Tales from the other side of the counter.

Shh… you guys, I know it’s just the wine talking, but I feel so cozy sitting here with Tumblr late into the night, and making me feel normal and happy and ok. I didn’t post this on FB because seriously, they don’t get me. (Also, sometimes I catch up with FB and there’s nothing new but here, here I’m always behind and I <3 that.)

Does anyone else watch The Good Wife? The reason I started watching the show is for an actor from a more different show, that recently died. But the last minute of this episode really hit it home for me. I’m not done now, I won’t be for a while.


Just Googled “dog dressed as Winter Soldier” and got no useful image results. This is the angriest I’ve been at Google since that time I searched for Patrick Stewart in a dress.

There was a time when it seemed like no matter what thought I had, someone had already made a meme, gif or blog post about it somewhere on the internet. Legitimately worried that the internet is growing up and I’m not. I mean I’m fine being the guy who dresses his dog up like the Winter Soldier tonight, I’m okay with that, it’s just scary being such a visionary/trailblazer, I guess.

If I were…

replace the bolded and italicized with what’s true about you

If I were a month, I’d be October (colorful, cool, and predictable, with a touch of snow)

If I were a day of the week, I’d be Tuesday (yeah, no expectations!)

If I were a planet, I’d be Neptune (so pretty)

If I were a sea animal, I’d be a(n) parrot fish

If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a(n) stupidly ornate fainting couch, big enough to nap on

If I were a gemstone, I’d be Moonstone

If I were a flower, I’d be a Meh, Idk. Orchids are cool?

If I were a kind of weather, I’d be the electric wind and black stormclouds in a blue sky right before an incredible thunderstorm (I’d like to imagine I’m that sexy)

If I were a color, I’d be that intense blue right between the blackness of night and the fading sunset (cerulean is the closest color name I’ve found)

If I were an emotion, I’d be that feeling when you’re so tired that you’re completely insane energetic

If I were a fruit, I’d be a(n) kiwi (or kiwi berries, those rock)

If I were an element, I’d be water, obviously

If I were a place, I’d be Houghton, MI

If I were a taste, I’d taste like kiwi: sour and sweet, a contradiction that fits perfectly when you think about it

If I were a scent, I’d be the smell of the specific combination of horse sweat, leather, fresh hay, oncoming rain, that smell that grass gets right before rain, sand, horse poop, horse breath, anxiety, cigarettes… basically a horse show in July in Wisconsin.

If I were an object, I’d be a Rav4? Super useful, super cute, reliable, and easy to forget.

If I were a body part, I’d be a back. No one ever thinks of it, but actually they’re so pretty and strong and important

If I were a song, I’d be Flagpole Sitta, by Harvey Danger, you can’t help it, you fucking love me. :D

If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be that pair of metallic blue Doc Martens that I own, only hopefully better made?

(Source: datiel)




Was anyone else a little bit disappointed that the kick ass Lady Counsel Member turned out to be Natasha? Still love Natasha, but for a few glorious seconds, it was awesome to see an older woman come out of nowhere to kick ass. 

Oh hell yes.  For one glorious moment this movie was going to be the utter best thing ever made.  And then…. well it was still cool but such a disappointment we didn’t get unexpected kick ass over 40 woman. 

Did we ever even find out what happened to the counsel member?

#the directors confirmed that she’s alive and well #but YES #I FELT THE SAME WAY (thescentofwhiteroses)

OMG, seriously! I thought “HA! DIDN’T EXPECT THE ONLY FEMALE HERE TO BE THE ONE TO CALL YOU ON YOUR SHIT, DID YOU?!” But then, *sigh*. Oh well, just the one…

I want to wear this every day. I need a sewing machine, some spare time, and PATTERNS!

I want to wear this every day. I need a sewing machine, some spare time, and PATTERNS!

(Source: indypendent-thinking)

For everyone who was ranting and raving on fb the other day. Spoilers suck, but like&#8230; The books are pretty great and you&#8217;ll finish them before the series probs.

For everyone who was ranting and raving on fb the other day. Spoilers suck, but like… The books are pretty great and you’ll finish them before the series probs.

(Source: twitter.com)


shout out to people who have seen you naked but you can still have regular conversations with

Have you ever heard the phrase cockblocking? You know, you’re at a bar, talking to a girl, and what happens? Her less attractive friend comes over and ruins everything. Cockblock. Well I have to tell you something guys: I have been the less attractive friend, and you were NOT cockblocked. I was following orders from my better-looking friend that she did not wanna fuck you. …Girls have two signals for their friends: ‘I’m gonna fuck him’ and ‘HELP.’

Amy Schumer [x] (via rashaka)

The number of “get me out of here” tactics women have developed and shared to help each other escape from overly-insistent-to-borderline-predatory dudes in public places should probably be enough evidence of the existence of rape culture all on its own.

(via madgastronomer)


(via ellakrystina)

I especially like how, in the majority of cases, you don’t have to verbally communicate what your signals are to other women. I’ve had women I didn’t even know come save me. Literally every woman recognizes the “Dear god, help me” facial expression, and knows exactly what they should do. We don’t get a handbook for this. We don’t have a sit-down nail polish party where we talk about a standardized woman code for preventing creepers. It’s just part of being a woman.


(via eastberlin)

Yup. I’ve definitely taken strangers by the arm and pulled her aside to go, “Oh my GOD it’s you! How ARE YOU?!? It’s been so long!” and then been like “hey I could overhear that guy who wouldn’t leave you alone so I figured I’d give you an out” and then see their VISIBLY RELIEVED expressions. This is part of girl code, because rape culture is that pervasive.

