Monday, July 13, 2009

It's not just an inaugural blog post, it's the dawning of a new age!

And thusly I appear out of the mist.

Just another Monday evening...

8:27, to be exact.

Good evening, internet. I shall entitle the following piece, My Feminist Manifesto. Or Manifesta.

Oh my God, I just read all that shit and I am stoned as fuck right now. I am a rich white (L.A.) girl in an Ivy League school, in which I'm currently sitting with my second-best guy friend, who I once had sex with when he was dating my best friend—who is a girl, with whom I have also gotten down, and she knew about it when he cheated on her, and later on her other best friend, with me and we were able to talk about it like we were, hypothetically, adults, and I was, hypothetically, an horny idiot and a bit of a drunk (which I was). I love her to death and we've always been able to talk about sex and love and blacking out and drugs and "oh my god I think I was date-raped last night!" I have always been comfortable being single, I'm one of the few girls I know who doesn't freak out when I don't have a boyfriend or a fuck-buddy, and right now I've been with my boyfriend whom I totally love for eight months-and we fucked on the first night we met, while we were stoned, and he asked me to sleep over and then I walked him to class the next day, and made him giggle and we held hands, and we've been inseparable ever since. He loves me even though I broke the classic Old-Guard Feminist Rule "Never sleep with a man on the first date, he'll lose interest. (Unless you're really good.)” I am a young, sexually liberated girl, doing shit that's so much more fun than anything my great-grandmother could ever have dreamed of; I’m pretty and I don’t feel weird about not thinking that I’m hideous anymore; I'm happy, I love my family and am really close with them, I have a deep respect for my parents (though they probably wouldn't have guessed that), and I have friends whom I know, love, and trust that have not strayed from my side through breakups, breakdowns, the really excellent parties, the perfect moments just sitting together talking in the sun. I take pride in my taste in music (take that with a grain of salt, though, because as I wrote that sentence, “Toxic” started playing on my ITunes playlist). I like shoes, and only wear high heels when I want to, not when I think I should, and so I usually only wear them when I’m cleaning my room in my underwear. I am a bit paranoid about being raped, so I make sure to carry my keys the specific way that I was taught to by a self-defense instructor at my all-girls’ Catholic (oh yes, Catholic) prep school. I walk home hyper-aware of any male in my vicinity, but I try not to be rude about it if possible. This tactic seems to be working thus far, as I have yet to be dragged into an alley. NOT THAT I AM SAYING THAT WOMEN WHO ARE RAPED DESERVE IT. AT ALL. In fact, on that topic, I think that I can honestly say the following to those who would call victims “responsible” for reporting their rapes: Fuck you. Until it happens to you, you do not understand that shit. There is no way in hell you ever could imagine the way that being so sad you feel like your heart is sinking down, deep into a dark sea. Come to me after you’ve doubted your own senses, hoping that something is seriously wrong with you, that you could have caused it or (o, hope!) dreamed it. Then we can talk. I have never been raped, which is why I try so hard to sympathize and not pass judgment on any of these women (and men) who are rape victims. So there you have it, id, i- me. Believe it or not, despite all my flaws and there are many, I am growing up into a woman I'd like to be, and this is BECAUSE OF WOMEN LIKE YOU!

I’m sorry if this pisses you off, but honestly I’m not a very confrontational person so I would prefer if you didn’t ream me up the proverbial brown eye with your witty and cutting words. If you must, then I insist, but this is just something I wrote while stoned and listening to Britney Spears.