I told him about how when I finish my contract here, I want to take my savings and backpack through Australia, Asia, and Europe. He told me he wants to go with me. Not like a “oh that sounds fun, I want to do that too,” but a real “I still want to be with you, and share that with you by then.” And I told him how some times, in the morning, when I walk into the kitchen and he’s at the table drinking coffee and reading, I don’t see 23 year old him, but I see 40 year old him planning a vacation for our family. And he told me he wants that too. And my goodness, I’m in love.
Out of curiosity…reblog if you have a Bachelor’s Degree. Like if you have completed part of one/are enrolled in one now.
Bachelor of Criminology, wanna make a bet to see if I can actually get a job in the field?
BA in Theatremaking w. an Honours in Dramaturgy. Try getting a job in THAT field.
BA in American Studies, here. Wooo yes. Rolling in it.
In the United States:
Rape isn’t about uncontrollable sexual desire. You only have to listen in on a Call of Duty game to see that. When that kid crows, “I raped you!”, he’s not calling the other guy sexy; he’s saying he defeated him, dominated him, humiliated him. That’s what rape is about, and that should scare you.
gonna reblog this till I stop tumbling
all women were bigger and stronger than you
and thought they were smarter
women were the ones who started wars
too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos
and no K-Y Jelly
the state trooper
who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike
was a woman
and carried a gun
the ability to menstruate
was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs
your attractiveness to women depended
on the size of your penis
every time women saw you
they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands
women were always making jokes
about how ugly penises are
and how bad sperm tastes
you had to explain what’s wrong with your car
to big sweaty women with greasy hands
who stared at your crotch
in a garage where you are surrounded
by posters of naked men with hard-ons
men’s magazines featured cover photos
of 14-year-old boys
tucked into the front of their jeans
and articles like:
“How to tell if your wife is unfaithful”
“What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate”
“The truth about impotence”
the doctor who examined your prostate
was a woman
and called you “Honey”
you had to inhale your boss’s stale cigar breath
as she insisted that sleeping with her
was part of the job
you couldn’t get away because
the company dress code required
you wear shoes
designed to keep you from running
And what if
after all that
women still wanted you
to love them.
For the Men Who Still Don’t Get It, written 20 years ago by Carol Diehl.
She wrote a post about the history of this poem that is worth reading.
sometimes I realize there are people on my dash heavily burdened with horrible things
and I just desperately hope that you’ll be okay, you’ll find the strength to continue and do the right thing for yourself, you’ll make it through and be happy
all of you