Starting it up again

Hello to all my fabulous friends, all of the people I told about my blog, all of you who I know have been waiting in search of a new post. You are not alone. Well I am. I am starting this doo-hickey up again because I am graduating and losing my mind, plus its better for me to get my thoughts up, in a place that no one knows (yeah the beginning was a joke, cause good lordy I haven't told a soul this web address, or the fact that I enjoy. yeah enjoy. blogging. so... drumroll.........
10,9,8,7,6,54321. Welcome back.

http://www.thefighting44s.com/archives/2007/07/18/inter-racial-dating-by-asian-americans/ great article on inter-racial dating.

http://jewishconscience.blogspot.com/ great site for us jews.

taking pictures for the man.

yes, I model sometimes. And yes, I am having a hard time with it. I mean why conform to the man's image, why let him use me to continue this sick idea of beauty, why do I want to look good for him? Image really only brings me trouble, but see... I am vain. I am superficial, and another one of those girls who puts on make-up and dresses up to play my part in this materialistic society. But to be honest a bit of me enjoys "passing" the man's standards of beauty, being accepted for something such as image, is superficial, but nonetheless it is being accepted. And the fact that I even wrote that makes me feel guilty and sick to my stomache.
I know how I feel about the industry, I think it's a crap shoot. Coming from a girl who had a eating disorder since a young age, I know what these images do to people. I hate being a part of the system, but the system is already a part of me. Can someone stand up and fight for women's rights while being a puppet for an industry held up by the strings of botox, fake boobs, and all things that make women feel horrible about themselves. I grew up wanting to look perfect, to conform to something beautiful, to be envied. And now I am having a really hard time with where this has brought me, and who it has brought me to be.

My Professor violated my independence.

My prof. touched me, he tried to kiss me and he grabbed me and made me his supper play thing for a night. The whole time I wanted it to end, I felt slimy and drunk and powerless, But this guy was my prof. he actually listened and made me feel smart. I thought that I was "one of his favorite students" because of my unique views and intelligence. Hell, he was the only man/professor to ever tell me that "law school would be a breeze for me academically." He sat me down and wanted the best for me academically, but he is going to be asked to leave the university. Because although it would have been easy to just go on and pretend that this never happen, and continue telling him my thoughts on gender, war, environment, politics, getting excellent letters of recomendation from a big important name and gaining more research experience for my poor undergrad vulnerable ass, I wouldn't be myself if I didn't tell. I fight for survivors rights all day long, I scream at rally's for equality, I follow women through some really difficult times, but honestly, it took me awhile until I had the courage to tell someone what my professor did. And it took even more courage to let go of all the things he ever told me. My professor will be getting fired this summer because of what he did to me, he is 81, he will never touch a student again and I feel a little guilty about telling, because I am not a vindictive person and I don't think that punishing him will do any good, but teaching him (even though he is 81) about gender roles, and male privillages, and about being a fucking asshole, and the consquences they have on the survivors may. But the school doesn't like that idea, it would take too much time and be too much of a liability. There ya go I have no say in what's going to happen and I am powerless again.
I am still sturggling with the idea, but more so I am struggling with disappointment. I know sexual harrassment comes with being a woman, I know I can't walk down the streets without getting sexually harrassed in some way, but when it comes from people of power you begin to feel as though your choices are limited, be the "bitch" who tells or the "whore" who stays.
Regardless this whole situation has been an important part of my life, and I now know that when push comes to shove I am strong enough to put others before my own wishes, regardless of the consequences.
I also now know that my figure is going to be the first thing on mens minds, no matter what their age, or level of authority is. I don't think I am looking forward to the real world.

