#maybemetoo

I can’t decide if what happened in Isla Vista this weekend is the “right” platform for opening up a discourse on sexism and rape culture, intersectionality and (fe?) male white privilege, “what feminism is” and “who feminists are.” And I put right in quotes because there’s no such thing as right, it comes down to what you’re comfortable with. I’m not entirely sure if I’m comfortable with the possibility that #yesallwomen is turning “Elliot Rodger the dartboard poster boy for rape culture and misogyny" (writer Lucy Inglis) or turning his victims—both men and women—into martyrs. It doesn’t sit well with me, over here, safe in my apartment with my dog and my laptop, thinking about the victims’ families. It doesn’t sit well with me, because I worry how this is making them feel… as if I could even, ever, possibly know.

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On the hell that is moving.

So. 

I was supposed to / gonna post this whole thing about the pitfalls about being labeled as the MPDG (manic pixie dream girl) — even though I am, not one.

But then I remembered how I have to like, move apartments, which means I like, have to PACK, AGAIN, and then I curled into a ittie bittie ball and screamed and rocked and cried for an hour. 

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Terrific Lady Day

I’m not sure if you watch The League (you should). It’s like, well. It’s the best thing on television. It’s smart, it’s obnoxious, it actually has a lot more depth than you’d assume, and it’s the absolutely best thing if you’re not feeling great. 

It also has the best advice to men that I have frankly, ever seen. 

I now understand the appeal.

(Source: , via televisionwithoutpity)