So you’ve been told that you violated someone’s boundaries. Maybe right then and there by the person whose boundaries you crossed, maybe later in an email, maybe taken aside by a mutual friend and told That Was Not Okay. This does not need to be the end of the world, and does not necessarily mean you’re a bad person. However, it does mean that you’re on notice. People in your social circle are trying to figure out if you’re a predator — in other words, if you did it on purpose and are likely to do it again. The problem is that right now society trains good people to use the same deflecting tactics as predators, and make victims shoulder all the responsibility. Here’s how to differentiate yourself from a predator and show that you’re committed to fixing your mistake: Continue reading »
Hi, we’re glad you’re here! If you’re interested in what we’ve been checking out lately, take a gander at the links below. As always, your contributions and thoughts are always welcome in the comments!
- If you’re in the DC metro area you may have seen these new subway posters around. From DDPKateJo: “WMATA knows what women really love talking about”
Right before I graduated from college I made myself a promise: I swore to take at least two years of working in the ‘real’ world before even considering graduate school.
I wanted to prove to myself that I could find, keep, and perhaps even enjoy a job in my field of study. I wanted a career, goddamnit. And I decided that, if need be, I would sell my soul to get that first foothold in the industry. At least temporarily.
What do I mean by this “temporary soul-selling”? I mean working for a company that is evil goes against my values, at least for a limited period of time.
For an English translation of this post, read on below.
Mis amigos gringos a menudo se quejan de los géneros de los sustantivos en español. —¿Por qué es el orgullo masculino y la vergüenza femenina? No tiene sentido, — dicen. No tengo respuesta, por supuesto. Para mi, los géneros de las palabras son a la vez obvios e invisibles. Un reloj no me parece masculino, pero no puedo imaginar una reloj – tal cosa no existe.
Creo que cualquier hispanohablante diría que el género de una palabra no importa nada. Fija que algunas palabras son femeninas en algunos países y masculinos en otros, como un computador y una computadora, o un radio y una radio, y las computadoras y las radios son las mismas por todo el mundo. Pero a veces el género gramatical, en los idiomas que lo tienen, es más importante que uno tal vez creería.
This weekend I collapsed after watching The Hunger Games.
My girlfriend caught me almost immediately, but still, right in the middle of the theater lobby, my limbs went numb and my head went dizzy, and I collapsed in the throes of an anxiety attack.
I have anxiety attacks sometimes, usually a couple times a year, usually escalating to tears and trouble breathing and fully body paralysis in the span of minutes, usually in response to a specific, personal, and immediate stressor- missing the bus to a conference, or that one time I forgot to turn in a form and almost lost $5,000 of funding for my student organization. But this was different. It was a slow build; I started subtly shaking during the first few scenes of the film. More importantly, there was no specific, personal, or urgent stressor. In fact as far as I was (consciously) concerned, I was having a lovely carefree Saturday and thoroughly enjoying the movie.
So what exactly was it that triggered this peculiar experience? Did I have…. a social justice anxiety attack? As an environmentalist by activist and academic training, I’ve heard of “eco-anxiety” : overwhelming and daily-life-impairing feelings of anxiety, despair, fear, and anger about global environmental destruction. If that’s a thing, then I suppose having similar feelings around the issues central to The Hunger Games- economic and racial oppression, unfettered capitalism, state sanctioned violence, the use of power to squash dissent and keep those who might challenge the status quo silent, scared, and isolated from each other. But this is a movie. It is a fictional movie about a dystopian society that is terrifying and tragic, but shouldn’t affect me so strongly because it simply isn’t real.
Except for that it is. Continue reading »
This week, cats and rats and elephants, I’d like to introduce a queer female comic: Tig Notaro. She grew up in Texas and began her career in the music industry, then, to the world’s delight, switched to stand-up. She’s been featured on Comedy Central Presents, and on The Sarah Silverman Program as a lesbian police officer, and hosts an awesome podcast called Professor Blastoff with her writing partner Kyle Dunnigan.
Stop shaming people who participate in Black Friday. Just stop.
Stop making jokes about the fights, the carnage, the people camped in the parking lots. Stop making comments about how you beat out “a woman with a bowl cut AND a rat tail” on your race to the boots. For the love of Cat, stop posting that fucking Onion article about how millions of people died this Black Friday - hahahahaha, yes, so amusing, except that people ARE ACTUALLY DEAD. Specifically, poor people.
[Trigger Warning for discussion of partner violence and struggles with mental health]
Trust can mean a lot of things. It can mean depending on someone to handle a responsibility or, in a more general sense, feeling warmly toward someone. For this post I’m going to use a more basic definition: the feeling of being able to predict someone else’s behavior if you know them well enough. Or to put it another way, a feeling that society operates by a knowable set of rules that won’t be violated.
Hi CareFirst Representative,
My name is Wiley. I’m twenty five, and I live in Washington DC. I have a mother and five brothers and sisters. I work as a bookkeeper and in my spare time I volunteer at my local animal shelter, watch cooking shows, garden, and go to Washington Nationals games. I have a condition called PMDD (Pre-Menstrual Depressive Disorder). This is not a well known condition–it’s been in the DSM since the seventies, but many doctors I’ve seen haven’t heard of it. Let me tell you a little bit about it.
I got my period when I was eleven. A few months later I tried to kill myself by smashing my head into a wall until my brain shut off. I didn’t know what was wrong, and as a young kid, I didn’t have the maturity to deal with the sudden influx of “bad thoughts.”