I don't really want to cross-post things, or keep reiterating things that brilliant feminist bloggers have already harped on out in the blogosphere but really this post by Bitch PhD http://bitchphd.blogspot.com/2007/07/monday-mission-and-weekend-reward-to.html really inspired me. No joke. After being so politically involved and then going into a mild slump (you know the how long can I kick and scream, shit doesn't happen and no one cares, let's just give it all up and move to France, or on good days I say the Trobriand Islands) I thought I was forever politically inept.
But that Bitch really got me thrilled for change again. I did all of the steps, almost neurotically and to add I did a couple of call-in's and emails for Amnesty. Plus I buckled down and wrote a letter of support for clemency to a couple of women I met in the Prison last week, all before grabbing my nightly beer with friends. So see, shit can happen, you just need someone to whip us into shape and to remind that "hey this is wrong" and "lets actually do something."
So yeah, this system just doesn't make sense and needs more than a couple of weakling democratic senators to change. It needs us; it needs all of us to come together. We have to stop being scared of the government; we need a government that is scared of its people.
On that fine note I am out. Beer is calling and I am always willing.

Waking up with someone next to you

is sooo overrated. Last night I occupied my time by doing what most 21 year olds would do on a best friends 21st (see I told you I have about 30 of them, so that term gets thrown around). I drank, and somehow found myself walking home with a dude. A dude. So the question is why? I knew I wasn't going to get any sexual pleasure from him because 1. I have never came from a guy. 2. I hasn't shaved in a really long time (which is a completely different issue, girls and pubes) and 3. I was on my period. So I wasn't looking for sexual pleasure, I just wanted someone, anyone. I throw relationships around like they are old papers, I think of myself as ubber independent and not in need of a man for anything. But last night, I wanted one, I just wanted one around. I kinda know the reason why, I had just watched the Guys and Dolls documentary that has been all over the feminist sites. Guys being with Dolls because it is to hard to be in a relationship so they choose the doll instead and I thought, damn thats me. Its not that I hump a doll, but I am just as scared of relationships as those fellas are. I know the documentary was suppose to get me all pissed off about how wrong and misogenistic the world is, but really the film made me realize that I cant hide from people, relationships, love. So waking up with someone enxt to you is kinda awkward (well I just started laughing this morning when I woke up) and I agree it is overrated and far to many girls are just looking for a warm body to make them feel better about themselves, waking up with some guy next to you means that you can build relationships with people, if only for a night.

Walking on the damn streets

These streets are not my own. I have no right to walk by myself, I have no right to wear tank tops in the summer or let a skirt ripple my skin on a breezy day. I should expect for men to whistle, it must mean they like me. I mean I am intruding on their streets, kings of the castle, these are their moats. The streets are theirs. They run them, rape them and allow me to walk on them when I am a good girl, when I wear my hair down and look like I am asking for it. I think I am always asking for it. You can hate it a little, you can kinda scream and shout, but not too loud, don’t draw attention to yourself, your tits, your words, you’re at risk. Don’t be that woman who swears back, don’t be the girl who talks loud. Just keep walking, on their streets, don’t fight back. Don’t even think about lifting your sword. Cause when your image doesn’t conform to their standards, when you don’t smile back at their “hey baby’s” then you are not signaled down, you are thrown down, by words, risks, bruises, things that leave scars on pavement and drops souls into sewers. But what if. What if we did fight back, what if we held our skirts in fisted hands, and screamed out of painted lips a big “fuck you.” What if we walked down broken streets with flashlights, kicking pieces of patriarchy, and sexism and just followed our own torch. What if we all decided to fight back, what if we decided to stop worrying about passing their inspection, about size 2’s, and fake boobs. What if we stopped trying to erase ourselves by bleaching, bleaching our hair, our skin, bleaching the last traces of what happens to “promiscuous” girls from our bed sheets, our back streets. What if we decided that our cunts are beautiful, are words are beautiful, long breaths of unhierarchical horizontal air is beautiful. What if we could all ban together, like a growing crowd of pedestrians at a street corner, waiting for a long light to turn green. What if we could come together, forget our differences, forgive our history, walk forward to our future. Well maybe then we could walk on the streets, then we could make them our own.