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acepalindrome:

Actually, ‘fall’ has its origins as an Anglo-Saxon word, and was popularized for use to denote the season around the 16th century from the poetic term ‘the fall of leaf.’ In the language that would develop after 1066, words that were coded as being common or lowly generally had Anglo-Saxon roots while the ‘educated’ words of the elite had French and Latin roots. This is why, even in modern English, we use ‘cow,’ which has an Anglo-Saxon origin, for the animal out in the field and ‘beef,’ which has a French origin, for the food to be consumed. The poor handle the animal while the rich eat the meat, and that is reflected in the language. The language of the conquerors was elevated while the language of the conquered was made base and common. If ‘autumn’ sounds smarter than ‘fall,’ that is only the linguistic snobbery of history talking.

^ I WAS ABOUT TO FREAKING SAY.

THANK YOU.

Bagh I do not have time for second grade linguists ignoring the fact that language and the representation of history is so often about power. We call it fall because of hegemonic structures that were in place, not because America so stupid we no use big words right guys?

Pretty proud of myself for not making a cunning linguist joke for almost all of this.

I’m getting really sassy lately and I’m damn proud: A Joyous Rant

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WARNING: Bragging ahead because I usually don’t stand up for myself with strangers and lately I FUCKING HAVE BEEN.

I think it’s because I’ve started giving much less of a fuck about being kind to people when they’re being downright demeaning. I have tumblr to thank, for some posts that helped me reconsider the line between friendly and downright patriarchal. I have Daddy to think for making me promise I’d stop saying sorry for random stuff and for a certain something I’ll mention in a post from that weekend that I think started this whole chain of events. When I was younger, I was told a lot that I came across as unapproachable. So, I was taught to bite my tongue and smile in public and not to raise a stink.

This past week has been a really freaking saucy week and I’d like to imagine it’s gonna set the tone for the rest of my life. Because I’m getting RESULTS.

Guy in the liquor store who has repeatedly harassed me on the bus starts harassing me again and playing with my friend’s hair. Previously, I’ve set boundaries gently, but firmly, by asking him not to touch me, etc etc. This time, I’m like, “HEY. You need to stop it.” And so he calls me a drama queen and I call him a sex offender. His eyes got all big and he literally apologized and sulked out of the store.

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I’m walking to work and a construction worker comes up to me and says, “this way, young lady.” And I was really not having it and I look him right in the eyes and snap, “I’m not ‘young lady’ to you.” And he’s like, “sorry, Miss.”

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I’m walking home the other night with some friends through one of the undergrad neighborhoods and this frat bro a few feet ahead yells across the street to call his friend a “fa**ot.” I had a little liquid courage in me and I shout after him, “hey, you don’t use that word.” And he’s all, “no, it’s cool, it’s my friend.” And I’m like, “no, it is very much not cool. That is a storied and harmful word that you have no right using, kiddo. Mommy and Daddy are paying good money to send you to school so you can learn all sorts of big boy words to use besides that one. So pick a different freaking word.” And he turns and looks at me and goes, “…you’re right. I’m sorry." 

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I’m doing my mascara on the bus on the way from the gym to class. Some guy leans over and goes, "hey, I don’t think you need makeup.” And I roll my eyes and go, “this isn’t for you." 

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Moral of the story: I’ve spent a lot of freaking time being told that I’m unapproachable, unaccommodating, intimidating, when the bottom line was I should have never have been accommodating other peoples’ comfort and convenience, especially when it was making me feel uncomfortable. So, thanks, tumblr. 

Joyous rant over.

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thisexactmoment:

morethanthewhole:

thighighighhigh

Original photo source. Just in case anybody’s confused.

What is with taking a perfectly lovely picture of Heart’s leg and not only changing the source but freaking making it black and white? Seriously? It’s no more artistic or authentic or anything else. 

It’s like oh look at the Mona Lisa. It’s so unsophisticated in color. 

Excuse me…

Well, now look at how much classier it is in black and white. Despite the artist’s initial intention, I now prefer it by the strange implication that black and white works, especially in photography, are somehow much better than color works. Even if the photographer wanted the photograph to be in color, clearly we’re just doing them and the world a favor by altering the image to be black and white.

NEVER FEAR, GUYS. TODAY IS THE DAY THAT (He)ART WAS SAVED.

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Penthouse eats pussy well because he eats pussy like he really wants to.

Pardon my choice of image, but I couldn’t resist.

But, honestly, he eats pussy like it’s freaking delicious or it’s like the eve of the great pussy famine or we’re living in a socialist society and he had to wait on line in the snow for freaking hours for a meager ration of pussy but it was goddamn worth it.

And I don’t say this to inflate the guy’s ego as much as to give some advice here. Guys, girls and everything in between: if you’re eating a pussy, eat it like you did the first slice of pizza you ever had.

No, don’t bite it or anything. But, put some enthusiasm behind it. Kid on Christmas all over that pussy.

I’m ashamed to admit I had an ex fall asleep “down there”. Which is just as detrimental to the self-esteem as it is to the orgasm brewing down there.

