I was wearing this outfit today to a grocery store when I made a baby smile. I was wearing this outfit today when I threw my head back and laughed, when I sang in the car with my family, when I filled it with yummy food to keep it healthy.
I was wearing this outfit today to a grocery store when I overheard a woman telling her young daughter who was pointing and laughing that I would get what’s coming to me. I was wearing this outfit today when a woman told a man that it was the wrong kind of attention and that I was asking for someone to get me. I was wearing this outfit today when the same man stared at my body longingly and then agreed with the woman that I was asking for an attack.
I was not wearing this outfit when I was raped. I was wearing a size XXL hoodie and a pair of my mom’s sweatpants, much to the shock of the friend I told after, who asked what she’d been taught to ask: “What were you wearing?”. I feel so terrible for the little girl whose mother was teaching her at the grocery store that she deserved to be assaulted if she dressed comfortably for the weather, which was climbing above 80 degrees, or for an injury, which called for a brace and a boot that doesn’t allow room for long pants, or for her body, because it’s hers and she can put on it what she damn well pleases. I feel terrible for the man who will look me up and down as though I was a 5 for $20 steak deal he might purchase and will immediately after speak to a presumable stranger about the violent fate I deserved. I feel terrible for the woman with fabulous hair who feels she can express herself but refuses to let me do the same.
Summer is coming up. It’s hot outside. I have an injured ankle, and a tight boot and brace to wear on one leg. I will not dress uncomfortably to protect complete strangers who are so offended by an expanse of skin that they console themselves by predicting my next rape.
Stop perpetuating slut-shaming and thus perpetuating a culture of excused rape. Stop perpetuating slut-shaming and thus perpetuating a culture of insecurity, inherent shame, and body image distortion which can cause an innumerable amount of incredibly dark issues nearly impossible to overcome.
My body is mine, and I love it. It is the house I live in, with which I will someday create a family, with which I run and dance and hold the strong lungs I use to sing. I refuse to be ashamed of it for any reason, especially the reason being that this culture which glorifies sex and punishes those who have it, which encourages being sexy and then preaches that sexy girls ask for attack, has taught its people that my stomach is a sin.
Please think twice this summer before you choose to say anything at all to or about anyone who wears something they choose to wear. Please think twice before you say that a girl deserves to be raped for wearing shorts. Please try and catch yourself when you think things like that. Please be courteous and gentle and loving, and spend your effort tackling real problems. My stomach and legs are not a real problem.

This. Spread this like wild fire.


Going off blog-topic for a minute but this needs to be read and shared.



"In honor of Women’s History Month, we have a special tribute this morning honoring the life and military service of actress Bea Arthur. Before The Golden Girls and before Maude, Arthur had enlisted in the Marine Corps in 1943. She served 30 months as a typist and truck driver, and achieved the rank of Staff Sergeant. Arthur was discharged in 1945 and began what would become a legendary acting career two years later. She died in 2009 at the age of 86. Records indicate she was a good worker and, at just 21, was “willing to get in now and do whatever is desired of me.” Thank you for your service, Bea, and cheers!” -Jason Davis




Every Marine knows Opha Mae Johnson, the first woman who ever enlisted in the Marine Corps.

Now almost 100 years later, the first four females in history are graduating the grueling 59-day infantry evaluation Thursday at the Marine Corps School of Infantry in Camp Geiger, the Marine Times reports.

Delta Company’s Harlee “Rambo” Bradford and these three other female Marines started as a group of 15 enlisted women, the first to volunteer for a Marine Corps pilot course. The group comes as a result of the announcement made in January from Defense Secretary Leon Panetta and General Martin Dempsey, to integrate women into previously closed combat jobs across all service branches.



(seen on Facebook)

"We live in a country with 331.9 Million people currently.

Including all of the academies, officers, and enlisted in all branches according to the DOD the total number of people serving our military in active is 1,425,113 people.

Now of that 1,425,113 only 180,000 of them are Marines.

That means LESS than one percent of people in our country serve our country, and only 1% of those who do serve our country are in the Marine Corps.

Now women in active duty make up about 14% of the total active duty. Only 6% of the Marine Corps is women however, and 1% become SNCO’s.

That means as a female SNCO I am literally the 6% of the 1% of the 1%,of the country. 

There are only roughly 14,000 female Marines. That may sound like a lot to you but when you realize there are 331,900,000 people in our country alone, it’s not a big number. To all my Marine Corps sisters past and present, that’s some girl power for your ass!  As Nov, 10 approaches I wish you a Happy Birthday!”


