Well, my freaky darlings, I suppose I should mention that I am a loud and proud member of the Alpha Chi Omega: Zeta Eta women's fraternity at Bradley University. This year was my very first year actually recruiting women for the sorority, and let me tell you, it is a bitch. You've got to get the right clothes, use the correct words, and by god if you eat or drink without your PNM eating or drinking, you might lose half your ass from the beating you're going to get. Anyway, enough of my B and M.
So Zeta Eta isn't a real large AXO chapter, but we are all pretty close, and I can honestly tell you that these are some of the best women I've ever known. Our little chapter grew yesterday by a few new little lyres, and I am so excited to welcome them into our chapter. We had an awesome Bid Day Dance Party (which just kind of blew up, as we were supposed to be playing games of some kind) that really broke the ice and let everyone get to know each other.
My only gripe about the entire recruitment process is that of all the sororities on campus, we were the only one not to make campus total. My gripe isn't that we didn't get the girls, my gripe is that we have a "total". AXO is full of girls who are REAL. Let's face it. You know the type I'm talking about. They're always there, always ready, always who they are. They don't plaster a fake image on themselves or try to be something they aren't. My gripe is who are they to tell us how many women we should have? We can't help it if most of the female population would rather drink all night or be surrounded by literally 100 girls who all look exactly the same.
So the message I want all the young women of the world to get from this is that you don't have to be someone else. You are who you are who you are, and there are people out there who will always love you for you.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
CYOA: Cover Your Own Ass
Alright, so I understand that the last post I wrote should have been the fluffy, light weight one, but I just had to do this. I'll start off by telling you a story...
So I'm walking toward the library this morning, just to go print something and get a iced carmel macciatto, aka crack on ice. It was a beautiful day, sunny with a light breeze, and nothing could get me down, because, damnit, I had money for coffee. So I'm walking along, a song in my heart and a poem in my soul, when I happen to step behind a blonde girl walking to the self same library. Now, I walk along, and as a normal human, vaguely give a perusal of my surroundings. There's a fairly cute man to my left, smoking (major turnoff), there's a girl talking to her mom on the phone, and then there's the blonde.
So at first my brain blocks it out, you know, how you don't really see the dead person in the room until you actually look at the floor and see the blood? So she stops, bends over, and picks something up off the ground, and there it is! I wasn't sure how I didn't see it sooner, but she's got these green tights on...and that's it. Now I know what some of you are thinking, that they're thick dancer's tights that aren't see through. You'd be wrong, but you would be painting a nicer world.
So she's got these see through green tights on, with this short little sweater, that she doesn't keep pulling down so it's now around her hips, and the world can see that she clearly does not mow the grass down there, if you know what I mean. So I figure, I'll let her know that her shirt's around her belly button, you know, and she'll fix it!
So I saunter up quickly, tap her on the shoulder, and kindly tell her that her top has ridden up. She looks at me, looks down, shrugs her shoulders, and keeps walking. Now I'm not a prude, I like to let the girls hang out from time to time, but its always with a bra on and a shirt that keeps nip from being seen. This trollop is wearing women's undergarments as a pair of pants! And you know what? Someone in the library told her it was cute! I SAW crotch hair and they think its cute? World, come on, do me a favor, find you're melons and firmly attach them, because in no universe is crotch hair cute. With the world at my back, please, please, please, women and men, CYOA...and crotch.
So I'm walking toward the library this morning, just to go print something and get a iced carmel macciatto, aka crack on ice. It was a beautiful day, sunny with a light breeze, and nothing could get me down, because, damnit, I had money for coffee. So I'm walking along, a song in my heart and a poem in my soul, when I happen to step behind a blonde girl walking to the self same library. Now, I walk along, and as a normal human, vaguely give a perusal of my surroundings. There's a fairly cute man to my left, smoking (major turnoff), there's a girl talking to her mom on the phone, and then there's the blonde.
So at first my brain blocks it out, you know, how you don't really see the dead person in the room until you actually look at the floor and see the blood? So she stops, bends over, and picks something up off the ground, and there it is! I wasn't sure how I didn't see it sooner, but she's got these green tights on...and that's it. Now I know what some of you are thinking, that they're thick dancer's tights that aren't see through. You'd be wrong, but you would be painting a nicer world.
So she's got these see through green tights on, with this short little sweater, that she doesn't keep pulling down so it's now around her hips, and the world can see that she clearly does not mow the grass down there, if you know what I mean. So I figure, I'll let her know that her shirt's around her belly button, you know, and she'll fix it!
