I used to be a ho when I was 12. At least, that's what the boys called me. I was always overtly sexual, and I think playing a big game of spin-the-bottle at camp provoked it. An older boy who I'd never talked to started calling
me a ho as a "joke." I wrote in my diary, with hopefully
intended irony: "How could I be a ho? I'm a nice Jewish girl."
Despite being a ho in middle school, I never actually did anything sexual with boys, which meant that in high school I was officially a "tease." While I talked about my vagina all the
time, I didn't actually share it with others. One male friend used to
call me a nun. Since it was high school, I was oblivious to the fact
that nobody should be judging me or my sexuality, but hey! It was the
style at the time. So many hormones rushing
through my veins, but I was smart enough to not try hooking up with
boys my age because they sucked. Not a bad choice, teenage me!
In college I was neither a ho nor a prude, because I was someone else's property-- I had a boyfriend. It was quite clear that sexual activity was expected and condoned in that context.
So what I am? Virgin, whore, or possession? Just being a person with sexual agency is out of the question! The virgin/whore dichotomy says that women are either whores or
virgins, although it's not clear which is preferable. Virgins are valued
because they are pure and innocent and if you have a penis and you
stick it in, then you win. (I'm still unclear on the details.) However,
virgins are so selfish, right? It's like they are there all virginal and
stuff, and they like, won't even have sex with you. What gives? On the
other hand, it's about the same for whores: reviled for all the dicks
that have tainted the purity of their formerly-pristine vaginal cavities
(although my dance teacher says vaginas are like self-cleaning ovens,
so...), but valued for all the sexy sex that they can sex you up with.
Perhaps you're thinking, "Well, I'm neither a virgin nor a whore; I'm an
adult with a sex life that satisfies my needs and I don't think anyone
needs to put a label on my complex sexuality and being." OK, but that's
not how this works.
This schema is played out again and again in American culture. We have the idea of "a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets"-- a woman who is an inoffensive virgin to the world, but a whore for you. In middle school I must have been a "freak in the sheets" because I was openly interested in sexual experiences, despite the fact that I barely had any sexual experience and was an actual virgin. In high school I was a "lady in the streets" because, while I talked a big talk, I'd (still) never really done much sexually. Then, of course, I reached the sweet spot in college, when I was sexually off limits to everyone except my partner, with whom I could let my freak flag fly. Even though I'm aware of this pattern/trap, it's hard to escape because the message is constant.
Take Usher's "I Don't Mind." He says: "If you dance on a pole, that
don't make you a ho. Shawty, I don't mind if you work until 3 if you
leaving with me.... you can take your clothes off, as long as you're
coming home." Meaning: You can be an actual sex worker, but I will still
consider you a virgin (and not a whore) as long as you're monogamous
with me. I'm all about the pro-sex worker attitude here, but it's still
coming from this virgin/whore perspective. Would Usher want to be in an open relationship with a sex worker, or are sex workers only acceptable partners if they're monogamous with you? Or are sex workers only OK to have sex with if you don't get attached to them, since they can never be "a lady in the streets?" The bigger questions is: can women (virgins, hos, and sex workers alike) ever have agency over their own sexuality without being labeled a virgin, a whore, or property?
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
"It'll be just like you were never gone."
Seeing The Matches again after 5 years was one of the greatest weeks of my life! They first played a "secret" show, which they were wont to do back in the day. The venue they picked was in the building across the parking lot from iMusicast, where all of this started. (iMusicast folded.) I immediately started running into friends, including some I hadn't seen in 7 or more years. And I mean that literally: seeing people and running into their arms. Everyone felt weird but really happy.
I cannot describe the level of euphoria I (and I think everyone) felt as soon as The Matches started playing. Besides that the fans were reunited, and besides that it's our favorite music, and besides that it'd been a long time, The Matches' joy was infectious. They were obviously just as happy to be back as we were, which made us even happier. This is what people mean when they talk about "the energy" of a band.
I didn't know if I'd be able to mosh in a long skirt, I didn't know if I'd be able to mosh now that I'm in my late 20's, I didn't know if I'd have that feeling of absolutely losing your shit to some music. I could! I did! We all did! We sang, we danced, we hugged, we smiled until our faces hurt.
For that whole week, the L3ers were tagging each other in pictures, videos, and emotional facebook posts. So even when were weren't physically at the venues, we got washed in a bath of constant love online. Did that sound sexual? Sorry. Seeing them two more times was amazing; I didn't feel tired of my friends, of the music, or of moshing. The Matches mosh pit is my happy place.
The Matches mean a lot to their fans, and many of them have personal stories about how their music got them through hard times. Indeed, The Matches' music got me to face one of my greatest fears. While everyone was looking forward to the reunion with eager anticipation, I was growing increasingly anxious. Standing stage right at the first show was my own, personal rapist.
And I. Did. Not. Care.
Nothing could stop me from being happy in those moments. I saw my own rapist and laughed. I saw him again when I left the venue on Thursday: he was sitting alone on his motorcycle outside the club, looking at his phone. I was with my sister, soaking in a sweat cocktail. On Saturday, my friends called me over to join their picture, and he was right there talking to someone (though not invited to the picture.) It gives me comfort knowing that my friends and others know what he is. I'm glad I haven't been carrying this around inside me for the past six years. These L3ers who moshed with me and posted photos with sappy captions with me-- these are the people who believed me and supported me the most. Music carrying one through dark times: live in action!
I don't think it's possible to understand The Matches fans' ardor unless you were there. For those who already bleed audio, here's a memento:
Video courtesy of BxB. (See if you can spot You-Know-Who!)
I cannot describe the level of euphoria I (and I think everyone) felt as soon as The Matches started playing. Besides that the fans were reunited, and besides that it's our favorite music, and besides that it'd been a long time, The Matches' joy was infectious. They were obviously just as happy to be back as we were, which made us even happier. This is what people mean when they talk about "the energy" of a band.
I didn't know if I'd be able to mosh in a long skirt, I didn't know if I'd be able to mosh now that I'm in my late 20's, I didn't know if I'd have that feeling of absolutely losing your shit to some music. I could! I did! We all did! We sang, we danced, we hugged, we smiled until our faces hurt.
