She Said WHAT? : Comment Edition.

stolen from quick meme

stolen from quick meme

Instead of following up on the previous post, I am going to riff on something else.  I wrote some of the follow up but it is not something that needs repeating as anyone in this side of the sphere already knows.  Essentially, it was just me going for a sure shot with a gal I had previously gunned down, however by the end of the night, she was screwing her coke dealer as I had a cigarette.  He was supposed to leave, and I to stay the night.  Shit happens, I guess.  I saw red like I only saw one other time.  I don’t want to give it too much power, and just want to put it behind me.   Higher quality gals is the answer, and I knew better than to be there.

I was turned onto a blog post by Vox Day in this post about a girl riffing on being objectified at a comic-con.  Amazingly, she was baffled by attention she was given for wearing a short skirt.  Supposedly there were comments from both genders on her attire that made her feel uncomfortable.  She even goes so far as to blame it on the patriarchy.  At any rate, the hamster is strong in that one as she does not appreciate, nor feel the comments justified. Being the brazen asshole that I am I took the time to write a knee jerk reaction in the comment section:

“You wore a short skirt with leggings and got comments from both genders, but according to your article, it’s the fault of the patriarchy? I don’t want to seem dense, but if I see someone I find attractive, I look, and even say something to them. I know that sounds crazy but life is too short to ignore a natural attraction. Now, not to cut you down, but I wouldn’t have looked twice at you. Just my natural impulse and desires. However, if you are going to wear something like that you should be expecting commentary. I know quite a few gals who go to cons wearing much less than that and much more revealing, and maybe because they are young and attractive, they know what they are doing. They don’t complain about the attention, they just have their time. You said you felt perfectly safe, then what are you complaining about? Some cats saying you look hot and some j bird gals talking smack? They probably weren’t saying half you thought they said, but it makes a boring story. Congrats, you are 1 in like 4 billion.”

I know it’s not my finest work, however it received such a fantastic comment from “Amy Styles” that I feel like it should be posted here.  As any of my readers know, I have my own experiences with false rape accusations, so obviously this one made me laugh.  Behold, emphasis mine:

“Thank you, really – thank YOU for taking the time to condescend to us lowly women about which ones of us you think is attractive and which ones you don’t because this is THE most important issue I think facing women today – Am I attractive enough for dudes with Leprechaun icons on the internet to stare, judge, and comment on my appearance because of manly “natural impulses?” If you haven’t guessed by now, I am not a woman whom you would ever find attractive (mostly because of my capacity for abstract and independent thought, but also my thighs are fat) and clearly that has left a lot of my days free since I don’t have to worry constantly about what you think and feel about my appearance. I don’t know maybe I should take up knitting.
I think what we all can really learn from you “Rojo” (if that is your real name) when you say ” if you are going to wear something like that” could you provide a list of clothing that a woman could wear that will not invite comment from you? I am terribly interested because I am thinking of starting a clothing shop featuring moderately priced comfortable clothing like the “I-want-to-stand-on-a-subway-platform-and-not-get-groped cardigan” or the “I-hope-my-ankles-aren’t-too-revealing-but-I want-to-be-able-to-run-from-you ballet flat”
Let’s see if you can resist coming back to call me a nasty slur you saw on 9gag while you were trolling the upskirt shots because you clearly have no capacity for understanding or mature discussion about how women are individuals capable of commanding the same respect afforded men.
Congrats you exemplify rape culture.”

The sarcasm is so strong, I don’t feel I really need to comment on this.  But I will.  My feeling is, anyone reading this blog probably knows I love me some abstract thought be from a male or female.  Sadly some of my writing does lean on the bitter side when dealing with the opposite sex, but like a dog that has been on the streets for a while, you learn to look over your shoulder accordingly.  It’s something I am working on and with yet another great post over at 80 Proof Oinomancy, I am reminded about just how guarded I am.  At any rate, let’s look at a few things in this comment.

Aside from her piercing snark and identity fishing, she mostly hones in the fact that I called out the appearance of the author.  I’ve said in the past, I ain’t no spring chicken, but the gal in the photo is not either, and we all judge.  She then goes in on a spree of accusatory-assault-hyphenated-because-it-proves-a-better-point about what kind of clothes are acceptable in order not to be looked at, or in her words, groped.  People are going to look no matter what, and often times that leads to some sort of comment, either to the person next to you, to the person, or to yourself.  When I said I would comment to someone I found attractive, it wasn’t meant to be on their appearance, but I’ve been forcing my introverted self to talk to people more often, so I would say something.