So I saunter up quickly, tap her on the shoulder, and kindly tell her that her top has ridden up. She looks at me, looks down, shrugs her shoulders, and keeps walking. Now I'm not a prude, I like to let the girls hang out from time to time, but its always with a bra on and a shirt that keeps nip from being seen. This trollop is wearing women's undergarments as a pair of pants! And you know what? Someone in the library told her it was cute! I SAW crotch hair and they think its cute? World, come on, do me a favor, find you're melons and firmly attach them, because in no universe is crotch hair cute. With the world at my back, please, please, please, women and men, CYOA...and crotch.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Domestic Abuse in the Media
Alright, so I know that I'm supposed to start with something lighter and fluffier than this, but it is what spurred me to actually create this thing in the first place, so you get what you get. At work I have a bit of down time on occasions, and today was such a day. Surfing through the infamous interwebs, I stumbled upon (Not on Stumble Upon) something that bothered me. It was a yahoo topic, featuring that blonde from Glee and some photographer.
I won't bog you down with any of my opinions on either of them until you actually understand what's got me so worked up about it. In a day and age where domestic violence is something that is negative and pushed under the rug, we do our best to get the message out there that there IS somewhere/something/someone you can turn to if you need help getting out of one of these situations. Personally, I am a proud member of Alpha Chi Omega sorority and out number one philanthropy is The Prevention of Domestic Abuse. So now you've got a bit more of an image of my ideals.
So this yahoo blurb was about a series of phtographs done by photographer Tyler Shields. Let's bypass the fact that these images were poorly shot, too bright, posed poorly, and the model looked strung out. Let's not worry that the poses were contrived, let us instead look at the model's face. Her left eye to be exact, because it is that left eye that everyone is going to see, oh and maybe the ironing board she lays on, the ironing chord that is wrapped around her wrist and holds her like she's chained, and perhaps the iron that she uses as a water source.
So now you've got the general image of what she's doing: the domestic chore of ironing. So let me color you an image, if you will. She's pretty, blonde, long legged and pale skinned. She's got on a pok-a-dot little black and white dress (we'll get to the stupidity of that later) and she's sporting the shiner of the century while some masculine hand holds the iron whose chord is wrapped around her hands, holding her back. So you've got the picture right? The woman is supposed to represent the 1/4 women who will be in a relationship where they are abused. For those of you who don't like math, that's one in four women. Do you have four female friends? Think about it for a moment...yeah? Well picture one of them being beating or berated by their significant other, because odds are, one of them will be.
So now I've bored you with stats. Let me bring it back around for you. The punchline if you'll forgive the harsh phrasing for the situation. This woman, who is beautiful and "perfect" in nature, has been abused. Now imagine you're a woman who has been beaten by her spouse. Your sense of self has been torn apart and beaten down far more than your body. Now some asshole with a camera shoots a picture of a "Barbie-doll" laying, smiling, on an ironing board with a black eye. Smiling. Happy. So now you're abused, thinking about maybe leaving, and then BAM! this young thing is telling you that she's happy to be beaten.
So we'll take it a step further to the photographer's own words, "Even Barbie gets bruises." Let me for a second, allow you to percolate on that statement.
Enough time? No? Go ahead and really soak it up.
You pissed yet? Good, because this sleeze bag of the centure just said that EVERYONE is beaten. Did I list that statistic before incorrectly? 1:4. 1/4 1in 4. That is not a 100%, and it is a statistic that is supported by the United States Center For Prevention of Domestic Abuse. Everyone does not get abused, yet this jackass has essentially told women everywhere that it is just A-OK to let their spouse hit them. Now, I'd like to go back to our earlier exercise.
Imagine you're an abused partner in a relationship. Got that mind set? Selfless. Useless. Depressed. Self loathing. You there yet? Good, because now some idiot who has a camera and a well known actress that is seen by literally millions of young women at least once a week on a new up and coming television show, is going to tell you that its okay that you get beaten, because even Ken hits Barbie on occasion. Seriously? What jackass let this girl sign that contract? What masoginist was behind the camera? Now I know that to be taken seriously you're supposed to use big PC words that won't make you look like you're too stupid to come up with "good words", but these are words that are used to express anger, frustration, and rage (Lewis Black I hope you don't mind I just stole your phrasing, I'm sure you'd find it appropriate). FUCK! Come on, what dickless fuck told this man that his First Amendment Right was OK to exercise? Yeah, you CAN post what you want, doesn't mean you SHOULD.
