I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this —But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it. - Vita Sackville West to Virginia Woolf
Look here Vita — throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.--Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville West
i’m writing an auto-ethnography on the word “slut” and my personal experiences with it. calling other girls sluts, being called a slut, etc.
just for reference, and possible (completely anonymous) inclusion in my final paper, i would love if ya’ll could possibly share stories, insight, etc. whatever you have or whatever your feelings might be. i promise (with a certification from the human investigation committee) that your identity will remain safe.
although the paper focuses on me myself and i, as it is an auto-ethnography, i felt like it might be nice to have some different voices backing me up and inspiring my thoughts.
you can shoot them to me in my ask box. thxxxx.
share yr slut-thoughts with aliealiealieee!
In her essay “The Wretched of the Hearth,” first published in 1990 and later in the 1995 collection The Snarling Citizen, Barbara Ehrenreich wrote:
Still, in Roseanne I am willing to forgive the stereotypes as markers designed to remind us of where we are: in the home of a construction worker and his minimum-wage wife. Without the reminders, we might not be aware of how thoroughly the deeper prejudices of the professional class are being challenged. Roseanne’s fictional husband Dan (played by the irresistibly cuddly John Goodman) drinks domestic beer and dedicates Sundays to football; but far from being a Bunkeresque boor, he looks to this feminist like the fabled ‘sensitive man’ we have all been pining for. He treats his rotund wife like a sex goddess. He picks up on small cues signaling emotional distress. He helps with homework. And when Roseanne works overtime, he cooks, cleans, and rides herd on the kids without any of the piteous whining we have come to expect from upscale males in their rare, and lavishly documented, encounters with soiled Pampers.
Painting My Nails Karina Red in a Sunbeam [It Was Really Bright, Okay?]
I used to take pride in not really being a “feminine” feminist. I scoffed at ladies who wore lipstick and makeup all the time, ladies who insisted on wearing heels and shaving their legs every single day. I really did. I never wore jewelery or painted my nails — I never listed to what I thought was “girly” music. I was pretty close-minded. I’m glad I realized the error of my ways. If a lady wants to wear heels and lipstick and makeup to make herself look/feel good, by all means, please do it. It’s your right as a human to feel good about yourself. No one should judge you for that.
Now, I love to paint my nails. I still hate heels, but that’s because I can’t walk in them to save my life. I’ll settle for frilly flats, thanks. I still don’t shave, but again, that’s a personal preference. If you want to be silky smoov - do it, girl! I really only wear bronzer and mascara, but today I actually used my eyebrow pencil, too! Andrew was in my car while I was driving and I blasted the Adele cd. I like being able to free myself and feel good about myself without being judgmental toward other ladies who do it a different way.
I know there are some feminists who will argue that wearing makeup covers up a woman’s natural beauty, or that wearing heels is only to make your legs look more desirable to men, but at the same time, these things can also be very empowering. I don’t know. I’m just glad I lightened up a bit, you know?
to me, it’s all about being allowed to live inside your comfort zone. if you don’t like to wear heels, but feel pressured to wear them because of the male gaze or because the people at your office insist you’re not dressed “appropriately” (but are really talking about your femininity), then that’s screwed up, and you should rage as hard as you possibly can on that.
but if you like to wear heels, paint your nails, put on crazy geisha makeup, whatever floats your boat—do it! self-expression and self-presentation is all about comfort and authenticity, particularly when it comes to aligning yourself along the gender spectrum. you have to do what feels inherently you, and the reason women’s rights, trans rights, and queer rights are so important is that so many people are denied the right to express themselves as they feel because of what’s expected. that’s what we have to be vigilant about.
but the long and short of it is, that nail color is hot as hell, and if you like it, work it.
I can say that raw feelings make a good sound. Because we are not machine. We could shed blood, could vomit and have feeling of hate. … I wanted to express the mental instability and mental cruelty which a girl has. Now we are holding up pride, hate and life in the front. We are not wearing that dress.
Vivian Slaughter of Gallhammer