Put this on while you’re getting dressed today.
It’ll be impossible not to smile.
Put this on while you’re getting dressed today.
It’ll be impossible not to smile.
One of my closest friends keeps saying things about her reproductive system that aren’t true. The other day we were complaining about periods and she said “It’s a dead egg.”
While she tossed and turned like a 7-year-old refusing to listen to her mom I continued to explain to her that the fallopian tube which the egg travels down is only the size of three hairs, so the egg is tiny. And that it passes out of your body about 10 days before your period with your regular discharge and you don’t even notice it. Your period is the shedding of the uterine lining which the egg (if fertilized) could have implanted itself into and then became a zygote.
She pretended not to listen because it’s gross, but I know she did because it’s freaking interesting.
She thinks it’s not important to understand how her body works.
I suppose she thinks it’s embarrassing to have these conversations.
I think nothing could be more embarrassing than not knowing though.
“I had a patient come in for an STD check. She was very upset and continued to tell me that she only had one partner. Progressing through my assessment, she further divulged that even if he was sleeping with other people it shouldn’t matter ‘because he uses a condom every time and he makes sure to wash it thoroughly after every use’.”
“I had a couple who had been trying to conceive for over two years. I asked all the usual questions, how often do you have sex, any previous pregnancy, etc etc. Something seemed off to me during the consult, so I continued to ask questions. Finally I asked if he ejaculated while inserted into the vagina. Both parties looked confused. Turns out the couple was not having insertional sex at all. I had to awkwardly explain to them how insertional sex works. Diagrams were required.”
“Patient comes in, she’s upset. She’s pregnant, and she doesn’t understand why. She’s on the pill. Upon talking to her at great length, I find out that she only takes the pills on the days that she is sexually active – no other time.”
“Patient comes in with her bf. They are indignant, as if somehow I could’ve prevented [the pregnancy]. The problem? Well, the pills were bothering the girl’s stomach, so, being a gallant bf, he decided to start taking them instead.”
If any of these stories don’t make you chuckle then get thee to a sex ed professional now. And then go chastise your parents for voting for someone who supported abstinence only education in the district where you grew up.
I love the idea of being drawn on.
I don’t have any tattoo’s and I don’t have a real desire for one. I’m more attracted to the idea of my body being a slate that can be marked and wiped clean like an etch a sketch.
I love the way bodies can be scraped and scab and heal and scar, it’s like watching a microcosm of evolution on your own knee. And it always reminds me that I’m just as alive as the plants that grow and die and grow again.
Markers will mark, be wiped off, leave a tint, be wiped again, and eventually (sadly) be gone without a trace. But that just means that you can draw a new story on your skin. A new story for the new day.
It also makes me think of how makeup and selfies and fashion allow us to decide for ourselves how we want the world to see us. What we want to be today, what we want our bodies to say today.
Allowing someone else to draw on you is a bond, “I allow you to write my story today.” I trust you.
And both the art and the trust are so beautiful.
I never watch this show but a friend sent me this clip last week, “Have you seen this girl yet?!”
Apparently she’s the first woman ever to complete this course, and I believe it.
There are a few things that stick out to me about the video.
First, they keep referring to her size as a hinderance that she has to overcome, her short wingspan, her low weight. While physics would be on the side of the commentators, I think she’d probably argue that for every “disadvantage” in her body, there is something she can do that makes up for it. Where she’s too short to reach the next pole, her weight makes it possible to fly through the air and leap to it.
Second, “This girl is going to need a bodyguard” I have a feeling she can take care of her self. I have a feeling she can do anything.
Third, at 4:35 the commentators shout “She’s not human!”
She’s better than just human. She’s an ass-kicking woman.
Congratulations Kacy. Job well done. Thanks for being an inspiration in what women can do.
Just because no woman has done it before doesn’t mean that no woman can.
In the continuing theme of women or images that make me feel good about myself: An actor in my last show walked in on me reading in a corner and said I looked like a Klimt model.I took it as a lovely compliment although his works don’t really speak to me. But in my quest to figure out what artist would have spoken to me, I stumbled upon John William Waterhouse.I’ve been mesmerized by the women of John William Waterhouse for years. They always look defiant from behind their beautiful flowers and clothes and hair, the trappings of a good life. Like some unsettled, middle class character Kristen Stewart would play. He paints powerful sirens.And a sorceress.But even when his subject is begging, she is never a beggar.And what’s even better, Waterhouse doesn’t just make strong women, he makes interesting women, complex women who are not always concerned with being seen, beautiful, or even dressed. Waterhouse’s women make me feel beautiful just for existing. Beautiful and real and vibrant and alive, just for shielding myself from the windor resting my head. Just for being a woman and alive.
Unpopular opinion: It makes me really mad when men are upset by my bruises.
I do a pretty physical job and I’m also pretty clumsy. I drop heavy equipment on my legs, bruise my knees crawling under stages and cut my hands open on aircraft cable. I get hurt using my body to do damn cool things.
And on a number of occasions men have approached me telling me how their biggest pet peeve is seeing a woman bruised or scarred, offering me tips about arnica and whatever other herbal remedies.
It’s not like I don’t know why they do it, they’re bragging about their protective capabilities. They’re anti-domestic violence. Well good on them. Way to clear a VERY LOW BAR.
This has always annoyed me. I get really proud of my injuries. They’re mine. Ask me about them. I’ll tell you the story of how I got them because I’m really cool and I got them doing really cool things.
I take pride in my bruises and scrapes so why should some guy get to have opinions about them? I realized the other day why these comments offend me so much.
If I meet a guy with scars and bruises I’m not going to assume it’s from a domestic spat with his wife. I’m going to assume it’s from something he actively did, snowboarding, dropping a leko on his head, misfiring a staple gun. But when that bouncer sees a bruise on me he also makes the assumption that it’s something done by a man. Because men do the doing.
This bouncer who daily commented on how upset my (well earned) bruises made him even saw me doing my job. He knew it was physical, that I was running around bumping into stuff and yet he still looked at me and thought “A lady shouldn’t be bruised.”
Once again I’m all for men who are anti-domestic violence, but I’m not getting in domestics with my boyfriends, I’m living my life in a world full of inconveniently placed coffee tables. There’s a difference, and apparently some men can’t imagine that.
I hope there are some other people (in addition to myself) who think this is the best thing ever.
Now that I’ve subscribed to Vagenda Magazine’s twitter I can tell you how much I’m in love with them.
The best part is that most of these “stories” could be retitled “Woman leaves house, doesn’t care if you want to have sex with her.” Which basically describes the lives of every woman I know.
And that feels damn good.