Fuck kale. Fuck Fitspo. Fuck falsehood. Fuck Snapchat glam-shots. Everything ‘outside’ is fake. Enjoy it, but don’t believe any of it for a second. Dip your toe in and out, go for a full-on swim, but don’t let yourself drown in it.
Look, I’m a humour-based writer by trade and by choice (At least I hope people find humour in most of it) but there are some things that never fail to make my soul burn with rage, like people who think feminism is not really needed in the West as much any more. OH PLEASE. All you need to do is follow the likes of @EverydaySexism to see we still have a long way to go.
But here’s a bit of a story from me. I’ve many more, but this one sticks in my mind above all else.
In addition to writing, I’m also a singer/songwriter who’s travelled around Europe and gigged a lot. When I’m not threatened with rape because I reject some gobshite’s advances IN THE MIDDLE OF ME SINGING A SONG (i.e doing my fucking job) in a Greek bar while the bar manager looks over and shrugs his shoulders and leaves me to defend myself (I’m 4ft 9), THEN maybe I’ll start to believe more in the changing global attitudes towards women.
This was in Europe guys, and not a million years ago either (Summer of ’99). I was lucky enough to be playing with a friend (also female) to a lovely mannerly bunch of Marines, who stepped up when I started screaming like a premenstrual banshee at the man who threatened and intimidated me, and threw that fuckmuppet out of the pub.
I just wanted to sing and entertain with my friend who was my music partner and my best friend, and we always felt safer gigging together. All I got in return from a punter was a lot of inappropriate touching. For a finish, after repeatedly telling him to either stop or ‘fuck the fuck off’ (I AM from Limerick after all), I then received a whispered genuine threat of sexual assault in my ear as I was singing a song.
The bar manager’s response? Get him more drink, it’ll calm him down. (In an unusual move, it didn’t.) A bunch of Marines who didn’t like would-be rapists brought him outside, along with a few well-placed kicks, which eventually calmed him down and did the job instead. God bless the Marines.
Nowadays, I gig in Ireland all the time, where it’s safer and the majority of men are gents. I play alone and have never felt safer. There’s a community of musicians that mind each other like family, and the bars are some of the safest and most fun places to be. I love gigging in Limerick. But if anyone goes on about feminism in a sneery way; like we don’t need some sort of consciousness to be raised in this side of the world, it just makes me sad. They’ve no fucking idea.
You don’t need live in the Middle East or Darkest Africa to experience fear just because of your gender. As long as there is some sort of mistreatment of somebody simply based on the fact that they’re a woman, I’m going to call myself a feminist, because that stuff is something I’m not okay with.
I’m also very lucky to know a lot of men around me who consider themselves feminists too. You’re all fantastic men, and I wish more would join your ranks and stop subscribing the old adage that being a feminist means hating men. How is that helpful in the move towards wanting respect for all human beings regardless of ANY difference between us??
Let’s take back the word Feminism and equate it with the words Equality and Love, and there you have it. A movement every decent human being can get behind.
That’s my two cents anyway.
Thanks for reading, everybody.
#yestoallwomen #YesToEquality #YesToUnity #YesToLove #MenAreFeministsTooYouKnow #MarinesRule
There’s something very sinister going on within the internet, and I’m here to expose it. It’s time for us to fight back. First, it gives the impression that women who are on the brink of giving birth to a child should be strapped into dungarees and made paint an entire house by themselves (and flippin’ well smile while doing it). NOW it appears that no pretty young lady in any stock photo of a bathroom is safe.
I’m talking, of course, about the fact that women are apparently not allowed sit in baths without being flanked by as many open flames as possible. It’s hardly HER idea – I mean, think of the logistics. You don’t fool me, Internet. SO MANY QUESTIONS…..
1: Are they lit before she gets in?
Why would she do that to herself?? She’ll be trying not to burn her fanny off while getting a naked leg over these open flames and the rim of a bath, stepping barefoot into what is essentially a home-made hot skating rink.
2: How the fuck does she get out afterwards?
I have no answer to this. I find it hard enough, what with being on the petite side. It’s like trying to scale The Wall from Game of Thrones.
3: Does she sit in the bath and try with all her might to blow out a few hundred candles all around her?
Not at all. Sure, she’s only a woman. She’d be all dizzy and faint from all the relaxing pretty smelly things she douses herself in after a hard day trying to drink water without spilling it all over her face or while trying to eat a salad alone without laughing. Also, and this is the most important thing:
4: WHO THE FUCK IS TAKING THE PICTURES AND WHY AREN’T THEY SAVING THESE POOR DAMP GIRLS??