For that whole week, the L3ers were tagging each other in pictures, videos, and emotional facebook posts. So even when were weren't physically at the venues, we got washed in a bath of constant love online. Did that sound sexual? Sorry. Seeing them two more times was amazing; I didn't feel tired of my friends, of the music, or of moshing. The Matches mosh pit is my happy place.
The Matches mean a lot to their fans, and many of them have personal stories about how their music got them through hard times. Indeed, The Matches' music got me to face one of my greatest fears. While everyone was looking forward to the reunion with eager anticipation, I was growing increasingly anxious. Standing stage right at the first show was my own, personal rapist.
And I. Did. Not. Care.
Nothing could stop me from being happy in those moments. I saw my own rapist and laughed. I saw him again when I left the venue on Thursday: he was sitting alone on his motorcycle outside the club, looking at his phone. I was with my sister, soaking in a sweat cocktail. On Saturday, my friends called me over to join their picture, and he was right there talking to someone (though not invited to the picture.) It gives me comfort knowing that my friends and others know what he is. I'm glad I haven't been carrying this around inside me for the past six years. These L3ers who moshed with me and posted photos with sappy captions with me-- these are the people who believed me and supported me the most. Music carrying one through dark times: live in action!
I don't think it's possible to understand The Matches fans' ardor unless you were there. For those who already bleed audio, here's a memento:
Video courtesy of BxB. (See if you can spot You-Know-Who!)
Thursday, December 11, 2014
but getting raped still sucks some of the time (part III of the Rape Chronicles)
I saw the Matches 38 times from 2002 to their last show in 2009. Those were formative years-- part of high school, college, and the beginning of my adult life. In fact, I consider the last Matches show the last day of my childhood-- I had just started two jobs, paying my own rent, and going to school again. Once they went on hiatus, I didn't know if I'd ever have that feeling of completely losing my shit to a band again. I've written about them before , as have many others. It was so sad when they broke up. They sold out the Fillmore (capacity 1150).
You can imagine my joy when they announced this summer that they'd be playing a show in November. Even five years after The Matches broke up, I was still friends with many people from shows. Everyone was so excited, posting pictures and status updates with a lot of exclamation points. I had about 30 seconds of that before I realized I'd probably have to see my rapist. Instead of the unadulterated joy that my friends were experiencing, I was just ambivalent. One show turned into 3 in a row, which for me also meant another chance (one show was on Shabbat) to come face to face with the creature who felt like my "no, do not put your sex organ into my body" wasn't worth listening to. I had six months to see how it would turn out: would I scream at him and then weep in my car for 30 minutes like last time? Would I get drunk and physically assault him? Would I assault him while completely sober? Would that make me miss part of the show? Would my friends help me? Does this mean I have to tell my 18 year old sister that I'd been raped? I got to stew in these questions for half a year. Yay.
My dreams have changed in the past year. Not dreams as in goals, but dreams as in sleeping. I used to have dreams that someone was after me and was going to rape me (these predate the actual assault, which did not involve any chasing.) Now when there's a rapist in my dream, I beat the shit out of him! I've never gotten into a fight in my life. No one gets hurt from these attacks, but I also don't get raped, which is nice, and I'm able to continue my dreaming free of fear. I had dreams of kicking Rob's ass, and also of seeing him and feeling nothing. I tried to hold onto that feeling.
Despite my best attempts to fortify myself, I wanted to feel safe at these shows. I felt I needed to do something, rather than passively take whatever comes. My friends, however, were not on board. One friend advised me: "Don't anticipate something bad happening, then you'll just have anxiety the whole show. Surround yourself with friends and you won't interact with him. It's gonna be fun!" A very zen stance to take, and one I wish this friend would take in her own personal issues, but I digress. Another friend said there was nothing I could do about it so there's no use worrying. I'd say that's a good attitude to take when waiting to get back a paper or to see if that one guy texts you back. But being viscerally, face-to-face reminded that there exists a person who thinks my body was created for the sake of his wiener is different. Being reminded that while I've had to live the past 6 years (happy rapiversary to me!) as a rape victim who hates touching people, he's gotten to continue his life, doing what he normally does with his dick-- that's something different. It was an isolating feeling.
I reached out to a new friend who had also been raped, and she was solid. She understood where I was coming from and was not dismissive. She also helped talk me down. Should I contact the core group of fans and tell them what happened? Should I contact the rapist himself? Should I contact his friend in the band? Can I take out a restraining order? We came up with priorities.
First, I contacted one of the guys in the band, who I'd become friends previous to getting raped by his best friend. I didn't even know if they were still friends. I asked him if Rob would be at the shows. He wouldn't answer that questions, he suggested we all "act like adults," and he said he didn't believe me. Sorry if that was harsh, he said. He also said he hadn't heard my side of the story. I'd offered to tell him what happened at the time, but he said he didn't remember that. He suggested we get coffee after the tours. Sheesh. On the one hand, fuck him for not believing me. On the other hand, it's curious that he hasn't written me off completely and wants to hear what I have to say. On the other...foot, um, I don't want to lose The Matches. I love their music, I love the band members, I love what being an L3er meant, I love that we're still connected after all these years. I didn't want to lose all of that because one member of the band -- who is otherwise a great guy -- has a weird soft spot for a creepy dude accused of rape who literally everyone else hates. Talking to Band Guy did not help.
So I talked to Rob. I was hoping to avoid it coming down to that, but I needed him to stay the fuck away from me in order for me to feel safe. I didn't want to be hiding from him, keeping my eyes on fixed spots to avoid accidentally seeing him. That should be his job. Here's our conversation. His response reminds me of Jian Ghomeshi's faux-anguished facebook post when his shit hit the fan.
Me: Hello, rapist. The day after raping me you offered to not go to any more Matches shows. I declined that offer because I wanted to avoid drama and wanted to forget about everything. It was the day after getting raped and I was confused about what to do. A year later, I saw you at a concert and told you to stay the fuck away from me, to which you said “OK.” I’m taking back my initial leniency and taking you up on your original offer. I’m going to all of the shows here except on Friday. I expect you to stay the fuck away from me.
Rapist [with commentary from yours truly]: You know damn well I never raped you, and I will not allow you to slander me anymore just so you can get more attention. It's sick the way you seem to feel okay turning a momentary misunderstanding ["no" could mean so many things!] into a justification to hurt me so much [who's the real victim here??]. Your baseless accusations already costed [sic] me my career as a teacher, and apparently that wasn't enough for you. You know I never deserved any of this. [That's hilarious and amazing considering he "taught" at his mom's daycare center. Did she hear about this? I used to fantasize about telling her, imagining our solidarity as women would override her maternal love. Maybe dreams CAN come true!]
