God bless you, sweetheart.
— Nicest catcall I’ve gotten in awhile
God bless you, sweetheart.
— Nicest catcall I’ve gotten in awhile
First, he came for our Four Loko, and we said nothing. Then, he came for powdered alcohol. Now, New York Senator Chuck Schumer is coming for Phrosties, the clandestine alcoholic slushy delivery service that has taken off across the five boroughs over the past few months.
“A 12-year-old can probably buy these ‘sloshies’ online, get it, and enjoy it because it’s filled with fruit juice and fruit punch and all the things that taste sweet and nice,” Schumer said at a press conference Monday. “A few weeks ago, I talked about powdered alcohol. I’m making an effort to prevent that from being sold. I would like to see the same thing happen to these ‘sloshies’” if they’re not regulated.
The remarks, coupled with the news that the New York State Liquor Authority is investigating the “unregulated and unlicensed” slushy merchants, has scared the creators of Phrostie out of business, or at least driven them deeper underground. By Tuesday, thePhrostie Instagram account had been scrubbed clean, its delivery contact details replaced by the warning “WE DO NOT DELIVER.” After that, my texts to the previously listed phone numbers went unanswered, until Wednesday night, when I got a reply from the Brooklyn delivery service saying that if I wanted any more Phrosties, I would have to order “ASAP.”
Twenty minutes later, a delivery guy showed up and handed me a black grocery bag full of slushies. “That’s it for the Phrosties,” he sighed. The service, he explained, was selling the last of its inventory and closing up shop, thanks to “Schumer and the regulations, I guess.”
Dammit. I was only able to enjoy Phrosties only once, and they were delicious in a perfectly alcoholic way, and that was a month ago and it wasn’t even really summer yet and it’s already over. Why must you take everything we love?
“The rape joke is that you were 19 years old,” the poem begins. “The rape joke is that he was your boyfriend.” And then the poem complicates itself — with a joke:
The rape joke it wore a goatee. A goatee.
Imagine a rape joke looking in the mirror, perfectly reflecting back itself, and grooming itself to look more like a rape joke. “Ahhh,” it thinks. “Yes. A goatee.”
It’s been a couple of years since I last worked at CNN, but this view is as fabulous as ever. Not a bad way to eat lunch.
Seems appropriate right about now
"In the days following a violent rampage in southern California in which a lone attacker killed seven individuals, including himself, and seriously injured over a dozen others, citizens living in the only country where this kind of mass killing routinely occurs reportedly concluded Tuesday that there was no way to prevent the massacre from taking place.
“This was a terrible tragedy, but sometimes these things just happen and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop them,” said North Carolina resident Samuel Wipper, echoing sentiments expressed by tens of millions of individuals who reside in a nation where over half of the world’s deadliest mass shootings have occurred in the past 50 years and whose citizens are 20 times more likely to die of gun violence than those of other developed nations.
“It’s a shame, but what can we do? There really wasn’t anything that was going to keep this guy from snapping and killing a lot of people if that’s what he really wanted.” At press time, residents of the only economically advanced nation in the world where roughly two mass shootings have occurred every month for the past five years were referring to themselves and their situation as “helpless.””
More than satire from The Onion
I just remembered that on Sunday night I saw Vanessa Bayer walking on St. Mark’s and I was tipsy so I touched her arm as I passed by and said “I love you!” and she turned and smiled and said “Thank you!” and that was that.
[This is something I’ve had saved in my drafts for a couple of months. In light of #YesAllWomen I am just going to post it, even though it gives me heart palpitations to do so. I’d only told two people about the guy who sexually harassed me at work before tweeting about it the other day. I go into a little more detail about it below. I don’t know. I am so tired of living in fear, and so tired knowing that’s how I will have to live my whole life. My daughters too. I encourage everyone to read #YesAllWomen, #YesAllWhiteWomen and #CisGaze on twitter. Lots of illuminating, informative and heartbreaking commentary there.]
When I was in my early 20s I was sexually harassed by a co-worker. I was a feminist and a women’s studies major and had volunteered for a sexual assault response line, and yet when my co-worker commented on my breasts, when he started touching my back inappropriately at work and offering massages and talking about my breasts again and how they looked good in that shirt I was wearing and how I could pull off one of those pointy Madonna bras, I completely shut down. I didn’t report it to HR, even though I knew and liked our kind, quiet generalist. I didn’t tell my boss, who was a woman I admired. I didn’t tell my boyfriend, not for two years, not until we were two bottles deep at a wine bar and it all came up hot and fast like vomit.