For god’s sake, it’s not a chore. Have a little fun with it.

This has been an attempted story that instead turned into a rant. Whatever. I regret nothing. Yolo, carpe diem and all that noise.

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Sometimes I get a little miffed and fist-waggy at all the “preparing her for Sir/Master/Daddy/An orgy of strangers/The Grand Poobah”. Because, sheesh, why can’t the woman in question just be preparing her partner for herself? The lady has needs of her own, I can assure you.

Not that a good threesome or hierarchy isn’t welcome, but there’s such an abundance of them that it makes me want to read one caption somewhere that details some eager girl in cute panties having some fun on her own with her little girlfriend. 

Yeah, yeah, I’m picky. I’ll get off my soapbox now.

Distorted and Disturbed.

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I was looking at a few tumblrs I follow when I happened on something incredibly unsettling: a photograph of a friend I know. At first, I didn’t recognize her. But, I recognized her body, her hair, her clothing, the room she was in. I knew without a doubt that this was definitely one of my best friends. It wasn’t in any way a lewd picture, but rather one praising certain aspects of her body (though some of the commentary was a bit lewd). But, something felt off.

Then I realized it: her face wasn’t on the head of that picture. Or, maybe it was her face. But, her cheeks were compressed, her lips were plumped, her eyes were moved. I felt beyond uneasy looking at it. I knew I couldn’t go on and tell her that it existed, it would be far too uncomfortable. But I knew it was there and I just felt beyond awkward with it, especially with how people were reducing her to her body, discussing her.

And then I thought of how much I do this on this tumblr. I don’t often take into account the person behind the photo. Sure, I very, very rarely post “amateur” stuff, but I still felt a bit disillusioned with tumblr for a little bit. Sigh.

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One of my exes likes to inform me of how well his current relationship is going. Which is, okay, great for him. Congratulations. That’s wonderful. 

We’re good enough friends that I guess it’s okay for him to tell me stuff. I care about him and I love him very dearly on another level than what was sort of previously appropriate. So, fine, he’s entitled.

But I’m really never totally sure how to respond. What the heck is the appropriate thing to say to someone in this sort of situation?

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On the topic of sharing:

I go back and forth on whether or not to get too personal on this tumblr. Sometimes, I do. I share silly things I’ve experienced with friends, sexual forays I’ve taken part in, and even sometimes when something is bothering me. Sometimes, I share stuff without being too overt about the fact that it pertains to me. Others, I just put it all out on the table.

It’s weird for me to sit and try to pinpoint why I started this tumblr or what I even use it for. I could get into the deeper discussion on why people even write in the first place, but frankly I don’t want to bore any of you with this already boring post by getting into the even duller and more repetitive, circular discussion of why we read/write. 

Rather, what I’m trying to get at here is I’m not totally sure what a) you all are really expecting and b) I’m supposed to set as a boundary for sharing. To tackle the latter first, there’s definitely a degree of privacy I’d like to uphold. But part of me likes the ability to be cathartic here.

Which brings me to the second point. I don’t want anyone to feel like I put too much here. My posts that are just pervy prose about the pictures get as much positivity as my personal ones as my ones that are just excerpts from books and songs. So, maybe I’ve struck the right balance. I don’t know. 

In the earlier days of having this tumblr, I shared a lot more stuff than I do now. This is partially because I was, while abroad and while at home for the tiny sliver left of my summer, not getting any. And, also, I just get concerned I’ll be recognized or I’ll upset someone by sharing stuff about them. 

So, not totally sure what this post was about. But, yes, I get torn about sharing sometimes. And it’s hard for me to say well, okay, this blog is for me. Because there’s a possibility I could be found. And that would be just plain awkward.

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So, my boobs shrank. I know, this is such sexy conversation.

I noticed this when all of my bras just started to feel oversized while on my trip and there were little pockets of space in the cup that would be otherwise good for storing keys, money, change, makeup, a change of shoes, a small animal, etc. At first, I assumed I’d stretched them out somehow in the wash. So, I proceeded to get myself measured and it was confirmed: I’d dropped from a 36C to a 36B. Super.

Looking at them in the mirror at the store, I could see it. They still looked nearly the same, but they weren’t as full. I guess I’d never noticed while away because, while there, my mirror was only large enough to look at my face. 

But, seriously, body, what are you trying to pull here? Of all the things you could’ve made smaller. Nice job.

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I try to keep my rants on here to a minimum and I try not to solicit anyone for anything. I understand that I sometimes bring forward issues here and offer an opinion. I apologize if I have ever offended anyone or if I have disappointed anyone by straying away from the sort of levity and sexuality that I’m sure you come here for. And I apologize if the rant/solicitation that comes up feels inappropriate for this environment. You’re more than welcome to unfollow. And I apologize for how personal this gets, but I really cannot think of any other way to communicate how important this is to me.

Recently, such institutions as Planned Parenthood and Title X were threatened with the possibility of losing funding. These organizations continue to face this threat, even after the major budget vote that took place. I don’t care about your opinion on abortion, because these institutions offer far more than this service alone. For some people, this will be the only place they will get correct information on their sexual/reproductive health and rights. These organizations offer STD testing and a wide variety of other services that are simply irreplaceable.

