It’s not our job to prevent attacks on our own bodies.
It’s not our job to walk around on guard like our own personal secret service agent.
It’s not our job to have to google legal defensive weapons lest WE get more attention from the guards than our attacker does.
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It’s not our job to watch what we wear, drink, take, say, or watch who we lock eyes with on a night out, whether on purpose or by accident.
It’s not our job to have an escape plan playing on a loop in our head from the minute we leave place A to walk to place B.
It’s not our job to set a self-imposed curfew from sundown to decrease both the chance of attack and the chance of being blamed in the aftermath.
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It’s not our job to need a chaperone.
It’s not our job to now have to watch our backs in the day as well, because now the night isn’t enough for predators any more.
It’s not our job to carry our keys through our fingers locked into a fist like Wolverine but with none of his superhero strength.
It’s not our job to feel on a regular basis the primal fear that crashes down through our bloodstream like an icy waterfall from our head down to our core when we hear footsteps getting louder behind us.
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It’s not our job to have to attend more vigils than nights out with our friends.
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It’s not our job to witness those vigils being targeted by angry entitled fucked up men, because all our so-called safe spaces are coveted by predators who aren’t satisfied with just violating our normal daily lives any more.
It’s not our job to dread seeing a woman’s name on a hashtag and fearing the worst, to steel ourselves for a news report and footage of flowers and candles on a pathway.
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It’s not our job to then get attacked online when we have the audacity to show rage instead of just passive non-threatening sadness.
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It’s not our job. It never was.
It’s not our fault. It never was.
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It wasn’t her job.
It wasn’t her fault.
We’re done. We quit.
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Men, step up. There’s a job going. Take it and sort it out.
If You Don’t Land The Perfect Relationship, Will You Still Be Okay?
Have you ever envisioned your time in this world ultimately being a solo adventure? Or, to put it more dramatically – are you prepared to end up alone?
Keeping my cool on the way to meet Amanda Palmer. Should probably work on my poker face. (click on pic for my Instagram)
I began my last day in Edinburgh by waking up to a juicy, squishy, throbbing mass of inky corned beef that used to be my arm. The first 24 hours are always a bit messy; after I cleaned it, I was pure delighted with myself, checking out my new upgraded HD colour arm in the mirror every ten minutes. Apologies to Mags & Bryan for leaking my tattoo-goo on your duvet. I wrapped my arm in 3 meters of cling film in an attempt to keep it airtight before I went to sleep. Once it was all taped up, I couldn’t help thinking it resembled a plastic-sealed tattoed ham; a vacuum-packed part of a once-badass pig. Oh yes. I was in my sexual prime. Form a queue lads…
So on into town I went, having been dropped off on one end of Princes St, before realising it was the wrong end. If there’s one thing I LOVE to do, it’s running or power-walking down a street that’s – and I’m not prone to exaggeration as you well know – twenty-five mileslong, while a gale-force wind bitch-slaps me in the face and I try and avoid people who all seem to want to shoulder me at full force into my supremely tender freshly-inked upper arm. It was quite the sight that met the staff of Waterstone’s fifteen minutes later. I looked like the ‘before’ picture for a Goth heart attack prevention campaign. I know. There’s too much sexiness in this post…
The queue was fairly substantial by the time I got there, with all sorts of folk waiting to meet the fantastic Amanda Palmer and get her book The Art Of Askingsigned. If you haven’t heard of the book, I’d highly recommend giving it a go. It’s a wonderful work; part memoir, part guide on how to get over ourselves and reach out to ask for help when we need it. That and she’s also just a very cool interesting person with many great stories to tell from her days earning money as a living statue on the streets of New York. Check out her Ted Talk in the link below, it’s well worth a watch.
While we waited in line, I got chatting to the two girls behind me. Danielle and Cass were from Ottawa, Canada, and had been travelling around Ireland and the UK for the last few weeks. We had great craic, chatting about Dublin and their Edinburgh experience so far. They were SERIOUS Amanda fans, even knowing her PA (Whitney, who told me my outfit was ‘super-cute’ – legend) on a personal level. The Waterstone’s had a café directly above us in an open-plan area up a set of stairs, so we kept ourselves comfortably refreshed with giant coffees & teas all round. I tell you what; if you’re going to be stuck queueing anywhere, a bookstore like that certainly isn’t the worst. I had a ball before I even got up to get my book signed.
