Also I canNOT with Facebook, and that was where people used to find me, so... *shrug emoji.*
I sometimes think about what I would say, though.
Really throughout the whole #MeToo movement, but especially in light of this Douche Bonnet Yalie Frat Boy SCOTUS nomination... I just cannot abide the disbelief. "Oh, no, he would never. Not the upstanding pillar of society that I know." Okay, first, he's a frat boy named Brett. Like, bro, have you been to a frat party? I think it's probably easier to count the number of frat parties where I wasn't varying degrees of violated. This shit is straight out of their playbook. They probably have a fucken Power Point. "How to be just the right amount of rapey. Like Goldilocks. Except with your dick."
So yeah. Anyway. I’m ashamed to admit my initial reaction when I read most of these stories is, "That's it?" Effed up, I know, that I/we have become so accustomed to this pervasive abuse (of power, of trust, of our bodies and our self respect), that these tales sound so... ordinary... and expected. How sad that we have been conditioned to believe we are not entitled to outrage for these violations, as commonplace as they may be. You were drunk (or not), he was drunk (or not), he stuck his hand up your shirt (or down your pants), grabbed your lady bits, held you down on the bed (or against the wall), held your wrists behind your back, even though you said "Stop" or "No," or covered your mouth so you couldn't. Most of these things have happened to me, personally, and to many of the women I know, too. From the age of 14 to the age of 44. Sometimes it's someone you know, and sometimes it's a total stranger, in a long dark hallway waiting for the bathroom, on a slick and sticky dance floor, in moving car, on a romantic walk in the woods that took a turn for the worst, or predictably, on a rickety twin bed in someone’s dorm room.
It happens. All the time. "No" didn't mean no. And it leaves you spooked and shaky, but you think, "Well, it's not like he raped me or anything." Not that it was okay, but I would never have dreamed of reporting it. I just figured it was the "price of doing business." "What did you think was going to happen when you wore that outfit and drank too much Jungle Juice?" I usually told a friend, or two. They had stories, too. We'd talk about it the next morning, or a year later if something sparked that particular ignominious memory, or sometimes not at all. We compiled mental rolodexes of guys not to be drunk and alone with. That's smart. That's safe. That's how you "avoid being raped." I'm not even kidding, I'm pretty sure our RA's gave us a little talk to this effect freshman year. Did they give a talk to the boys about, maybe, not being rapey? I doubt it.
But then I think about teaching my daughter "how not to get raped, not even a little bit," and I think, EFF. THAT.
Here's a crazy idea. How about... don't rape people?! Like, at all. Not when you're 15 or 17 or 25 or 72! (Apparently I am in the minority, but I think the notion that something terrible you do in high school might haunt you thirty years down the road is actually a great thing?!)
So, let's just lay some ground rules: Don't put your BLANK on their BLANK unless they say that's okay. They're allowed to change their mind at any time, and you do not have a standing reservation. Let's stop acting like we don't know when a line has been crossed. We know. And we can't put up with it anymore. For our daughters and our sons. This ends with us. (I mean, I'm speaking hypothetically here. It's been a looooong while since anyone who was not legally obligated tried to touch my vagina.)
I'm not saying call 9-1-1 if you're having a drunk make out session with someone and they try to grab The Lost Jewels of Nabooti and you say stop and they don't, at least not right away. I don't know. You have to do what feels right for you. But I am saying we don't have to - in fact we absolutely cannot - pretend it's okay, sweep it under the rug, or believe it's within the realm of socially acceptable behavior. Because it's not.
I guess I'm mad at myself because I am a strong, smart, independent woman and I feel like I "let" these things happen, by exercising poor judgment, by not saying "Stop" convincingly enough, by not calling these people out when it happened, to their face, to their friends, to their secret society of fraternal douchery, thereby allowing it to happen to probably countless others. I see myself when I read these stories. Fox News would 100% be able to find a photo of me smiling at a party next to the guy that definitely assaulted me while I was blackout drunk three weeks before. Does that make what he did any more okay?
This was almost 20 years ago. But I'll tell you what. If he runs for office or a judgeship or god forbid the Supreme Court of the United States of America - you can bet your ass I'll be telling you his name.
And don't even get me started on the "lesser" evil of sexual harassment without actually whipping out your dick or physically assaulting someone. Ugh. I'll save that for next year's blog post ;)
Oh, and on the other side, the whole thing about "Well, Dr. Ford's allegations must be legitimate because she's a professor," as if you need a PhD to substantiate your sexual assault story. So gross. Just don't.
Okay thanks bye.
PS. Life is not all bad and my children are enormous.
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| The Girl and her dad |
(Also also. Yes. Innocent until proven guilty, and I get that the notion of false accusations are terrifying, but a) that rarely happens ("studies have shown" less than 25% of sexual assaults are even reported, and only a small fraction of those are ultimately unfounded or unproven), b) if you are making it up, do you volunteer to take a lie detector test and ask the FBI to investigate? and c) all people are asking is that they do just that - investigate - before forcing the nomination through and letting this guy sit on the highest court in the land, with the ability to affect laws as they apply to women's rights and bodies, for the next 30 to 40 years.)
The End.
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| Several of them, actually. Patriots. |