(via thebicker)

I once had a girl sit on my lap and say “hey baby” after she witnessed a guy (who was easily 20+ years older than me) hitting on me and harassing me for my number even after I told him I was taken. After he got up and left she asked if I was okay. I couldn’t thank her enough times, I even bought her a drink.

(via castielsmiles)

We have done this. In fact, we are this. Because we are asexual and we don’t like alcohol so we never drink, we have gone with friends to parties/places where our sole job was to keep an eye out for everyone and be the permanent ‘aggressive man-sheild.’ Not one of our female friends has ever questioned this or found it all strange. In fact, often once they realized we were willing to do it, it would be pre-arranged. Every guy friend we ever did this in front of or tried to explain to looked flabbergasted. They had no idea that this was a) an intentional thing, b) a planned ahead thing, or c) universal.

Rape culture is the fact that every woman understands this. Male privilege is the fact that no guy on earth seems to know or understand.

(via cractasticdispatches)

I’ve been asked to pretend to be my friend’s girlfriend every time we go out at night, just because she wears clothes that show off her curves and guys won’t leave her alone. They only back off when I put my arm around her and act as if we’re together romantically, and sometimes not even then.

(via zaataronpita)

i once ran interference for a friend, only to receive the unwanted advances myself. he wouldn’t back off until my (male) friend literally wrapped me up in his arms and acted as if he was my S.O.

(via miljathefailcat)

It happens online too. A guy I know started Facebook-stalking me after a recent interaction, and my roommate immediately got on Facebook and told him she was my girlfriend. He thankfully backed off after that.

I can’t count the number of times I have pretended to be somebody’s girlfriend or sister in a bar when a guy wouldn’t leave her alone. Both with friends and strangers.

(via feministsupernatural)

After reading these, I feel like taking a shower. Because I’m the designated driver pretty much every time, not being a big fan of alcohol, but I rarely, if ever, intervene. And yeah, I’m small and pretty physically weak, but I could put my foot down verbally if it came down to it. I’m just too scared.

(via harperhug)

You’re probably scared of confronting the guys.  And you should be.  That’s what this whole post is about.  Rape culture is so prevalent and socially accepted as the rule of the land that if someone confronts a guy and tells him directly to back off, someone is getting hurt.  That’s why all of the testimonies here are examples of how to deflect.  How women all learn methods of pulling a woman away from a situation with a guy who isn’t allowing her to say no, by making up some lie that will get the guy to let her go without sending him into a rage and deciding to teach you both a lesson about knowing your place and submitting to rape culture.  Men are dangerous in these situations because all of society backs them up as just a nice guy who deserves a chance, and vilifies any woman who refuses to give him a chance.  Women are not allowed to say no.  So other women have to rescue the women saying no and pull them away with some made up excuse.  Otherwise the situation will escalate and the ones who get hurt are always the women. 

(via coffeegleek)

Women absolutely have to learn rescue tactics for each other, but it’s kind of funny how we describe really obvious facial expressions and body language as “secret signals.” The reality is that women telegraph disinterest in these aggressive men, making it super obvious, but men choose to ignore it. Total strangers who are just sitting nearby or happen to glance their way will be able to see that the woman isn’t interested, but the guy making the advances is somehow oblivious? Unlikely.

(via smitethepatriarchy)

And perceived physical power of the woman doesn’t matter either, I have had to do this for other rollergirls. Even after bouts where they are bruised, sweaty, and partying with a bunch of other built women in the same jersey.

(via polerin)



A friend and I were out with our kids when another family’s two-year-old came up. She began hugging my friend’s 18-month-old, following her around and smiling at her. My friend’s little girl looked like she wasn’t so sure she liked this, and at that moment the other little girl’s mom came up and got down on her little girl’s level to talk to her.

“Honey, can you listen to me for a moment? I’m glad you’ve found a new friend, but you need to make sure to look at her face to see if she likes it when you hug her. And if she doesn’t like it, you need to give her space. Okay?”

Two years old, and already her mother was teaching her about consent.

My daughter Sally likes to color on herself with markers. I tell her it’s her body, so it’s her choice. Sometimes she writes her name, sometimes she draws flowers or patterns. The other day I heard her talking to her brother, a marker in her hand.

“Bobby, do you mind if I color on your leg?”

Bobby smiled and moved himself closer to his sister. She began drawing a pattern on his leg with a marker while he watched, fascinated. Later, she began coloring on the sole of his foot. After each stoke, he pulled his foot back, laughing. I looked over to see what was causing the commotion, and Sally turned to me.

“He doesn’t mind if I do this,” she explained, “he is only moving his foot because it tickles. He thinks its funny.” And she was right. Already Bobby had extended his foot to her again, smiling as he did so.

What I find really fascinating about these two anecdotes is that they both deal with the consent of children not yet old enough to communicate verbally. In both stories, the older child must read the consent of the younger child through nonverbal cues. And even then, consent is not this ambiguous thing that is difficult to understand.

Teaching consent is ongoing, but it starts when children are very young. It involves both teaching children to pay attention to and respect others’ consent (or lack thereof) and teaching children that they should expect their own bodies and their own space to be respected—even by their parents and other relatives.

And if children of two or four can be expected to read the nonverbal cues and expressions of children not yet old enough to talk in order to assess whether there is consent, what excuse do full grown adults have?

I try to do this every day I go to nursery and gosh it makes me so happy to see it done elsewhere.