I never intended you any hard. I really liked you, [redacted]. [Why are you doing this to me? *sob*] And I thought you'd given me consent. I thorught we were both having *fun* with kink/BDSM. [We were not doing any kind of kind or BDSM at the time of the rape. The kink/BDSM we did was all consensual.] We'd both talked about wanting to do what you now claim you never wanted.[We specifically had a conversation about me not wanting to have sex with him, which made him angry. At no point did we discuss an interest in anal sex.] As soon as you made clear that you didn't want to keep playing, it was over. [Again, we weren't "playing," and I was the one who got up and ended it when I realized what he was doing. He had already ignored my two no's, or as he would have it, "misunderstood."] I realize you must be hurt, and I really do feel genuine sympathy for you, but I can no longer take the blame for how you feel. [You got raped but I didn't do it!] I don't think it's really me you're mad at. [You probably have some deep-seated psychological issues which you're taking out on me for reasons unknown.] Everyone I know of who has ever met or seen or known you only sees you as an attention-seeking drama queen because of this. [Maybe taking a shot at her self-esteem will work? If I may: while I certainly ran around like a crazy person at shows when I was 17-20, I never hooked up with any band guys or tried to (there was one guy who was technically in a band who I hooked up with when I was 18, but I hadn't seen his band yet, and that's not why I wanted to hook up with him), I never got into drama with anyone, no fights, no drugs or drinking, no imagined romantic relationships (quite common!) I went to shows, sang and danced/moshed, hugged band guys, got home by 12:30. Also, everyone I've talked to who knows him was not surprised.] You're embarrassing yourself. If you want to press charges, go for it. (I'd LOVE a chance to clear my name once and for all, and recoup some of the expenses for the hell you've given me.) But you don't get to just make this sort of accusation without repercussions. If you attempt to slander me further, I will absolutely file a restraining order and take you to court. [You can't file a restraining order for someone "slandering" you. I like how he switches to threats here after starting off the paragraph going for sympathy.]
And, of course I will be at the shows. They're my good friends [the other 3 hate him, according to another band member's sister (and also everyone else)] and my best friend. Not to mention the fact that they're my former employers [I'M VERY IMPORTANT], and I'm working those shows. I have far more of a right to be there than you ever had. [I'm powerful and you're not!] You're essentially planning on showing up to my work to tell me I can't be there. [Seems unlikely that the Matches would be paying him this time around, but OK.] Pretty strange behavior for a supposed rape victim. [LOL] This is a momentous occasion for so many people. Please don't make it all about you. [Why won't you just sit down and be quiet?] If you feel you have to go, please do. Enjoy yourself. But if you don't know off the bullshit, you are going to end up in serious legal trouble. [More threats.]
I hope you find whatever it is that you need in order to heal from this. [See how nice and therefor not-rapey I am?] I regret having taken any part in a situation that led to you being hurt. Please seek help. If I can do anything for you (aside from avoiding Matches reunion shows), please don't hesitate to ask.
I love how he took every angle on this one- sympathy, anger, threats, concern, belittling/self-aggrandizing. It made me sick to read it, and it's making me feel ill writing about it again. But, can anyone read that and not feel creeped out? I think my creep-detector is way more sensitive than other people's (I've learned from experience!), but this raised so many red flags. I'd love to not be a rape victim. But, alas.
The Matches added a "secret" show on Wednesday night, across the parking lot from iMusicast, where it all started. I had dinner with a friend, and I didn't want to start the car afterwards. But I did. We got to the show, and I didn't want to get out of the car for half an hour. But I did. The battle between excitement and dread was still playing out in my head.
You can imagine my joy when they announced this summer that they'd be playing a show in November. Even five years after The Matches broke up, I was still friends with many people from shows. Everyone was so excited, posting pictures and status updates with a lot of exclamation points. I had about 30 seconds of that before I realized I'd probably have to see my rapist. Instead of the unadulterated joy that my friends were experiencing, I was just ambivalent. One show turned into 3 in a row, which for me also meant another chance (one show was on Shabbat) to come face to face with the creature who felt like my "no, do not put your sex organ into my body" wasn't worth listening to. I had six months to see how it would turn out: would I scream at him and then weep in my car for 30 minutes like last time? Would I get drunk and physically assault him? Would I assault him while completely sober? Would that make me miss part of the show? Would my friends help me? Does this mean I have to tell my 18 year old sister that I'd been raped? I got to stew in these questions for half a year. Yay.
My dreams have changed in the past year. Not dreams as in goals, but dreams as in sleeping. I used to have dreams that someone was after me and was going to rape me (these predate the actual assault, which did not involve any chasing.) Now when there's a rapist in my dream, I beat the shit out of him! I've never gotten into a fight in my life. No one gets hurt from these attacks, but I also don't get raped, which is nice, and I'm able to continue my dreaming free of fear. I had dreams of kicking Rob's ass, and also of seeing him and feeling nothing. I tried to hold onto that feeling.
Despite my best attempts to fortify myself, I wanted to feel safe at these shows. I felt I needed to do something, rather than passively take whatever comes. My friends, however, were not on board. One friend advised me: "Don't anticipate something bad happening, then you'll just have anxiety the whole show. Surround yourself with friends and you won't interact with him. It's gonna be fun!" A very zen stance to take, and one I wish this friend would take in her own personal issues, but I digress. Another friend said there was nothing I could do about it so there's no use worrying. I'd say that's a good attitude to take when waiting to get back a paper or to see if that one guy texts you back. But being viscerally, face-to-face reminded that there exists a person who thinks my body was created for the sake of his wiener is different. Being reminded that while I've had to live the past 6 years (happy rapiversary to me!) as a rape victim who hates touching people, he's gotten to continue his life, doing what he normally does with his dick-- that's something different. It was an isolating feeling.
I reached out to a new friend who had also been raped, and she was solid. She understood where I was coming from and was not dismissive. She also helped talk me down. Should I contact the core group of fans and tell them what happened? Should I contact the rapist himself? Should I contact his friend in the band? Can I take out a restraining order? We came up with priorities.
