Much love,
The Sheriff
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
shift your focus
Sometimes, I feel like men as a aggregate group (or more accurately, the men I come into contact with frequently, which is approximately four plus the homeless folks who talk to me downtown)are making decent progress at this whole not-being-sexist/women-are-really-actually-people-too thing. And sometimes, I'm just really discouraged by how much they don't get it.
One of the hallmarks of a privileged group (in this case, people with penises) is that they have to understand little to nothing about the struggles, obstacles, and day to day life of the subordinated group (women and people presenting as gender variant). Talking with Meatball the other night, this theory vibrantly came to life for me. Somehow we got on the topic of being catcalled, with me explicating how it's NOT actually flattering and really has nothing to do with compliments when it's heinously disgusting proclamations or gestures (just this morning, actually, I was walking to campus center while a man rode slowly next to me, telling me all the nasty things he wanted to do to me, including cumming on my face, while I just tried not to look at him and keep my pace steady while also not running away, not letting him win by disrupting my life). Meatball responded by saying he'd never heard anyone really catcall someone, only guys at parties gesturing to a girl and saying to their buddies, "Hey, check out that."
THAT. That?! Not even "check out this girl," but check out "that." That object. That thing.
I pointed out ("pointed out" makes me sound like I was calm about it, but I'm pretty sure I may have grown a little shrill) that even his little example perfectly illustrated the sexual harassment and sexual objectification that women deal with every day, and that it probably happened all around him constantly, but as a man, he had the privilege to not have to pay attention to it. To not notice that his own language revealed unconscious objectification. To not have the male gaze thrust upon you as soon as you hit puberty. To not notice the men slowly driving by women, honking, throwing game, making commentary, or even just staring.
Women live their lives on a "rape schedule," having a constant awareness of when it's "okay" (and by "okay," I mean the situations in which you won't be victim blamed should you be sexually assaulted) to be walking home, to be at a bar, to wear that skirt, to drink alcohol. Are any of these factors things men have to consider before they go out for a night of fun with their friends? If I'm at a bar, drunk, in a short skirt, does that mean I'm down to fuck? Has a man ever questioned what he's wearing and the message it gives about his sexual availability before heading to a party (can I get a HELL NO)? Despite Noho's reputation for safety, several of my friends and I have admitted to walking home from downtown at night, cell phones out, 911 already dialed should something happen. How is this an acceptable way for women to have to live?
So again, I implore the men who read this blog (and anyone who has a privileged identity: white, straight, wealthy, able-bodied, etc) to check themselves before they dismiss the concerns of women (or any other subordinated group). The fact that it isn't registering on your radar doesn't mean that it doesn't disrupt the daily lives of millions of women.
Much love,
The Sheriff
One of the hallmarks of a privileged group (in this case, people with penises) is that they have to understand little to nothing about the struggles, obstacles, and day to day life of the subordinated group (women and people presenting as gender variant). Talking with Meatball the other night, this theory vibrantly came to life for me. Somehow we got on the topic of being catcalled, with me explicating how it's NOT actually flattering and really has nothing to do with compliments when it's heinously disgusting proclamations or gestures (just this morning, actually, I was walking to campus center while a man rode slowly next to me, telling me all the nasty things he wanted to do to me, including cumming on my face, while I just tried not to look at him and keep my pace steady while also not running away, not letting him win by disrupting my life). Meatball responded by saying he'd never heard anyone really catcall someone, only guys at parties gesturing to a girl and saying to their buddies, "Hey, check out that."
THAT. That?! Not even "check out this girl," but check out "that." That object. That thing.
I pointed out ("pointed out" makes me sound like I was calm about it, but I'm pretty sure I may have grown a little shrill) that even his little example perfectly illustrated the sexual harassment and sexual objectification that women deal with every day, and that it probably happened all around him constantly, but as a man, he had the privilege to not have to pay attention to it. To not notice that his own language revealed unconscious objectification. To not have the male gaze thrust upon you as soon as you hit puberty. To not notice the men slowly driving by women, honking, throwing game, making commentary, or even just staring.
