An Open Letter To Donald Trump From Some Angry Women.

Drifting Through

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Dear Mr. Trump… can I call you Mr. Trump? Is that ok? I want you to be happy, that’s very important to me.

Before I get started, let me say this letter isn’t from all women. The Trumpettes surely won’t approve of this message. But this is from most women.

We see right through you. We have all known you at some point. Your ways are not unfamiliar to us. We see through you because we’ve been dealing with you our whole lives.

We heard you call women pigs. And disgusting. And stupid. And bimbos.

We watched as you called a former Ms. Universe “Ms. Piggy” and then spent four days continuing to insult her.

We see your weakness. Your lust for attention at any cost, your need to denigrate women. We see all of it. And we’re mad.

Yes. We’re mad. And fired up. And here’s the thing about us……

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My Best Friend, the Rapist

It all boils down to consent, doesn’t it? And respect.

She said no but he said yes. This, right there.

Afternoon of Sundries


I knew him, a bright and cheerful bashful fellow; slender limbed, yet short, deep eyes a beautiful chocolate brown fringed with lashes any girl would envy and unruly hair seemingly trying to escape gravity- he was possibly the first man I ever loved.

We talked for hours. We hung out. We were free the first time in our lives- college, oh boy! Watch out! Perfectly like siblings, even though we had opposing views and often argued our points passionately over a beer. We loved revolving sushi bars and loud punk rock.

After a good while of juggling books, classes, schedules and music I introduced him to a lovely girl I had known not as long surely, but someone I thought he could appreciate.

I was of course right, after all I loved him best and I just knew (in that stupid prideful youthful way). They dated a long time. Differences…

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Enough with comments about “bodice rippers,” please.

“What exactly is a bodice ripper? It’s an old-fashioned, pejorative term for romance. Early plots often featured heroines who were “gently coerced” into sex. In other words, the sex becomes consensual after a time, the heroine falls for her swashbuckling hero who looks like Fabio, and they go off and make lots of babies.”

I used to read a lot of Mills & Boon and I still have a couple of favourite authors but last time I picked up a random one, it had a decidedly non-consensual flavour and I had to put it down.

I also put down a novel by a current best selling author because I couldn’t stomach the constant “he knows what’s good for me even when I don’t know myself”…

Romance should make you feel good, and happy, and give you tingles, not shivers of unease.

Yay for romance!

Rosanna Leo

The other day, an author pal of mine shared a comment that she’d received on a review about her romance book being a “bodice ripper.”

Seriously, folks. It’s 2016.

I’m done with these comments. Honestly, can’t people think of another way to describe romance novels?

First of all, I have read this friend’s work and although she writes historical romance, in no way, shape or form could her books be considered the same as the traditional interpretation of a bodice ripper.

What exactly is a bodice ripper? It’s an old-fashioned, pejorative term for romance. Early plots often featured heroines who were “gently coerced” into sex. In other words, the sex becomes consensual after a time, the heroine falls for her swashbuckling hero who looks like Fabio, and they go off and make lots of babies.

Honestly, very few people write this stuff any more and most of us modern romance…

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The Price of Skin – a personal essay on the ownership of women’s bodies

Great essay. Wow is right.
You know, I’m still confused with how the world at large sees women as the ‘weaker sex’ yet women are the ones told to cover up so men aren’t tempted…
I grew up in France, I’ve been topless on a beach, I live in NZ now where girls at the swimming pool or the beach hide in their towels.

My kids know there is nothing wrong with nudity or sexuality. It’s important to me that they know that.

Thank you for this post!!

The Likkleone

I just got my grades back for my final assignment for my last unit and I’m so happy. I got 87% which is a High Distinction and my tutor started her comments with “Wow”. Maybe I’m bragging a little bit but I’m SO STOKED. It took a lot of work and there were elements I was concerned about but turns out I needn’t have worried. She made two comments total for the whole thing and they were both compliments on how it was going. I’ve posted my essay below – it’s a bit longer than anything I’d usually post but hopefully you don’t mind.

Aaargh! That’s such a relief. I definitely deserve a glass of champagne tonight. And it just so happens I’m going to a champagne degustation in 1.5 hours – how handy is that?

***

I’m standing on the front steps of our house. Naked. It’s summer and a breeze ruffles…

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It Starts at Four: On Consent and Rape Culture

Infinitefreetime.com

My son was the ringbearer in my brother’s wedding this weekend.  The flower girl was, I think, the daughter of one of the bride’s cousins.  To say they hit it off was probably a bit of an understatement; they were pretty close to inseparable at the bridal shower a few weeks ago and not much changed at the rehearsal or the wedding.  I’d post a picture of the two of them, but I’m not about to post a picture of somebody else’s kid without her permission and plus I plan on using the word rape a lot in this piece and I don’t really feel like having my son’s photo associated with that in Google.

Here’s the thing.  Everybody at the wedding was doing that heteronormative thing that people do when two little kids click and oohing and aahing about oh look at his girlfriend and all that nonsense all…

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White People: Shut Up About Beyoncé

Bitter Gertrude

After the release of her game-changing, brilliant video, Formation, and the stir her Superbowl halftime show caused with dancers dressed like Black Panthers, Beyoncé is blowing up everyone’s feeds everywhere. And one thing I am shocked/notshocked to see is white outrage about both.

Let me begin by saying that I’m not a Beyoncé fan. I’m not a fan of any of the pop divas. I don’t have anything against them; it’s just not music that interests me. So Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Madonna, Mariah, Adele, I apologize, but I’m sure you and your massive success could not possibly care less that I would rather be listening to punk or classical. The only reason I’m pointing this out is to make sure you know I’m not a Beyoncé fan. This is not about defending a beloved star.

Let me tell you what it IS about.

The vast majority of Black people…

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