But I digress. So you're an abused woman living with a man you're about to leave. You've finally made the decision that you've had enough. Now you've got this young girl who does chores with a smile on her face and a bruise around her eye. Then the very statement, "Even Barbie Gets Bruises" tells you that maybe you should stay. If all women are abused, maybe the next man is worse. Maybe you're just not strong enough. Maybe you should just give up. Now you've got this mindset that perhaps your guy is a normal guy. So you stay, and then the next time you fix mashed potatoes instead of baked he beats you until you're laying in a hosptial bed waiting for the surgery to open up your skull and reduce the brain bleed that might paralyze you for life.
I'm not saying that this man should not have the right to take these photographs. I'm not saying that he shouldn't have the right to publish them. I'm just saying that perhaps the world at large should take a step back, look at what was done here, and eviscerate him in literature until he is no longer capable of finding work.
Normally I would sign this with a "Deuces and Later Days", but for some women and men out there that are the victims of domestic abuse there might not be later days, so I'll take my normally flippant sign off and leave you with something a little more. If you need help, an ear, a shoulder, a way out, there are resources. I'll leave you with a number that you can call if you need help. Its 24-hours and nation wide. Please, if you are the victim of domestic abuse, know that there are people out there who can help, and know that this is not acceptable.
United States Government Hotline for Prevention of Domestic Abuse:
These numbers are available for Spanish and English speaking alike.
24-hour call line number: 1-800-799-SAFE that's 1-800-799-7233.
If you're hearing impared, there is a TDD option at 1-800-787-3224
I won't bog you down with any of my opinions on either of them until you actually understand what's got me so worked up about it. In a day and age where domestic violence is something that is negative and pushed under the rug, we do our best to get the message out there that there IS somewhere/something/someone you can turn to if you need help getting out of one of these situations. Personally, I am a proud member of Alpha Chi Omega sorority and out number one philanthropy is The Prevention of Domestic Abuse. So now you've got a bit more of an image of my ideals.
So this yahoo blurb was about a series of phtographs done by photographer Tyler Shields. Let's bypass the fact that these images were poorly shot, too bright, posed poorly, and the model looked strung out. Let's not worry that the poses were contrived, let us instead look at the model's face. Her left eye to be exact, because it is that left eye that everyone is going to see, oh and maybe the ironing board she lays on, the ironing chord that is wrapped around her wrist and holds her like she's chained, and perhaps the iron that she uses as a water source.
So now you've got the general image of what she's doing: the domestic chore of ironing. So let me color you an image, if you will. She's pretty, blonde, long legged and pale skinned. She's got on a pok-a-dot little black and white dress (we'll get to the stupidity of that later) and she's sporting the shiner of the century while some masculine hand holds the iron whose chord is wrapped around her hands, holding her back. So you've got the picture right? The woman is supposed to represent the 1/4 women who will be in a relationship where they are abused. For those of you who don't like math, that's one in four women. Do you have four female friends? Think about it for a moment...yeah? Well picture one of them being beating or berated by their significant other, because odds are, one of them will be.
So now I've bored you with stats. Let me bring it back around for you. The punchline if you'll forgive the harsh phrasing for the situation. This woman, who is beautiful and "perfect" in nature, has been abused. Now imagine you're a woman who has been beaten by her spouse. Your sense of self has been torn apart and beaten down far more than your body. Now some asshole with a camera shoots a picture of a "Barbie-doll" laying, smiling, on an ironing board with a black eye. Smiling. Happy. So now you're abused, thinking about maybe leaving, and then BAM! this young thing is telling you that she's happy to be beaten.
So we'll take it a step further to the photographer's own words, "Even Barbie gets bruises." Let me for a second, allow you to percolate on that statement.
Enough time? No? Go ahead and really soak it up.
You pissed yet? Good, because this sleeze bag of the centure just said that EVERYONE is beaten. Did I list that statistic before incorrectly? 1:4. 1/4 1in 4. That is not a 100%, and it is a statistic that is supported by the United States Center For Prevention of Domestic Abuse. Everyone does not get abused, yet this jackass has essentially told women everywhere that it is just A-OK to let their spouse hit them. Now, I'd like to go back to our earlier exercise.