Me armed with my copy…
When the time came, Amanda Palmer came down the steps looking relaxed and happy and glowy as hell with her baby bump proudly on display. You’d never know that she’d done a massive show the night before, and she was delighted with everyone who showed up. Next thing she took up her ukulele, and before she started to play, she said “If all you guys want to huddle up and stand closer to hear this, I know everybody will keep their place in the queue and not jump, right?” With that, she played one of her lovely tunes, and it was like listening to a friend serenade you. Stopping, laughing, having little jokes with the crowd or bemused Waterstones customers who had no idea what was going on, and one really cute moment where a mother walked past her with a baby in her arms and she slightly melted and we all laughed, because Amanda being the open soul that she is, blogs and updates FB talking about impending parenthood and how excited she is, and what a great father her husband Neil (Gaiman for those who don’t know!) will be to the new arrival. Here’s a clip I took of her playing:
Believe it or not, EVERYONE went back to their original places in the queue! I guess that’s more a testament to the nature of her fans, everyone is pure sound. Imagine that happening in Limerick?? Doesn’t bear thinking about. THE HORROR…
One of the best things to happen was as we got closer to the signing desk, I sent Neil Gaiman a tweet with a pic of Amanda singing, only to find he had replied to me a minute later. Delighted, I was. Announcing it to a giant queue full of artsy nerdy bookworm-types who have quotes from his books tattooed on their bodies wasn’t my wisest move if I wanted to not have the arm thumped off me in disbelief as they said “Fuck off. SHUT UP. No way!” To which I only made the situation worse by responding “Oh God yeah, sure I’ve spoken to him a few times. He’s such a legend.” Well, in for a penny….
Ah, you know…regular day. (click on the pic to head over to my Twitter)
Finally, I got to get my book signed and meet the woman of the moment. She’s so frickin’ nice! She didn’t even look bored or freaked out when I gabbled at her nervously as she signed ‘To @JayRow’ on the inside cover. She pulled me in for a hug / picture like she hadn’t been spending all day doing the exact same thing to everyone, we all really felt like we’d had proper time with her, which, given the size of the queue, was no mean feat.
I skipped out of Waterstones (metaphorically – nobody needs to see that) pure delighted with myself. For the rest of the day, I packed and got my shit together, planning on how I would handle the sudden anticlimax of coming home and not getting selfies with world-famous authors for a change. I didn’t feel like getting off the rollercoaster just yet, and wondered what the Universe had in store for me next that I could see myself saying ‘YES’ to.
Later on that evening, I found out…and it was going to be a real ‘drag’.
I am head over heels about this guy and he is mad about me too, but he’s married!! What do I do, am I mad to pursue it?
pic by Ken Coleman
You’re not mad, but you will be very, very unhappy. No good will come of this. But you’re smart, you don’t need anyone to tell you it’s not a good idea to hook up with a married man. So let’s step away from the moral quandary for a minute and look at the practical aspects.
Brutal truth: If he was as mad about you as he says, he would not be with his wife. Or at the very least he would be a stand-up man and not let anything happen with you until he has been honest with his wife (and kids if he has any) and started making arrangements to separate and sort out places to live, financial arrangements, custody agreements if needed, and a million other heartbreaking world-shattering things he would have to do out of respect for everybody involved, including you. Is he willing to do that? Because that’s what it would take for you guys as a couple to have any kind of chance out in the open.
Next thing you need to ask yourself: Is his time more valuable than yours? Because if you guys DO go down the road of getting involved while he’s still married, then the answer to that question is going to be yes, unfortunately. You’re the one who’ll be second fiddle to everything organised, lest his plans are uncovered and you both get found out. Fuck that. You’re NOBODY’S lesser priority.
Ultimately you want someone in your life with integrity, and who puts you first. You’re not just a distraction for a man looking to alleviate some boredom in a marriage that, let’s face it, could be getting a lot more attention on his part and thus be far more rewarding.
Nothing wrong with thinking a married friend is hot, and there may even be a bit of chemistry, but write it off as human & evolutionary responses and look forward to the real thing that isn’t hindered by life-long vows of faithfulness to someone else 🙂
PS: If they did it WITH you, they’ll do it TO you. You’ll never have a moment’s peace or trust ever again. Not worth it really is it?
Lastly; what would you tell a friend who came to you with this?
Hi Jen! I was just wondering is there a limit to how many times one can ask the same boy out and get rejected each time? I have asked the same boy for caffeine or alcohol based beverages three times and each time he has essentially declined. From a fellow height challenged beour. XXX
pic by Ken Coleman
Hello Fellow Petite! This one hits fairly close to home, so this advice is as much for me as it is for you, so we’re in this together. I’m going to be brutally honest here – stop in the name of sanity. Once was enough. I speak as someone who has been there, done that, and ruined the friendship. You’re verging into self-harm territory if you go back there again.
If you think he’s giving you signals that he wants more, he’s more than likely just enjoying the flirty banter with someone safe; and who is safer to flirt with than somebody who has asked you out? Doesn’t mean it’s right though, but it does happen. Ego is a bit of a bastard really.
On the plus side, after three times getting flat-out rejected, you now know there is nothing you can possibly do to make him like you that way. So let that lighten the load. He’s just a guy. A nice guy, I’m sure…but just a guy. You got on in the world fabulously before you ever knew he existed, and you’ll live a fantastic life from now on after knowing him too.
Make some headspace for someone to try asking YOU out. You’ve done your bit for forward-thinking women and equality in the dating world by now. Let the fellas shit themselves for once. The ones who DO fancy you will get shit done!
Best of Luck! I’m off to get this entire message tattooed on my own forehead… 🙂
It’s not our job.