First, I contacted one of the guys in the band, who I'd become friends previous to getting raped by his best friend. I didn't even know if they were still friends. I asked him if Rob would be at the shows. He wouldn't answer that questions, he suggested we all "act like adults," and he said he didn't believe me. Sorry if that was harsh, he said. He also said he hadn't heard my side of the story. I'd offered to tell him what happened at the time, but he said he didn't remember that. He suggested we get coffee after the tours. Sheesh. On the one hand, fuck him for not believing me. On the other hand, it's curious that he hasn't written me off completely and wants to hear what I have to say. On the other...foot, um, I don't want to lose The Matches. I love their music, I love the band members, I love what being an L3er meant, I love that we're still connected after all these years. I didn't want to lose all of that because one member of the band -- who is otherwise a great guy -- has a weird soft spot for a creepy dude accused of rape who literally everyone else hates. Talking to Band Guy did not help.
So I talked to Rob. I was hoping to avoid it coming down to that, but I needed him to stay the fuck away from me in order for me to feel safe. I didn't want to be hiding from him, keeping my eyes on fixed spots to avoid accidentally seeing him. That should be his job. Here's our conversation. His response reminds me of Jian Ghomeshi's faux-anguished facebook post when his shit hit the fan.
Me: Hello, rapist. The day after raping me you offered to not go to any more Matches shows. I declined that offer because I wanted to avoid drama and wanted to forget about everything. It was the day after getting raped and I was confused about what to do. A year later, I saw you at a concert and told you to stay the fuck away from me, to which you said “OK.” I’m taking back my initial leniency and taking you up on your original offer. I’m going to all of the shows here except on Friday. I expect you to stay the fuck away from me.
Rapist [with commentary from yours truly]: You know damn well I never raped you, and I will not allow you to slander me anymore just so you can get more attention. It's sick the way you seem to feel okay turning a momentary misunderstanding ["no" could mean so many things!] into a justification to hurt me so much [who's the real victim here??]. Your baseless accusations already costed [sic] me my career as a teacher, and apparently that wasn't enough for you. You know I never deserved any of this. [That's hilarious and amazing considering he "taught" at his mom's daycare center. Did she hear about this? I used to fantasize about telling her, imagining our solidarity as women would override her maternal love. Maybe dreams CAN come true!]
I never intended you any hard. I really liked you, [redacted]. [Why are you doing this to me? *sob*] And I thought you'd given me consent. I thorught we were both having *fun* with kink/BDSM. [We were not doing any kind of kind or BDSM at the time of the rape. The kink/BDSM we did was all consensual.] We'd both talked about wanting to do what you now claim you never wanted.[We specifically had a conversation about me not wanting to have sex with him, which made him angry. At no point did we discuss an interest in anal sex.] As soon as you made clear that you didn't want to keep playing, it was over. [Again, we weren't "playing," and I was the one who got up and ended it when I realized what he was doing. He had already ignored my two no's, or as he would have it, "misunderstood."] I realize you must be hurt, and I really do feel genuine sympathy for you, but I can no longer take the blame for how you feel. [You got raped but I didn't do it!] I don't think it's really me you're mad at. [You probably have some deep-seated psychological issues which you're taking out on me for reasons unknown.] Everyone I know of who has ever met or seen or known you only sees you as an attention-seeking drama queen because of this. [Maybe taking a shot at her self-esteem will work? If I may: while I certainly ran around like a crazy person at shows when I was 17-20, I never hooked up with any band guys or tried to (there was one guy who was technically in a band who I hooked up with when I was 18, but I hadn't seen his band yet, and that's not why I wanted to hook up with him), I never got into drama with anyone, no fights, no drugs or drinking, no imagined romantic relationships (quite common!) I went to shows, sang and danced/moshed, hugged band guys, got home by 12:30. Also, everyone I've talked to who knows him was not surprised.] You're embarrassing yourself. If you want to press charges, go for it. (I'd LOVE a chance to clear my name once and for all, and recoup some of the expenses for the hell you've given me.) But you don't get to just make this sort of accusation without repercussions. If you attempt to slander me further, I will absolutely file a restraining order and take you to court. [You can't file a restraining order for someone "slandering" you. I like how he switches to threats here after starting off the paragraph going for sympathy.]
And, of course I will be at the shows. They're my good friends [the other 3 hate him, according to another band member's sister (and also everyone else)] and my best friend. Not to mention the fact that they're my former employers [I'M VERY IMPORTANT], and I'm working those shows. I have far more of a right to be there than you ever had. [I'm powerful and you're not!] You're essentially planning on showing up to my work to tell me I can't be there. [Seems unlikely that the Matches would be paying him this time around, but OK.] Pretty strange behavior for a supposed rape victim. [LOL] This is a momentous occasion for so many people. Please don't make it all about you. [Why won't you just sit down and be quiet?] If you feel you have to go, please do. Enjoy yourself. But if you don't know off the bullshit, you are going to end up in serious legal trouble. [More threats.]
I hope you find whatever it is that you need in order to heal from this. [See how nice and therefor not-rapey I am?] I regret having taken any part in a situation that led to you being hurt. Please seek help. If I can do anything for you (aside from avoiding Matches reunion shows), please don't hesitate to ask.
I love how he took every angle on this one- sympathy, anger, threats, concern, belittling/self-aggrandizing. It made me sick to read it, and it's making me feel ill writing about it again. But, can anyone read that and not feel creeped out? I think my creep-detector is way more sensitive than other people's (I've learned from experience!), but this raised so many red flags. I'd love to not be a rape victim. But, alas.
The Matches added a "secret" show on Wednesday night, across the parking lot from iMusicast, where it all started. I had dinner with a friend, and I didn't want to start the car afterwards. But I did. We got to the show, and I didn't want to get out of the car for half an hour. But I did. The battle between excitement and dread was still playing out in my head.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
In Which I Go Back in Time and Slap Myself
I've been dating.
I try to keep an open mind, but I also don't want to put up with bullshit.
It's a fine line.
One thing that I can't handle is flattery. I'm not talking about some kind of fake (or real) modesty, insecurity, or a dislike of receiving compliments. I'm talking about:
-false compliments (i.e. "You look sexy" when you just got back from the gym and your booty crack is sweating through your pants.)