Women live their lives on a "rape schedule," having a constant awareness of when it's "okay" (and by "okay," I mean the situations in which you won't be victim blamed should you be sexually assaulted) to be walking home, to be at a bar, to wear that skirt, to drink alcohol. Are any of these factors things men have to consider before they go out for a night of fun with their friends? If I'm at a bar, drunk, in a short skirt, does that mean I'm down to fuck? Has a man ever questioned what he's wearing and the message it gives about his sexual availability before heading to a party (can I get a HELL NO)? Despite Noho's reputation for safety, several of my friends and I have admitted to walking home from downtown at night, cell phones out, 911 already dialed should something happen. How is this an acceptable way for women to have to live?
So again, I implore the men who read this blog (and anyone who has a privileged identity: white, straight, wealthy, able-bodied, etc) to check themselves before they dismiss the concerns of women (or any other subordinated group). The fact that it isn't registering on your radar doesn't mean that it doesn't disrupt the daily lives of millions of women.
Much love,
The Sheriff
Friday, October 1, 2010
fridayyyy links
Since our blog is compromised of college women writers, a little info about college in America.
Article in the NYT about why single sex education is still important.
WOMEN ARE HORNY TOO.
And finally, a Duke college student's fuck list power point goes viral, peeps are mad, etc. I think that while it's hilarious and fun for her to share with her friends, perhaps including the pictures was a little much. Your thoughts?
Much love,
The Sheriff
Article in the NYT about why single sex education is still important.
WOMEN ARE HORNY TOO.
And finally, a Duke college student's fuck list power point goes viral, peeps are mad, etc. I think that while it's hilarious and fun for her to share with her friends, perhaps including the pictures was a little much. Your thoughts?
Much love,
The Sheriff
Monday, September 27, 2010
female on female crime: jealousy
When people hear that I attend a woman's college, the top question (after, "Oh. So you're all, like, gay, right?") is hands down: "How do you stand the cattiness?" Implicit in this statement being the fact that with a campus full of vaginas, shit must go down.
Surprisingly (or not), this hasn't really been my experience. Sure, community living can have its drama (I recall someone stealing my face wash in front of me my first year, as well as many dirty kitchens and much house booty problems), but I've discovered that for most of us, without the presence of men in abundance to bring out the insecurities and harried comparisons, a lot of the jealousy and cattiness disintegrates. But it is not so in the real world, or whenever Smithies interact with it (exception: Northern California, where at my sister's wedding this weekend, the groom's ex-wife gave a toast about how my sister was great and a better match for him, without a touch of detectable malice or sarcasm. These hippies have got it down).
I'm not afraid to admit that I've sat with my Albright ladies and criticized women from afar (usually via Facebook. Don't judge, you scope out their exes too). When Beefcake began sleeping with other women, stalking them via Facebook and verbally destroying them in a group provided some solace for the emotional wounds I was sustaining (hey, maybe I'd been betrayed, but she's got a muffin top and my tits are better). It even extends into sex; I used to actively pride myself on being the best any of my partners has ever had, being the most flexible, the one with the most stamina, the one who could deep throat longest, feeling like I just had to be better somehow. Like insults, I knew I had to prove myself in the arenas of looks and sex. I'm loathe to admit it because it sounds petty and I "should" be more confident than it, but sometimes, jealousy rears its ugly head. Despite my beliefs in sisterhood and supporting other women and all that, I can't help but tear my claws into other women I don't even know, seeking validation that I'm better than she is, that I have nothing to worry about, that I've somehow won the prize of male attention and with it the right to say horrible things (she's got cankles! She looks like a slut!) about other women.
Jealousy, much like judgment, breaks down the possibility of connections or recognition of common humanity. And it's particularly virulent and ugly amongst ladies involved with men. Conditioning has resulted in the male gaze carrying so much weight in our minds, and its appraisal of our worth, sad as it is to admit, is deeply significant to our self esteem. Indulging in that jealousy and getting your Facebook creep on only further fosters insecurity, anxiety, and emotional distance that we really could do without.