But some argue that these are very replaceable, that normal clinics exist and that there is no need to “dump funding” into these institutions. It’s very true that you can get an STD test at a normal health center, you can find reproductive information online, and that none of these other options are connected with abortion. This is all very true. 

However, I would argue that these places are simply not prepared for the unwritten aspects of this job. Perhaps I am narrow in my own experience and from the positive feedback that I have heard from a wide variety of people who used Planned Parenthood and other Title X-related institutions for these purposes. But, by the same token, I cannot help but feel that if these clinics could honestly do the job that Planned Parenthood does, Planned Parenthood would simply cease to exist out of a lack of necessity. I don’t think that a normal health center is equipped for the job that Planned Parenthood must take on.

Last year, I had an STD scare. My partner, at the time, found out from his former partner that she had Herpes II. Although I had not exhibited any symptoms, I was still horrified. And, with no Planned Parenthood around, I decided to make an appointment with my University’s student health center to get tested. 

The days before my appointment were inconceivably difficult. I was tense, I was nervous. I overreacted to even the slightest blemish on my body. I researched the virus, the symptoms, the medications. I wanted to be fully prepared before my appointment and I made sure that I was so. 

My appointment began in the basement of the health center in the office of one of the nurses. She had me sit down and repeat to her my concerns. I had no issue with this. I told her about the present situation. I told her I was not exhibiting any symptoms, but that I had found that there was a window in which I would not show these symptoms and I wanted to get tested. My partner, who did not attend my school, was waiting outside for support. He had made his appointment for a few days after mine, at a Planned Parenthood near his home.

I was very clear with her what I wanted: a test for Herpes II. But, she insisted she had to ask me some questions. Which was fine. I understand that it’s standard procedure. However, the next question came completely out of left field, “have you had sexual relations with someone of the same gender?”

I told her I had, but that I was sure beyond a doubt that I had not contracted anything. All of my prior partners either had been tested or simply had not been with anyone else before me. I had been, up until this point, very careful. I explained to her that what had happened was simply a hiccup, a sudden misstep in a history of being incredibly careful.

She responded coldly, “I’m putting you down for an HIV test, too.” She looked me over for a second before adding, “and gonorrhea and chlamydia as well." 

I understand that was she was doing was simply trying to eliminate the possibility of another STD. But I wasn’t showing symptoms. And, more importantly, she didn’t ask. It wasn’t an offer, it was mandated. And it was solely on the basis that I had engaged in sexual relations with a woman. 

I really can’t put words to how she spoke to me. Her demeanor, her tone, her behavior. It seemed strictly business to her, while I was clearly at an incredibly precarious place. I could feel myself trembling through the whole consultation. I had started crying when I told her that I was normally so much more careful. She didn’t offer any condolences. She didn’t even offer me a tissue. 

When I told her I was humiliated and concerned, she told me, "there’s really nothing to worry about. If you have herpes, you just have to stay on a prescription to keep down the symptoms.” I looked across her desk and saw a picture of her daughter. Young, beaming, radiantly innocent. I wondered how she would feel to one day hear from her daughter that a nurse at her University – a place where she had let her daughter finally leave from under her wing, a place where safety and support is expected – had told her in a deadpan voice that she would just have to be on a medication for the rest of her life. Like it was no big deal. Because, you know, she clearly brought it upon herself.

I got sent to another room to get the blood-work done. The women in the lab didn’t say much to me, just pricked and stuck. Which was fine until they asked me for my insurance. I had two cards and I was not entirely sure which one to give them. 

“Looks like you’re going to have to call Daddy,” one said with a sneer.

They watched as I tried to keep my composure while calling my father and tried not to give away exactly what I was getting blood-work for. I assured him I was fine. I was mortified. I could not believe that I had just heard that. 

By the time I had settled everything and walked outside with my partner, I was in tears. I found out a week later that I was negative for everything, as was my partner (who elected to be tested for everything else when he was given the choice to). It was a relief, but I could never really get over how I had been treated that day. 

I’m not asking for pity here. As traumatic as the experience was, I am using it instead as evidence and not a plea for attention. I’m asking that you support Planned Parenthood and Title X programs because they, unlike a regular health clinic, are trained in the lesser known, but sometimes more important, aspects of processes just as this. 

My friends who used Planned Parenthood were granted the sort of mercy, sympathy, and dignity that I was denied in my experience at my University’s clinic. The environment at such institutions is, as opposed to my experience, non-judgmental. A gentler hand is extended to those who need to be handled gently, whether they are coping with the sort of scare I had, handling a pregnancy, or seeking out information on their sexuality that they cannot find anywhere else. People who work for Planned Parenthood and these other organizations are trained to exhibit the sort of qualities that people in these situations absolutely need to witness. 

So, I ask that you write to your legislature to support these programs. I ask that you help to push to widen Planned Parenthood’s scope and provide for more locations. And, if you disagree with me, I simply ask that you treat the programs and those who use them with respect.