-gazing (looking at a woman like she's magic, especially if she doesn't think you're magic.)
-superfluous compliments ("You're really smart" when you are actually smart, but you didn't say anything smart enough to warrant that assessment.)
-over-dramatic moments of affection or admiration (see gazing)
However, I did not always feel this way. A mere 6 years ago I wrote a blog (my second one ever- it was waiting a while to be written) about how flattery (though I didn't use that word) creates confidence, which leads to fun nakedness, essentially. It now seems like a how-to guide for douche bags.
Unfortunately, flattery no longer inspires confidence in me. It creeps me out. It makes me feel like someone is trying to manipulate me. And, doubly-unfortunately, manipulation was the #1 favorite tool of the dude who raped me. I bring that up not in a I-was-raped-and-therefore-traumatized way, but in a this-is-the-behavior-of-a-rapist way. Some guys who flattered me did not engage in any non-consensual sexual acts with me, and I was happy that someone put in the effort to make me feel attractive. Rob, on the other hand, definitely used flattery as a way to gain my trust and make me think that he respected me-- and therefore my body and my limits.
I cannot believe that at one point in my life I did not recognize flattery as manipulation. I had a lot of fun fooling around with various dudes; it was super validating of my idea of myself as sexually potent and desirable. I thought rapists would be douchey and aggressive and were probably hiding in bushes. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they are (seemingly) sweet, gentle, charming people who you know. I want to go back in time and slap myself for my naivete.
But that brings up other problems:
1) Why should I slap myself? I should go back in time and punch HIM! No victim blaming, thank you.
2) Could I handle the fact that some apparently sweet dudes are rapists when I was in my early 20's? People have been describing me as jaded and cynical since I was 7, so I wouldn't want to add more disillusionment on top of that.
This time I don't have solutions to those problems. Normally, this is the part of the post where I'd end with some (attempted) righteous, witty, or wise conclusion. I don't have one of those. There's no lesson here, just shock and mild shame at the fact that the best advice I could give to guys was to flatter women in order to get them naked.
I try to keep an open mind, but I also don't want to put up with bullshit.
It's a fine line.
One thing that I can't handle is flattery. I'm not talking about some kind of fake (or real) modesty, insecurity, or a dislike of receiving compliments. I'm talking about:
-false compliments (i.e. "You look sexy" when you just got back from the gym and your booty crack is sweating through your pants.)
-gazing (looking at a woman like she's magic, especially if she doesn't think you're magic.)
-superfluous compliments ("You're really smart" when you are actually smart, but you didn't say anything smart enough to warrant that assessment.)
-over-dramatic moments of affection or admiration (see gazing)
However, I did not always feel this way. A mere 6 years ago I wrote a blog (my second one ever- it was waiting a while to be written) about how flattery (though I didn't use that word) creates confidence, which leads to fun nakedness, essentially. It now seems like a how-to guide for douche bags.
Unfortunately, flattery no longer inspires confidence in me. It creeps me out. It makes me feel like someone is trying to manipulate me. And, doubly-unfortunately, manipulation was the #1 favorite tool of the dude who raped me. I bring that up not in a I-was-raped-and-therefore-traumatized way, but in a this-is-the-behavior-of-a-rapist way. Some guys who flattered me did not engage in any non-consensual sexual acts with me, and I was happy that someone put in the effort to make me feel attractive. Rob, on the other hand, definitely used flattery as a way to gain my trust and make me think that he respected me-- and therefore my body and my limits.
I cannot believe that at one point in my life I did not recognize flattery as manipulation. I had a lot of fun fooling around with various dudes; it was super validating of my idea of myself as sexually potent and desirable. I thought rapists would be douchey and aggressive and were probably hiding in bushes. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they are (seemingly) sweet, gentle, charming people who you know. I want to go back in time and slap myself for my naivete.
But that brings up other problems:
1) Why should I slap myself? I should go back in time and punch HIM! No victim blaming, thank you.
2) Could I handle the fact that some apparently sweet dudes are rapists when I was in my early 20's? People have been describing me as jaded and cynical since I was 7, so I wouldn't want to add more disillusionment on top of that.
This time I don't have solutions to those problems. Normally, this is the part of the post where I'd end with some (attempted) righteous, witty, or wise conclusion. I don't have one of those. There's no lesson here, just shock and mild shame at the fact that the best advice I could give to guys was to flatter women in order to get them naked.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
getting raped eventually sucks less
It's been five years since I got raped, which sucked.
But it sucks less than it did then. Partially in a "time heals all wounds way," and partially in a "SUCK ON THIS, RAPE!" way.
I think about it fleetingly every day, and I wish I didn't have to deal with that. Some days I think about it a lot. I talked about the details with someone today, and it made me shake.
Rape is a lack of power, autonomy, respect, humanity.
Fuck that! Now I use rape to make me more powerful.
I reached out to other people and gained strength from their numbers. (Turns out everyone's been raped/almost raped/has a sister/friend/roommate who got raped, too.) Rape is a deeply private, personal attack-- it happens within your own body! It doesn't go this way for everyone, unfortunately, but I found tons of support all around me when I started looking. Not everyone was supportive, which cost me some friendships, but some people who weren't even close to me were solid as fuck.
I decided that I'd start looking at the issue of rape more, and that strengthened me, too. Reading about rape lead me to misogyny, rape culture, patriarchy, and a host of other ideas that helped me understand how thousands of men go from innocent infant to rapist. However, understanding did not breed sympathy! I got mad, and now I do whatever I can to punch patriarchy in its face.
Rape can make you feel isolated, but being open about it has made me see how absolutely not isolated each rape is. Shit is systematic. Gaining an understanding of rape-- even when getting raped seems to destroy everything you understood about people, your body, boundaries-- gave me the tools to speak out louder and clearer against rape, rape culture, and all the factors that contribute to it.
Besides friends and reading, yoga and dance also helped me reclaim my body and my sexuality. Yoga speaks for itself-- go to 5 classes and see what happens!
The sassy, witty, sarcastic, smart-as-fuck ladies at Jezebel.com were also a sustaining force in my recovery. They sent a clear, consistent anti-rape message in a language I could understand (sarcasm!) As crazy as it sounds, just being reminded that rape is not OK was crucial for me as I developed an understanding of the issue. It's not like I thought rape was OK beforehand, but my rapist tried to convince me that it was a misunderstanding and that I actually wanted it, and it was very convenient to believe him instead of accepting the truth! Since then I've read countless hilarious articles about the myriad ways that women have their rights, bodies, freedom, and autonomy violated-- besides rape!