So let's take that power back. Let's stop calling each other whores and stupid and ugly. Let's focus on what we've got, instead of denigrating them for what we think they don't. Let's take a cue from Bikini Kill and encourage each other, even as we feel insecure: "Being a sexy & powerful female is one of the most subversive projects of all. (We are the priestesses of a new kind of power oh yeah). We know we are not like this due to any weird gene formation or luck or trick. We are how we are from working together with our eyes open & having experiences & getting help from our moms & friends. We vow to struggle against the “j” word (jealousy), the killer of GIRL LOVE. We are not special, anyone can do it. ENCOURAGEMENT IN THE FACE OF INSECURITY is a slogan of the revolution.”
Much love,
The Sheriff
Surprisingly (or not), this hasn't really been my experience. Sure, community living can have its drama (I recall someone stealing my face wash in front of me my first year, as well as many dirty kitchens and much house booty problems), but I've discovered that for most of us, without the presence of men in abundance to bring out the insecurities and harried comparisons, a lot of the jealousy and cattiness disintegrates. But it is not so in the real world, or whenever Smithies interact with it (exception: Northern California, where at my sister's wedding this weekend, the groom's ex-wife gave a toast about how my sister was great and a better match for him, without a touch of detectable malice or sarcasm. These hippies have got it down).
I'm not afraid to admit that I've sat with my Albright ladies and criticized women from afar (usually via Facebook. Don't judge, you scope out their exes too). When Beefcake began sleeping with other women, stalking them via Facebook and verbally destroying them in a group provided some solace for the emotional wounds I was sustaining (hey, maybe I'd been betrayed, but she's got a muffin top and my tits are better). It even extends into sex; I used to actively pride myself on being the best any of my partners has ever had, being the most flexible, the one with the most stamina, the one who could deep throat longest, feeling like I just had to be better somehow. Like insults, I knew I had to prove myself in the arenas of looks and sex. I'm loathe to admit it because it sounds petty and I "should" be more confident than it, but sometimes, jealousy rears its ugly head. Despite my beliefs in sisterhood and supporting other women and all that, I can't help but tear my claws into other women I don't even know, seeking validation that I'm better than she is, that I have nothing to worry about, that I've somehow won the prize of male attention and with it the right to say horrible things (she's got cankles! She looks like a slut!) about other women.
Jealousy, much like judgment, breaks down the possibility of connections or recognition of common humanity. And it's particularly virulent and ugly amongst ladies involved with men. Conditioning has resulted in the male gaze carrying so much weight in our minds, and its appraisal of our worth, sad as it is to admit, is deeply significant to our self esteem. Indulging in that jealousy and getting your Facebook creep on only further fosters insecurity, anxiety, and emotional distance that we really could do without.
So let's take that power back. Let's stop calling each other whores and stupid and ugly. Let's focus on what we've got, instead of denigrating them for what we think they don't. Let's take a cue from Bikini Kill and encourage each other, even as we feel insecure: "Being a sexy & powerful female is one of the most subversive projects of all. (We are the priestesses of a new kind of power oh yeah). We know we are not like this due to any weird gene formation or luck or trick. We are how we are from working together with our eyes open & having experiences & getting help from our moms & friends. We vow to struggle against the “j” word (jealousy), the killer of GIRL LOVE. We are not special, anyone can do it. ENCOURAGEMENT IN THE FACE OF INSECURITY is a slogan of the revolution.”
Much love,
The Sheriff
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Consent and Sobriety
So, if you have read any of my (unfortunately few) FF posts on this blog, you’ll know that I’m a consent junkie. I strongly believe in agency, responsibility (for yourself as well as others) and having control over what goes on with your own self.
Last year, after a particularly heinous breakup and series of important self-examinations, I realized that I had not had a sober first-kiss in two years. By this, my mind was blown. Now, I may have gotten out of a significantly unhealthy long-term relationship and begun drinking at the same time, but still, the fact that not one of my seven first-kisses since January of 2008 had been sober was, well, sobering.