So many victims; unnamed, unsaved, their skin wrinkling like raisins while they sit stewing in their own filth waiting for those bastard candles to burn themselves out. Rumour has it they survive on a diet of suds, face flannels and the slimy skins from those old Musk bath beads lying around the edge of the bath behind the taps from gift baskets that their granny gave them when they got all those points in their Leaving Cert in 1997.
This is a gallery dedicated to all those poor souls, fates unknown, whose suffering is now emblazoned across the realm of the cyber-world for all eternity. Vaya Con Dios, pretty ladies.
She’s not far away, she’s up close, and she’s shrinking.
Havin’ a mad laugh, so she is. IT’S BEHIND YOU…
That better be a rescue manual.
Somebody tell this eejit that she has a fighting chance. DON’T GET IN YOU FOOL…
Sticking your knee out won’t save you love, you’re basically potential lady-stew…
First known pic of The Bath Arsonist. WHO ARE YOU AND WHO DO YOU WORK FOR??
There was a woman in this bath, but she was boiled into oblivion…God rest her…
This is not romance, this is a murder-suicide pact. She’s not laughing, she’s trying to get out…
Her hair is just kindling at this point. Seriously.
Silly bitch. Alcohol and an open flame? Asking for it, so she is…
She’s not sleeping. She’s catatonic with fright.
“Oh my, what a romantic death trap you have created…”
She’s fainted with the fear. SOMEBODY, PLEASE SAVE HER…
She’s awake but hasn’t seen the ring of fire around her. Poor pet.
Looks like somebody remembered where the fire exit is…
That poor one guy met a grisly end, lavender-style.
See? It’s only the good looking young wans that get into these scrapes. Not a candle in sight. Gowl.
No candles, but I find this image disturbing as fuck. It’s like somebody gave the girl from The Grudge a voucher for a Spa break.
Ladies! Up the duff? Bun in the oven? About to pop a sprog?? Then here’s what you should be doing to pass the time during those boring last couple of weeks when you’re in the fullness of health and not feeling in any way like there’s a football team jumping on your bladder or kicking you in the small of your back. Get up off that couch and start painting. Pick a room of your choice, the internet isn’t too fussy about that. But just make with the brush and emulsions and get cracking.
Don’t get anyone in to help, because that’s not the done thing. That makes you a failure. Most importantly, you will not gain maximum Internet points unless you do this thing in dungarees. ALL OF THE 90’S DENIM AROUND YOUR BELLY. It’s not essential, but it is preferred. And always wear a smile. Or you will fail. Fact.
Look, I don’t make the rules. I’m just showing you how it is. It’s now why I throw water on my face while smiling like Denver The Guilty Dog; or eat salads alone while laughing maniacally to myself. And I’m a better woman for it.
See below? That’s what happens when you send one of those silly menfolk out to get you pots of paint. How are you supposed to get the whole house done with those little things?? Honestly. No sense. Don’t forget to smile at him endearingly though. Nobody likes a moany non-painting pregnant lady on the internet.
“Dude, do you see any yellow in those charts?? I’M TRYING TO PAINT THE GODDAMN HOUSE HERE. What will the internet think??”
Don’t freak out now, you’re entitled to the odd break. But don’t get too comfy, trying to get away with sitting down and resting your weary heavily pregnant self in between some light house painting. NEVER LET GO OF THE TOOLS. What would the neighbours think if they caught you sitting down like the lazy wagon in this pic below?? For shame.
Now you’re just messing around. You’re on the verge of Pregnant Painting Lady Failure, you know…
Don’t go thinking it’s just stock photos that are showing you the right way to live your happy fulfilled pregnant life. Stock cartoons are getting in on it too. So you know shit’s gettin’ real. So start stocking up on the Dulux.
Baby Brain got you confused about how many paint brushes to use at the one time? Go with one first, more advanced Pregnant Painting Ladies are ambidextrous. See below…
For the love of God, don’t even think of getting your Baby-Daddy to help. He’ll just make a tit of himself by drawing stupid pictures on your belly, or do pretend graffiti like these muppets. But if he does, you better SMILE AND SHOW THE WORLD YOUR HAPPY FULFILLED LIFE….
…and when you’re done, ladies – don’t forget to clean up after yourselves. Nobody likes a lazy Painting Pregnant Lady. Now you have the knowledge. Go forth and ignore the fumes and the physical exertion, for you are doing the Internet’s bidding once more. DON’T FORGET TO SMILE WITH YOUR HAPPY FULFILLED LIVES…