I know when I go out, with some nice fitting jeans, a good shirt on, some comfortable boots and my dope ass corduroy jacket, I am going to get some looks, and maybe even accosted.   A pretty face in a fucking burka is going to get looks, its human nature.  But she doesn’t grasp this at all, not to mention her completely ignoring my comment about some of my girl friends who attend cons. It’s obvious my capacity for understanding is at an intellectual standstill (/sarcasm off) and anyone this side of the sphere knows what kind of respect is afforded common man in this society.  The thing that got me is “I exemplify rape culture.”  That’s far from the truth, seeing, I am abhorred by the atrocious act and have had my own share of false rape accusations.

I have no anecdotal evidence, nor is it really necessary for me to riff on this, but the abundance of this type of thinking still floors me now that I have grown to recognize it.  When the wool was finally pulled from my eyes, what an even more shocking world lay before me.

Also, I don’t know what the fuck 9gag is.  What a dumb cunt.

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Throw Back Thursday: A Bit of My Story

I don’t really know what I do when I am blinded by the bottle, or the pipe, or both.  Often times I think I just drool on my self while petting my dog.  At any rate, last night, somehow, I found myself on my computer posting on this post at 80 Proof Oinomancy.  I didn’t understand the post last night, and could only muster enough motor skills to post my distaste of the song.  I actually never really listened to Led Zepplin, I skipped the 70’s aside from Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea, but the post itself is a well written piece on darkness that permeates the brain.  I can fully relate.  I said I’d post some shit that I’ve been stewing on, and here it is.  

I wasn’t very sexually active as a young kid / teenager.  There were girlfriends, and what not, but never to the point of intercourse.  I wasn’t a eunuch, girls fascinated me but something kept me from going “all the way.” Being raised as a catholic from a private catholic school, I had my ideal of how I would lose my virginity.  I think that was part of it.  I always envisioned some euphoric bonding between me and my virgin queen, and we would make sweet love, enamored by each other.  Nice movie right? That’s not how it went down.

Someone taught me a power chord in 7th grade, and from then on (I also played classical piano) it was all about the punk rock.  I started a band, and we played pop anthems at a high tempo.  It was juvenile and delightful.  A lot of fun.  This drew attention to me even though I was a waif like nobody.  When I was 16, shortly after cutting our first demo, of which I was extremely proud, a punk chick three years my elder took a liking to me.  She was your typical crust punk and she was very aggressive.  She had her own apartment, she liked to drink, and she gave me my first blow job.  However, I told her, I was not going to have sex with her (I know, shitty double standard) because of my idyllic fantasy pop a cherry as I broke my seal.  Plus she had banged 5 other guys, and blown who knows how many others.

On Valentines day, we had gone to a party, she was pissed because it was filled with high school kids, and a number of the girls were flirting with me.  We went back to her place, where I was going to spend the night and she asked what I wanted.  Of course I wanted that glorious blow job so she got to work.  I closed my eyes and sunk into licentious pleasure.  However, when I opened them, she was on top of me, riding my man hose.  She saw the look on my face, slowed her pace, and said “Don’t be sad, I’ll still call you virgo the virgin.”  I’m not a fucking virgo.  I flipped her over and went to town, cherry popped, fantasy over, I was tainted.  All while Morrissey moaned in the background. I fucking hate Morrisey.

She seemed to lose interest shortly thereafter.  Or well, her sexual interest seemed to decline.  She moved to a new apartment, I think she might have had a roommate, I can’t recall, though all the smells, feels, sights of that period are pretty fucking clear.  I went to her place one day, and caught her shagging some crust punk from Berkeley.   It was the worst feeling.  That doesn’t do justice to the feeling of shame and betrayal I felt at that moment, but I’ll let your imaginations run with it.  On top of that, I felt like I could argue some sense into her, returning later that day to hash some shit out.  Instead, my douche bag, name dropping, bass player was there, and she postured the question, “Well Douche bag bass player, who would you rather be friends with, Rojo or me?”

He did not answer with my name.

At that point I had no where to turn. I couldn’t talk to my family, they would just say “I told you so.”  And my friends could never understand.  We were all outliers and barely socially acclimated.   So I did what any depressed teenager would do in a situation like that, I carved “No Love.” into my abdomen and knuckles.  The only person to ask about that was my English teacher.  His response was “maybe that will change.”  This chick really got to me, and she went as far as to threaten a future Ms. California, who would ask my younger brother if she could carry my books (because she was into me) and scare her off from ever talking to me for the rest of our high school bullshit, and she was fucking banging.

What I felt back then was a huge sense of anger, more than the typical “Me against the World” shit a teen feels.  Or I assume a teen feels.  I was an angry cat, but this was way bigger than I ever knew, but underneath it, was a huge sadness.  I’d like to say it tainted every interaction I had with girls from then on out, but the truth is, after I hit rock bottom and got clean off of crank (different story, and not started until years later), I was at square zero with no self esteem.  Thus, I almost forgot how much that shit hurt.  I really didn’t want to write this post, but I think I needed to get it off my chest.