As I was also beginning to discuss consent and how to engage in healthy romantic and sexual relationships more often, it became something I would bring up. I have never particularly thought of myself as a “ho”. “Ho” is not part of my self identity, nor was it a thing I strive for. But considering the number of people I’d kissed over that span of time (I believe the estimate is seven), it felt like a cop-out that none of those first-kiss moments had been devoid of alcohol.
Yes, I am a college student. Yes, I like kissing people. Yes, I am a young, hot-blooded, American queer. But isn’t part of the romance, isn’t part of the fun of it, in that awful awkward, tense build-up of “is this actually going to happen??”. I felt like a shirk. Like I’ve been surfing through my hook-ups and never putting in the effort.
I mean, when you’ve been drinking, there’s an excuse. A kiss could always mean something else, and it doesn’t have to be the most awesome thing that has ever been awesome because people kind of expect you to be slightly off you game. The alcohol can help make it feel exciting – that rush you get, the hormones surging, the blurred-lined memories of warm bodies and sweet breath, it’s easier to find when you’re relaxed on a buzz.
But I started to wonder – God, what if I can never have a sober first kiss? What if I’m unable to kiss someone for the first time unless I have alcohol as an excuse. I mean, lets be honest, who here has:
1. Ever had a drink (or 2, or 5…)
2. Not used some version of the line “oh, well, I was drunk”?
We’re kids, we’re young and we want to make out, dammit! Plus, if you’re going to a college like mine, there’s a question of time and efficiency. If you want to get some, but also write your seminar paper, going to a party and drinkin it up with that cute somebody can be pretty time effective. And I am not against those random hook-ups, as long as its something consensual, where the underlying reason behind hooking up is understood by the parties involved.
However, consent is where my questioning comes into play. How do you manage consent, responsibility and agency when you’re drunk? Isn’t a part of drinking so that you can lose control and be irresponsible? But how do you know consent with or without the involvement of a definitive “YES”?
In answer to this, I can only say what I always say – COMMUNICATION. Even if you’re drunk and a little clumsy taking off your shirt, you should still be able to say “are you ok with this?” You should still have the sense to tell if your partner is pulling away from you or having indecisive body language. Although it might suck to suddenly not get some, lack of consent being the cock-block it is, that little bit of communication is SO IMPORTANT. So ask. Talk about it. Discuss what you’re comfortable with, even if it’s the short conversation “wanna ______?” “hell yeah!”
So stop, and talk. I don’t care if it’s not sexy. I don’t care if it might kill the mood. Seriously. Because you know what’s really not sexy? Like, the least sexy thing in the world? Rape. Rape is SO unsexy it is basically redundant to make that statement. And while this might seem like an incredibly dramatic statement, consider the fact that almost every rapist will say “she/he wanted it”. And whats even scarier is that, the word “rapist” is so often made into a monster that we don’t realize just how much anyone could violate consent.
And so, what do you kids? Ask. Be sure. Communicate. Don’t pressure. Oh yeah, I pulled out the ABCs, cause you know what, you’ve got to have something to help you remember when you’re drunk.
And although a drink can make sex good by helping you relax, I would argue that the best sex is sober sex with someone you know and trust.
So, how do you feel about consent and sobriety? Talk it up.
Over and Out,
General Lee
Oh,and as an aside, I did have a sober first kiss post this realization, and it was awesome and awkward and filled with consent.
Last year, after a particularly heinous breakup and series of important self-examinations, I realized that I had not had a sober first-kiss in two years. By this, my mind was blown. Now, I may have gotten out of a significantly unhealthy long-term relationship and begun drinking at the same time, but still, the fact that not one of my seven first-kisses since January of 2008 had been sober was, well, sobering.