I quit that job. It’s been almost ten years. I think about the harassment almost every day, and the shame I still feel over not telling anyone.
I know now why I didn’t tell anyone: I thought people would not believe me. I thought they’d be mad at me. We were all friends, my co-workers and I and him and I thought they’d think I was making it all up, misreading things, imagining stuff that wasn’t really there. He use to come up to me at my desk, in plain view of everyone, and do these things. I use to think I was crazy. How was no one else seeing this? And how was he not doing this to anyone else (or maybe he was?)? Why did he pick me?
And even worse: Why was I letting him? Why didn’t I tell?
When I was in fifth grade my best friend and I wrote a letter to our elementary school principal because we felt our gym teacher was sexist. He only ever picked boys to demonstrate athletic moves, treating them like experts when the girls were just as physically gifted. We delivered it to the principal, who promised not to name us to the gym teacher. But then a few days later the teacher ranted furiously about our letter in class and pulled us aside after, and was offended and rude and belittling. So maybe that is why I kept my mouth shut again, years later. Because we learn at a young age that when girls tell, we get in trouble.
I did say something to that guy at work once. He came over to my desk, and put his hands on my back like he always did. It would make my entire body burn and my stomach would rocket around my insides and my heart would pound. God I fucking hated it. It made me sick to my stomach. And so that time I said “Stop it. I don’t like that.” And boy, did that scare the shit out of him. He immediately began apologizing and talking about how he had kids and a wife, like that somehow meant that his actions weren’t completely creepy and wrong. That was the moment I realized my harasser was a coward.
When I was in college there was a 3-mile loop everyone would run along the road, and every time I was out there huffing along I would get honked at and cat-called, even in the dead of winter in Maine. My male friends looked at me with open-mouthed disbelief when I told them about it. They ran the same route and never heard a peep.
Yesterday the same thing happened while I ran around the Silver Lake reservoir.
Recently my husband forwarded me an email from an elderly neighbor. It was one of those list of safety tips that 80-year-old alarmists send - don’t park next to vans at the mall, etc etc. My husband thought it was hilarious and insane, which it was, I guess. “But,” I said to him, “I do a lot of these things all the time.”
I wrote a list on my phone recently, of all the times I’ve been touched, followed, hollered at, screamed at, threatened and chased by men. All the penises I’ve been shown without giving permission. It is overwhelming to look at. One woman’s life, as told through sexual harassment. I thought about listing it all out here; I saw Maureen Johnson do something similar recently and it felt empowering and depressing to read. I thought about writing out each experience in detail, but honestly I don’t know if I have the energy.
Just know that one time a man followed me on a beautiful sunny morning and tried to pull me behind a building on the University of Cape Town campus while I was carrying a bunch of library books, and so I dropped the books and ran. One time I was kayaking with my friend Susan on the Charles River and we paddled under a pantless man standing on a bridge above us jerking off and shouting. One time I took a walk through New York City a few months before we moved to LA and guys in a giant SUV circled by me a few times yelling and then followed me down a side street before they drove away. Once in high school a guy I met in DC at a National Young Leaders Conference starting sending me harassing emails and would call my house relentlessly and kept threatening to come over to where I lived so I called the cops and they looked at me like I was crazy. Once a man screamed “cunt” at me over and again at a subway station and followed me and the other people on the platform just stood around and watched. Once a guy sitting next to me on the subway groped my thigh while covering his body/my leg with a giant coat and pretending to sleep. Once a man flashed his balls at me through his shorts and then got off the train hiding a huge erection behind a gym bag. Once a guy said “smile” to me on 7th Avenue and when I told him to fuck off he followed me down the street, screaming at me and calling me a bitch.
One time in college my best friend and I were walking to our dorm at night, and a car kept circling by us over and over again. Terrified and certain that something bad was about to happen to us, we took off sprinting. We made it to our dorm out of breath and terrified, and the car pulled up next to us. I felt a wave of vomit spill over me. This was it. The bad thing I’d feared and dreaded my whole life was finally here.
The car door opened, and a delivery guy got out with a couple of pizzas.
How very deeply I identify with this. How very deeply every woman does.
We’re collecting stories of violence inflicted on women who reject sexual advances. Share yours…
You can scroll through this blog endlessly, and that’s the terrible truth of how often women are harmed just for saying no. Every day.