Five years later things are looking good for me, and I am infinitely grateful for that. I'm lucky that I have supportive and radical friends (because apparently "rape is bad" is still a radical idea), that I had life goals and was able to take huge steps toward fulfilling them, and that I've been financially stable since then. Many women aren't as lucky. Getting raped made me significantly less emotionally stable in the short term, and it was just luck that I made it here. Many women struggle for years or the rest of their lives to gain back what they lost when they were violated. I don't have a snarky analysis of that; it's just fucking awful.
I still experience post-rape side effects. I haven't had sex since then, which may be a direct result or may just be how I am. (Funny sidenote: after two months of dating, I told a guy I was ready to have sex. I also told him that I could never be his girlfriend. He got mad and cited Martin Buber at me.) Anyway, my sense of "I could get raped" is way heightened. Males probably don't think about this much (that's what male privilege is all about), but I know all the ladies know what I'm talking about. Just being alone in a room with a guy sets off a little alarm deep in my brain. I don't let it control me, but it's there. Looking into the nitty-gritty of rape culture has led me to some pretty ugly things: appalling statistics, revenge porn (exists!), how men silence, oppress, and --wait for it-- rape women on the daily in every conceivable situation-- business, the Internet, literature, on the bus, etc. Some things are triggering for me. That means that otherwise innocuous things (whether relating to rape or not) will cause my brain to flood with cortisol, putting me on edge. At this point those things are fairly predictable, but sometimes they change.
I feel good about where I've come since then. But I'll always (as far as I can tell. Will keep you posted.) carry around a little of the baggage, fear, and cynicism. I'm doing what I can to turn all that rage (because women are allowed to feel rage, btw) into righteous anger, strength, power, and peace. (Stay tuned for the next blog: How to balance righteous anger and peace.)
But it sucks less than it did then. Partially in a "time heals all wounds way," and partially in a "SUCK ON THIS, RAPE!" way.
I think about it fleetingly every day, and I wish I didn't have to deal with that. Some days I think about it a lot. I talked about the details with someone today, and it made me shake.
Rape is a lack of power, autonomy, respect, humanity.
Fuck that! Now I use rape to make me more powerful.
I reached out to other people and gained strength from their numbers. (Turns out everyone's been raped/almost raped/has a sister/friend/roommate who got raped, too.) Rape is a deeply private, personal attack-- it happens within your own body! It doesn't go this way for everyone, unfortunately, but I found tons of support all around me when I started looking. Not everyone was supportive, which cost me some friendships, but some people who weren't even close to me were solid as fuck.
I decided that I'd start looking at the issue of rape more, and that strengthened me, too. Reading about rape lead me to misogyny, rape culture, patriarchy, and a host of other ideas that helped me understand how thousands of men go from innocent infant to rapist. However, understanding did not breed sympathy! I got mad, and now I do whatever I can to punch patriarchy in its face.
Rape can make you feel isolated, but being open about it has made me see how absolutely not isolated each rape is. Shit is systematic. Gaining an understanding of rape-- even when getting raped seems to destroy everything you understood about people, your body, boundaries-- gave me the tools to speak out louder and clearer against rape, rape culture, and all the factors that contribute to it.
Besides friends and reading, yoga and dance also helped me reclaim my body and my sexuality. Yoga speaks for itself-- go to 5 classes and see what happens!
The sassy, witty, sarcastic, smart-as-fuck ladies at Jezebel.com were also a sustaining force in my recovery. They sent a clear, consistent anti-rape message in a language I could understand (sarcasm!) As crazy as it sounds, just being reminded that rape is not OK was crucial for me as I developed an understanding of the issue. It's not like I thought rape was OK beforehand, but my rapist tried to convince me that it was a misunderstanding and that I actually wanted it, and it was very convenient to believe him instead of accepting the truth! Since then I've read countless hilarious articles about the myriad ways that women have their rights, bodies, freedom, and autonomy violated-- besides rape!
Five years later things are looking good for me, and I am infinitely grateful for that. I'm lucky that I have supportive and radical friends (because apparently "rape is bad" is still a radical idea), that I had life goals and was able to take huge steps toward fulfilling them, and that I've been financially stable since then. Many women aren't as lucky. Getting raped made me significantly less emotionally stable in the short term, and it was just luck that I made it here. Many women struggle for years or the rest of their lives to gain back what they lost when they were violated. I don't have a snarky analysis of that; it's just fucking awful.
I still experience post-rape side effects. I haven't had sex since then, which may be a direct result or may just be how I am. (Funny sidenote: after two months of dating, I told a guy I was ready to have sex. I also told him that I could never be his girlfriend. He got mad and cited Martin Buber at me.) Anyway, my sense of "I could get raped" is way heightened. Males probably don't think about this much (that's what male privilege is all about), but I know all the ladies know what I'm talking about. Just being alone in a room with a guy sets off a little alarm deep in my brain. I don't let it control me, but it's there. Looking into the nitty-gritty of rape culture has led me to some pretty ugly things: appalling statistics, revenge porn (exists!), how men silence, oppress, and --wait for it-- rape women on the daily in every conceivable situation-- business, the Internet, literature, on the bus, etc. Some things are triggering for me. That means that otherwise innocuous things (whether relating to rape or not) will cause my brain to flood with cortisol, putting me on edge. At this point those things are fairly predictable, but sometimes they change.
I feel good about where I've come since then. But I'll always (as far as I can tell. Will keep you posted.) carry around a little of the baggage, fear, and cynicism. I'm doing what I can to turn all that rage (because women are allowed to feel rage, btw) into righteous anger, strength, power, and peace. (Stay tuned for the next blog: How to balance righteous anger and peace.)
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
21st Century Romance
Here are some of the creepy, rude, and abusive messages I get on a dating website that can be found on the Internet. Partially I like to laugh at these guys, but partially I'm brilliant and my scathing wit is wasted on these jackasses. It's only right that I should share it with all 7 billion people on the planet via my blog that has 4 followers. What kind of monster do you think I am?
topgunpilotq: hey
haha funny read
This one isn't really harassment so much as it speaks to the level of pathetic desperation I sometimes encounter. It put a smile on my face! (Which I sometimes do instead of strangling the first 5 men I see and getting my tubes tied so that I never accidentally produce another male.)