As I was also beginning to discuss consent and how to engage in healthy romantic and sexual relationships more often, it became something I would bring up. I have never particularly thought of myself as a “ho”. “Ho” is not part of my self identity, nor was it a thing I strive for. But considering the number of people I’d kissed over that span of time (I believe the estimate is seven), it felt like a cop-out that none of those first-kiss moments had been devoid of alcohol.
Yes, I am a college student. Yes, I like kissing people. Yes, I am a young, hot-blooded, American queer. But isn’t part of the romance, isn’t part of the fun of it, in that awful awkward, tense build-up of “is this actually going to happen??”. I felt like a shirk. Like I’ve been surfing through my hook-ups and never putting in the effort.
I mean, when you’ve been drinking, there’s an excuse. A kiss could always mean something else, and it doesn’t have to be the most awesome thing that has ever been awesome because people kind of expect you to be slightly off you game. The alcohol can help make it feel exciting – that rush you get, the hormones surging, the blurred-lined memories of warm bodies and sweet breath, it’s easier to find when you’re relaxed on a buzz.
But I started to wonder – God, what if I can never have a sober first kiss? What if I’m unable to kiss someone for the first time unless I have alcohol as an excuse. I mean, lets be honest, who here has:
1. Ever had a drink (or 2, or 5…)
2. Not used some version of the line “oh, well, I was drunk”?
We’re kids, we’re young and we want to make out, dammit! Plus, if you’re going to a college like mine, there’s a question of time and efficiency. If you want to get some, but also write your seminar paper, going to a party and drinkin it up with that cute somebody can be pretty time effective. And I am not against those random hook-ups, as long as its something consensual, where the underlying reason behind hooking up is understood by the parties involved.
However, consent is where my questioning comes into play. How do you manage consent, responsibility and agency when you’re drunk? Isn’t a part of drinking so that you can lose control and be irresponsible? But how do you know consent with or without the involvement of a definitive “YES”?
In answer to this, I can only say what I always say – COMMUNICATION. Even if you’re drunk and a little clumsy taking off your shirt, you should still be able to say “are you ok with this?” You should still have the sense to tell if your partner is pulling away from you or having indecisive body language. Although it might suck to suddenly not get some, lack of consent being the cock-block it is, that little bit of communication is SO IMPORTANT. So ask. Talk about it. Discuss what you’re comfortable with, even if it’s the short conversation “wanna ______?” “hell yeah!”
So stop, and talk. I don’t care if it’s not sexy. I don’t care if it might kill the mood. Seriously. Because you know what’s really not sexy? Like, the least sexy thing in the world? Rape. Rape is SO unsexy it is basically redundant to make that statement. And while this might seem like an incredibly dramatic statement, consider the fact that almost every rapist will say “she/he wanted it”. And whats even scarier is that, the word “rapist” is so often made into a monster that we don’t realize just how much anyone could violate consent.
And so, what do you kids? Ask. Be sure. Communicate. Don’t pressure. Oh yeah, I pulled out the ABCs, cause you know what, you’ve got to have something to help you remember when you’re drunk.
And although a drink can make sex good by helping you relax, I would argue that the best sex is sober sex with someone you know and trust.
So, how do you feel about consent and sobriety? Talk it up.
Over and Out,
General Lee
Oh,and as an aside, I did have a sober first kiss post this realization, and it was awesome and awkward and filled with consent.
Monday, September 20, 2010
the performance of sex
I'm a little swamped right now, as I'm preparing to go to California for my oldest sister's wedding, so I'm sure next week, I'll be chock full of reflections on matrimony and sexism (or not, since she's kinda a crazy hippie), but for now, I've got some thoughts about the performativity of sex (I think I just made up that word, but roll with it, please. Also, I don't touch on sex tapes at all here but intend to...soon?).
Sex for women (hell, maybe for men too) sometimes devolves into a performance. The times when you perhaps aren't necessarily interested in gettin' it in, nor are you particularly averse, so you acquiesce to make your partner feel good (no one likes rejection, right?). You're consenting just without delightful enthusiasm. You lie there and make some noises for them while mostly concentrating on the paint chips in the ceiling over their shoulder (described less eloquently as "lying back and taking a dick" or "meat and potatoes sex"), while they labor away and assume they're blowing your mind.
