verbal hatred and physical intimidation thrown at them for nothing more than being female and not wanting to share.
I just wanted to read my book.
It’s not my fault I’m pretty.