My name a Borat. I like sex. I want to make sexy-time romance explosion on your stoh-match.
message from NogameNodrama:
You seem like an interesting and sophisticated girl. I definitely interested in meeting with you. I am very new in this site and don't know how it entirely works. But I would rather skip few steps and jump into meeting with you. Maybe we should go out for a drink sometime in matter of fact we are living very close by. Maybe pizza and wine at one of your favorite place which could be little star if you like deep dish pizza:) ( If inviting you for a date at the first message is not proper thing to do, excuse my lack of knowledge on online dating gig, I could be really silly sometime. ) hoping to hearing from you soon.
Hi my name is Avi. I was born in Israel and I lived in Cleveland, Ohio. I am age 30 and I just look at your profile is sound good and so we can talk and respond from you soon. I am waiting to hear from you soon. Please e-mail me back A.S.A.P.
Avi, you are a creep with no social skills. Your desperate demands for me to respond promptly indicate that you're pushy and aggressive. Please feel free to write me back when you've developed a firm command of English grammar and polite American dating conventions.
Hi there how are u doing? My English grammar spell good. What u do for fun and I have a family living around in Silicon Valley area.
I have a picture of myself in a bikini on my OKCupid profile. I'm wearing a floppy hat, standing next to a waterfall. The caption says that a male friend (who was for sure not hitting on me) told me it was hot, so I put it up on OKCupid, where I'm supposed to be convincing males to reproduce with me. Within 30 minutes of posting it, I had 70 views, 7 messages, and 3 chats. I still get comments on it:
Instead of getting pouty when I shoot him down, this guy tries to keep it positive-- undoubtedly in a further attempt to ..."lay low and relax with some drinks," I suppose..
Hi Dominant, nice to meet you. Thanks for spotting that I look like fun! What with grad school and teaching middle school, my entire life is one big giggle-fest! I was just wondering why you thought we would get along since it says we're a 1% Match. Also--sorry, it's the English teacher in me--could you explain why you spell "dominant" with a capital "D?" Is that an expression of how dominant you are?
Wow a sarcastic funny Jew that went to grad school and is an English teacher... I knew I'd like you.
:)
What are you up to this weekend?
message from twathammer:
I'm Odyn. 6'5", brown hair, green eyes, fit. Jamaican an Irish. From Berlin an jus came back to Cali. I direct films an also make experimental hip hop. I'm vegan, like to meditate, go to a lot of shows, read a lot. I like surrealist art, travel a lot. You're cute and seem cool. We should get a drink. Whats your week usually like? Can I txt you?
message from AllGroanUp:
omg, Odyn, are you trying to be the ruler of my Asgard?your user name is hilarious but I would never go out with someone who thinks it's a good idea to use twat in their user name for online dating.I will give you credit for writing one of the better generic messages, though. You spelled "and" wrong.
message from twathammer:
Missed Instant Message(s) :I think you misread my sense of humor, I couldn't be particularly crass an I don't have views like that towards women. Like I said it was in my profile, Twathammer is Jesse Pinkmans terrible band in the show "Breaking Bad", which most people seem to get. Cultural roadblock perhaps? I guess I'm saying an ironic reference shouldn't be taken as a sincere political position on my part, despite your knee jerk Bias.
I think you misread my sense of humour, I couldn't be particularly crass an I don't have views like that towards women
like I said it was Twathammer is Jesse Pinkmans terrible band in the show "Breaking Bad", which most people seem to get. Cultural roadblock perhaps?
topgunpilotq: hey
me: hi
hey!
so how are you?
you know, same old
oh, is that so.
i work at 24 fitness
i was looking at your profile with a dude i train.
he thought you were cute.
um
its not a bad thing. :)
shouldn't you be working out instead of tag-team cruising for chicks?
we were
he's kind of a nerd
and isn't great with women
so i was trying to help him
so you thought I'd be an appropriate partner for someone who "isn't great with women?"
no, not at all.
he's a nice guy
i thought you maybe able to see past his deficiencies
here's a site about nice guys: https://sites.google.com/site/niceguysofokc/
haha funny read
wonder what FEAT I hve to pull off in order to get ur
attention ... hmmm
as long as you're only stroking your chin and nothing else [note to self 1: never make a joke.]
and why did you put "feat" in all caps?
haaaa ... plz get ur mind out of the gutter there
jeez, we JUST met ... take it one step at a time shall we :) [oh, maybe it's ok to joke]
fap fap fap [is this taking it too far? does he realize I'm making fun of guys like him creeping all over the internet? YOLO!]
oh sorry
anyways hows it goin
you know, same old
talking to randos on the internet
haaa
so r u tellin me u r gonna turn out to be JUST a tease, only
chattin n dont wanna meet in person ???
knock knock
[oh fuck no.]
You don't get to call me a tease. You talked to me first, so you
can't get all butthurt about how I respond. I don't owe you anything, and I'm
certainly not going to meet a guy who is trying to guilt me into doing things I
never said I wanted to do.[never make a joke. Never be funny. Never show that you're clever.]
[my sexual harassment is way cuter than his.]
That is impressive to get that many messages but I admit you look good in the bikini.
That is impressive to get that many messages but I admit you look good in the bikini.
I wasn't trying to brag, I was trying to say that men are creepy and easily distracted by women's bodies
easily distracted yes but maybe you can explain how it is creepy?
Facepalmed: wow
Facepalmed: wow
I would so hit that...you are sexy
me: go suck a bag of dicks.
This one isn't really harassment so much as it speaks to the level of pathetic desperation I sometimes encounter. It put a smile on my face! (Which I sometimes do instead of strangling the first 5 men I see and getting my tubes tied so that I never accidentally produce another male.)
My name a Borat. I like sex. I want to make sexy-time romance explosion on your stoh-match.
message from NogameNodrama:
You seem like an interesting and sophisticated girl. I definitely interested in meeting with you. I am very new in this site and don't know how it entirely works. But I would rather skip few steps and jump into meeting with you. Maybe we should go out for a drink sometime in matter of fact we are living very close by. Maybe pizza and wine at one of your favorite place which could be little star if you like deep dish pizza:) ( If inviting you for a date at the first message is not proper thing to do, excuse my lack of knowledge on online dating gig, I could be really silly sometime. ) hoping to hearing from you soon.