There's something of an expectation now on women that because we have more of the tools (information, sex toys, sexual orientation fluidity, what have you) to enjoy ourselves to the fullest, that we must every time, particularly when a partner's ego is at stake. While I'm thrilled to be with someone who cares about my orgasm, sometimes I feel like Meatball is disappointed when it takes me a while or when I don't squirt. I find myself apologizing for it, which is absurd.
But perhaps that sense of disappointment is a better alternative to faking orgasms (DON'T DO IT, it's like rewarding a puppy for chewing your shoes: they get positive reinforcement for doing the wrong thing) or exaggerating your level of kinkiness to please your partner. I know I pretended to have an interest in anal for Beefcake because I felt like I had to because I was experimental and kinky and that's what kinky experimental girlfriends do, right? I put the performative aspects of my sexuality as a "freak" over my own pleasure, and I'm still pissed off at myself for it.
Being sexually liberated doesn't mean you must have multiples or cum every time (though if you do, that's awesome!). It doesn't mean you have to always be kinky or off the wall in your desires and actions. It means developing an authentic understanding of what you want, quitting the performance and doing what makes your body sing. It might be as small as not faking when he/she expects you to be cumming, but it's still important to develop a real sexual identity, instead of one prescribed for you that feels like an act.
Much love,
The Sheriff
Sex for women (hell, maybe for men too) sometimes devolves into a performance. The times when you perhaps aren't necessarily interested in gettin' it in, nor are you particularly averse, so you acquiesce to make your partner feel good (no one likes rejection, right?). You're consenting just without delightful enthusiasm. You lie there and make some noises for them while mostly concentrating on the paint chips in the ceiling over their shoulder (described less eloquently as "lying back and taking a dick" or "meat and potatoes sex"), while they labor away and assume they're blowing your mind.
There's something of an expectation now on women that because we have more of the tools (information, sex toys, sexual orientation fluidity, what have you) to enjoy ourselves to the fullest, that we must every time, particularly when a partner's ego is at stake. While I'm thrilled to be with someone who cares about my orgasm, sometimes I feel like Meatball is disappointed when it takes me a while or when I don't squirt. I find myself apologizing for it, which is absurd.
But perhaps that sense of disappointment is a better alternative to faking orgasms (DON'T DO IT, it's like rewarding a puppy for chewing your shoes: they get positive reinforcement for doing the wrong thing) or exaggerating your level of kinkiness to please your partner. I know I pretended to have an interest in anal for Beefcake because I felt like I had to because I was experimental and kinky and that's what kinky experimental girlfriends do, right? I put the performative aspects of my sexuality as a "freak" over my own pleasure, and I'm still pissed off at myself for it.
Being sexually liberated doesn't mean you must have multiples or cum every time (though if you do, that's awesome!). It doesn't mean you have to always be kinky or off the wall in your desires and actions. It means developing an authentic understanding of what you want, quitting the performance and doing what makes your body sing. It might be as small as not faking when he/she expects you to be cumming, but it's still important to develop a real sexual identity, instead of one prescribed for you that feels like an act.
Much love,
The Sheriff
Friday, September 17, 2010
Friday links!
While I don't agree with everything she says, this article speaks beautifully about beauty standards tearing women apart.
An interesting news piece that makes me think about the responsibility of the media in regards to protecting (or promoting?) the sexualization of minors (albeit this is an extreme case involving a child prostitute).
And yes yes yes to everything said here about why shutting down the sale of adult services on Craigslist is important and wonderful and necessary.
Happy weekend!
Much love,
The Sheriff
An interesting news piece that makes me think about the responsibility of the media in regards to protecting (or promoting?) the sexualization of minors (albeit this is an extreme case involving a child prostitute).
And yes yes yes to everything said here about why shutting down the sale of adult services on Craigslist is important and wonderful and necessary.
Happy weekend!
Much love,
The Sheriff
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