Imagine you're an abused partner in a relationship. Got that mind set? Selfless. Useless. Depressed. Self loathing. You there yet? Good, because now some idiot who has a camera and a well known actress that is seen by literally millions of young women at least once a week on a new up and coming television show, is going to tell you that its okay that you get beaten, because even Ken hits Barbie on occasion. Seriously? What jackass let this girl sign that contract? What masoginist was behind the camera? Now I know that to be taken seriously you're supposed to use big PC words that won't make you look like you're too stupid to come up with "good words", but these are words that are used to express anger, frustration, and rage (Lewis Black I hope you don't mind I just stole your phrasing, I'm sure you'd find it appropriate). FUCK! Come on, what dickless fuck told this man that his First Amendment Right was OK to exercise? Yeah, you CAN post what you want, doesn't mean you SHOULD.
But I digress. So you're an abused woman living with a man you're about to leave. You've finally made the decision that you've had enough. Now you've got this young girl who does chores with a smile on her face and a bruise around her eye. Then the very statement, "Even Barbie Gets Bruises" tells you that maybe you should stay. If all women are abused, maybe the next man is worse. Maybe you're just not strong enough. Maybe you should just give up. Now you've got this mindset that perhaps your guy is a normal guy. So you stay, and then the next time you fix mashed potatoes instead of baked he beats you until you're laying in a hosptial bed waiting for the surgery to open up your skull and reduce the brain bleed that might paralyze you for life.
I'm not saying that this man should not have the right to take these photographs. I'm not saying that he shouldn't have the right to publish them. I'm just saying that perhaps the world at large should take a step back, look at what was done here, and eviscerate him in literature until he is no longer capable of finding work.
Normally I would sign this with a "Deuces and Later Days", but for some women and men out there that are the victims of domestic abuse there might not be later days, so I'll take my normally flippant sign off and leave you with something a little more. If you need help, an ear, a shoulder, a way out, there are resources. I'll leave you with a number that you can call if you need help. Its 24-hours and nation wide. Please, if you are the victim of domestic abuse, know that there are people out there who can help, and know that this is not acceptable.
United States Government Hotline for Prevention of Domestic Abuse:
These numbers are available for Spanish and English speaking alike.
24-hour call line number: 1-800-799-SAFE that's 1-800-799-7233.
If you're hearing impared, there is a TDD option at 1-800-787-3224
Me. Myself. I.
So I figure if your reading this you're going to need to know a little bit about myself so you understand exactly where my opinions come from. I'm not about to bog you down with some "Once upon a time..." story, so we'll make this brief.
I was born in a small town, raised in a small town, and quickly realized that I did not want to continue to live in that small town. It had a small town mentality, and by that I mean closed minded. So I went away to college, full of myself and thinking that I was invincible. I was doing well until I decided to come home between classes to find some drunk guy getting the five-finger discount in my closet. Needless to say, hyjinx ensued which landed me in the hospital, him in the can, and my aprents firmly in the mindset that I needed to come home. So I did.
I went home, attended community college for a semester, and then ran. So now I'm at Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois. Some of you might know where that is, good for you, now go get a life. Anyway, I'm a Biology major there, hip deep in my Junior year. Don't let that confuse you as to my age. I'm twenty-one about to be twenty-two. I love college, I really do, but I'm ready to be done and on my way to medical school. To that end, I'm Volunteering on a Surgical Intensive Care Unit and working the Emergency Department of OSF Saint Francis here in Peoria. It's opened my eyes to a few things, which you'll prolly hear about later. Anyways, that's it, my life in retrospect and abridge.
Dueces and Later Days
I was born in a small town, raised in a small town, and quickly realized that I did not want to continue to live in that small town. It had a small town mentality, and by that I mean closed minded. So I went away to college, full of myself and thinking that I was invincible. I was doing well until I decided to come home between classes to find some drunk guy getting the five-finger discount in my closet. Needless to say, hyjinx ensued which landed me in the hospital, him in the can, and my aprents firmly in the mindset that I needed to come home. So I did.
I went home, attended community college for a semester, and then ran. So now I'm at Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois. Some of you might know where that is, good for you, now go get a life. Anyway, I'm a Biology major there, hip deep in my Junior year. Don't let that confuse you as to my age. I'm twenty-one about to be twenty-two. I love college, I really do, but I'm ready to be done and on my way to medical school. To that end, I'm Volunteering on a Surgical Intensive Care Unit and working the Emergency Department of OSF Saint Francis here in Peoria. It's opened my eyes to a few things, which you'll prolly hear about later. Anyways, that's it, my life in retrospect and abridge.
Dueces and Later Days
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