Hi my name is Avi. I was born in Israel and I lived in Cleveland, Ohio. I am age 30 and I just look at your profile is sound good and so we can talk and respond from you soon. I am waiting to hear from you soon. Please e-mail me back A.S.A.P.
Avi, you are a creep with no social skills. Your desperate demands for me to respond promptly indicate that you're pushy and aggressive. Please feel free to write me back when you've developed a firm command of English grammar and polite American dating conventions.
Hi there how are u doing? My English grammar spell good. What u do for fun and I have a family living around in Silicon Valley area.
I have a picture of myself in a bikini on my OKCupid profile. I'm wearing a floppy hat, standing next to a waterfall. The caption says that a male friend (who was for sure not hitting on me) told me it was hot, so I put it up on OKCupid, where I'm supposed to be convincing males to reproduce with me. Within 30 minutes of posting it, I had 70 views, 7 messages, and 3 chats. I still get comments on it:
RGOTI: your friend's right: it is a hot picture
ME: thanks random guy on the internet
RGOTI: wow ok so you can say it but I can't? lol
it's classy/hot
terrible thing to lead with I guess, sorry
Instead of getting pouty when I shoot him down, this guy tries to keep it positive-- undoubtedly in a further attempt to ..."lay low and relax with some drinks," I suppose..
1% Match 23% Friend 50% Enemy
Hi Dominant, nice to meet you. Thanks for spotting that I look like fun! What with grad school and teaching middle school, my entire life is one big giggle-fest! I was just wondering why you thought we would get along since it says we're a 1% Match. Also--sorry, it's the English teacher in me--could you explain why you spell "dominant" with a capital "D?" Is that an expression of how dominant you are?
Wow a sarcastic funny Jew that went to grad school and is an English teacher... I knew I'd like you.
:)
What are you up to this weekend?
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Lemme holler at you!
I was eleven years old the first time I remember a male making me feel uncomfortable about being female. I used to wait at the bus stop at Gilman and San Pablo, and I remember a white pickup truck with three men in the cab stopped at a red light, and they all looked at me. They could probably see my skinny little girl legs because it was summer and I was wearing shorts. I remember putting on my toughest don't-fuck-with-me face. Sorry that I haven't been keeping track since then, but I'd like to start now. When men stare at you, yell at you, manage to "bump" into you even when there's plenty of room, strike up a conversation with you when you're reading and have ear phones in and clearly don't want to have a conversation, ask for your number, comment on your appearance, or suggest sexual escapades they'd like to pursue with you, they're letting you (and everyone else) know that men are allowed to think and say whatever they want about your body, and there's nothing you can do about it. At the end of the day, most of us lady-folk understand that responding to harassment almost always increases it. Better to be yelled at than groped; better to be groped than raped. Rape and rape culture is at the heart of harassment. There have been many times over the past 15 or so years since I've hit puberty (and even a few before then) when I wondered if I was about to get raped. I have the feeling that no matter how drunk, obnoxious, or aggressive I've been, no one has ever felt that their bodily integrity was threatened. But you know, all this talk about rape culture is such a downer. Let's just get to the good stuff.
Who: Some Dude In The Passenger Seat Of A Car
When: Saturday, January 19, 2013 9:30 pm
Where: Telegraph and 19th St, Downtown Oakland
What: While walking to a concert down a highly populated Telegraph Avenue, Some Dude In The Passenger Seat Of A Car yells at me: "Yo, lemme get yo purse! Lemme get yo purse! Hey, lemme get yo purse!" People pack heat in Oakland, so I figured this was not an appropriate time to talk back. I looked straight ahead and kept walking, to which Some Dude In The Passenger Seat Of A Car concluded: "Bitch."
Who: Tall, Dark Stranger At The Fox Theater Bar
When: Sunday, January 19, 2013 12:30 am
Where: Telegraph and 19th St, Downtown Oakland (but on the other side of the street this time)
What: After a concert, Lynn and I decided it would be better for both of us to walk to her car, and she could drive me to my car. No, I'm not some lazy girl with impractical heels on, we just didn't want to get raped. And when I say we decided, I mean we didn't even talk about it, we had already talked about where we had parked, so we just walked out together to the closer car. So we walk by the Fox Theater bar, and a Tall, Dark Stranger starts walking toward us saying "hey" aggressively, as if we left our lights on and he wants to tell us, or if we'd just told his mother to suck a bag of dicks, or if he saw two very petite ladies and thought that he'd be able to get some kind of sexual satisfaction out of at least one of them because they're probably too meek to say no. We both ignored him and kept walking. We both had pepper spray in our hands. Lynn suggested that only women should be allowed to own and carry guns.
Who: Some Dude In The Passenger Seat Of A Car
When: Saturday, January 19, 2013 9:30 pm
Where: Telegraph and 19th St, Downtown Oakland
What: While walking to a concert down a highly populated Telegraph Avenue, Some Dude In The Passenger Seat Of A Car yells at me: "Yo, lemme get yo purse! Lemme get yo purse! Hey, lemme get yo purse!" People pack heat in Oakland, so I figured this was not an appropriate time to talk back. I looked straight ahead and kept walking, to which Some Dude In The Passenger Seat Of A Car concluded: "Bitch."
Who: Tall, Dark Stranger At The Fox Theater Bar
When: Sunday, January 19, 2013 12:30 am
Where: Telegraph and 19th St, Downtown Oakland (but on the other side of the street this time)
What: After a concert, Lynn and I decided it would be better for both of us to walk to her car, and she could drive me to my car. No, I'm not some lazy girl with impractical heels on, we just didn't want to get raped. And when I say we decided, I mean we didn't even talk about it, we had already talked about where we had parked, so we just walked out together to the closer car. So we walk by the Fox Theater bar, and a Tall, Dark Stranger starts walking toward us saying "hey" aggressively, as if we left our lights on and he wants to tell us, or if we'd just told his mother to suck a bag of dicks, or if he saw two very petite ladies and thought that he'd be able to get some kind of sexual satisfaction out of at least one of them because they're probably too meek to say no. We both ignored him and kept walking. We both had pepper spray in our hands. Lynn suggested that only women should be allowed to own and carry guns.
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