Blue Jean Dreams

Alright, World. I know we had a talk last week, but you keep throwing things out there that are pissing me off, so we need to sit down and have another chat again. What are you doing? This is the twenty-first century. In another three hundred-some years, we're supposed to be in Star Trek: The Next Generation. Why the hell are we still clinging to so many archaic concepts? I'm speaking, today, about these patronizing, insulting terms that you are using to define rape as your own narrow view of it. Terms like "Forcible rape" that's been brought up by -the people who work for my government- that implies that it's only rape if she screams and winds up with bruises or broken bones or bloodshed. And, most recently, the disgusting term "Fully raped" came up. Seriously? What is "Fully Raped?" Is there such a thing as "Mostly raped," "kind of raped," or "raped a little?" That's like someone saying that they'r

"Back in my day, they used Bayer aspirin for contraceptives. The gals put it between their knees and it wasn't that costly." You're right, Foster Friess. I am an ignorant slut who should learn to keep her legs together--If only I were smart enough to figure that out, I totally wouldn't need birth control. I wouldn't need it to fight my sometimes-debilitating menstrual symptoms. I wouldn't need it to regulate my periods. I wouldn't be murdering all of the helpless babies that live their sad lives in my ovaries, just waiting for their chance to come out into the real world. That's all you want, right? For me to not murder those helpless, tiny, fully-formed and sentient human beings that live inside of my ovaries. I understand how reasonable your request is now. While I'm at it, would you like me to make you a sandwich and clean your house? I try to avoid profanity in my blog, but seriously--fuck you. Fuck you and your whole party for outright s

Some many years ago, I was invited to a birthday party in a nearby city. The birthday of a good friend of mine. So I hopped on a bus and took the hour-and-a-half trip into the city and attended said party. The plan was for me to stay the night, since these things run late and I didn't have a car with me. No big deal, I did this often. Except that they had neglected to mention one -very- important fact. Most of the rest of the attendees were friends of theirs from the local Fetish Scene. Which wasn't a big deal, really. Those people are often really fun to hang out with. Until a certain point in the evening when they decide that it's a good idea to start tying each other up and beating each other, et cetera. Now this probably wouldn't have been a big deal if I had known about it. I could have been prepared, or made other arrangements for where to stay that night, or simply not gone if that was my choice. However, I didn't have such warning. I was just there

It's a little difficult to explain some things to people. Those who get it know without the words, but most people never even think about some things. Some feelings. Some states of being. It isn't that they're careless or thoughtless or cold, it's just that they have no reason to think about these things. I'm talking here, of course, about the psychological repercussions of abuse. There is one thing that I specifically wish to address here. Several things have brought this to the forefront of my mind over the last few days--One of which was a post by BecomingSuperMommy about the oversexualization of young girls. Women are generally raised to think that our sexuality--sometimes less controversially referred to as "beauty"--is the most important weapon we have to fight for a good life. We use it to get ahead at work, we use it to secure a financial future through a husband, we use it to secure our husbands, we base our confidence and worth on it. Even med