My opinion?  Bring it on!  Anything is better than that muffin-top hat.  And necktabs.  Oh how I haaaaaated necktabs.  Keep the coat we have, but make it the mandarin-style collar, IMO.


whiskyjack: Sorry to put this on you but I have an honest question about depression an suicide. Isn't it completely possible for it to be a alternative for someone. Can't there be someone out there who genuinely is tired and doesn't want to continue. I know there is beauty and wonderful things in this world. There are things to look forward to. There will be more pain but also more laughter. But what if I'm not interested?


well… well first off, i’d say, seek professional help immediately. because i am wildly unqualified to answer your question with anything but experience. and first off, my experience says, if you are in such a deep and dark place where you say things like this to total strangers on the internet, you need to be in contact with someone that can help you start to heal.

second, i’d say… you’re wrong. i’d say the things any of us don’t know, especially about tomorrow, could blanket every grain of sand on every beach of the world with bullshit. And to simply assume you are done tomorrow because you are done today is a mistake. a factual mistake, an error, a critical miscalculation.

i’d say, read Tad Friend’s piece JUMPERS in which he seeks and finds and talks to people that jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge — and lived. And they all say the same variations this: “I instantly realized that everything in my life that I’d thought was unfixable was totally fixable—except for having just jumped.” 

And know that this piece has kept me in my seat on more than a couple dark nights.

And i’d say — i’d say i felt that way before too, and i was wrong.

And then i’d tell you something i don’t even think my wife knows. this happend years before we met — shit, more than a decade — and it’s not   the first time i came close to suicide was on a thanksgiving night. i’d eaten well and then as the house shut down i went into the bathroom, drew a bath as hot as i could manage to stand, and climbed into the tub with a razor  blade.

As i started to cut, as the corner touched my skin and that jolt of pain fired into my head, i stopped and thought — y’know, last chance. Are you SURE?

And i was tired. I sounded like you, that i knew there’d be ups again and downs but i was just so fucking TIRED i couldn’t stand the thought of having to get there. I felt this… this never-ending crush of days that were grey and tepid but for some reason i was supposed to greet each one with a smile. the constant pressure of having to keep my shit in all the time was just exhausting.

I wondered, then — well, is there anything you’re curious about. Anything you want to see play out. And i thought of a comic i was reading and i’d not figured out the end of the current storyline. And i realized I had curiosity. And that was the hook i’d hang my hat on. that by wanting to see how something played out I wasn’t really ready. That little sprout of a thing poking up through all that black earth kept me around a little longer.

I realized then that it had been so long since i’d laughed. I was numbed out and shut down and just… i missed laughing. maybe if i laughed a little i could get moving again. so i’d wait for my comic to conclude, try to find a few laughs, and then reevaluate.

So I’m in the bathtub and i got this real sharp-ass razor, right? And i look down and there’s all my bits floating in the water like they do and i thought okay, let’s get funny and i got to work.

I shaved off exactly half my pubic hair vertically. The end result was a ‘fro of pubes that looked like a Chia Pet that only half-worked. I started to laugh as I did it. And every time i’d piss, looking down made me laugh. 

Because JESUS what a nightmare.

Shortly thereafter I got very heavily into Chuck Jones and Tex Avery. Way less chafing and way more funny.

jesus. i was still in high school at the time. dig if you will a picture of the chubby weirdo that was always giggling at his dick in the bathroom. that was me.

And then I guess I’d tell you about Dave, who did the same thing as me a few years later, only DIDN’T have my hilarious Chia Dick strategy in mind and got the razor in and up. And as he started to bleed out “Brown Eyed Girl” came on the radio and he realized he’d never get to hear that again so, in a bloody comedy of errors — I swear to god this is true — he got out of the tub, tried to get dressed the best he could, went downstairs calling for help only to find his family gone, went out to his car, and drove to doug’s house only to find doug not home and so, then, finally, he blacked out from blood loss sitting there in his car, playing a van morrison CD on repeat, until, by luck, Doug’s mom came home and found him. 

Fucking Van Morrison, y’know?

A song, a comic, something dumb, something small. From that seed can come everything else, I swear to god.

I guess last I’d say… I’d say that, look — if you reached out to me for an answer, than I have to reach back out to you and insist you hear it.  Because it means, what, you know me? My work? You read my stuff and thought, well, fuck, if anyone would know why I shouldn’t end my life, if anyone alive is QUALIFIED TO SAVE ME it’s the guy that had britney spears punch a bear? okay — okay, then, so as THAT GUY I’m saying: Get help. Now, today, tonight, whenever — get to a phone and find a doctor that can try to help you heal, that can try to recolorize your world again, that can help you start caring again. All you need is that one tiny thing, that speck, that little grain of sand. the World Series, AVENGERS 2, Tina Fey’s new show, the first issue of PRETTY DEADLY, some slice of the world you’ve never seen, some drink you love, who the fuck will love your dog like you do if you’re gone, what if jabrams KILLS it on the new STAR WARS, the hell are you doing for Halloween, you ever feed a dolphin with your bare hand? because i have and I am fucking telling you IT IS A THING TO EXPERIENCE and oh god WHAT FUCKING FONT WILL STARBUCKS USE ON THE CHRISTMAS DRINK SLEEVES THIS YEAR — i don’t care what or how dumb but i promise you somewhere in your life is that one fleck of dust that can help start you on the road back. That’s all it takes. One fucking mote, drifting through your head. 

And because you asked me I am answering you because i know, motherfucker, i know, i know, i know the hole you are fucking in because I was there myself and if you look hard you can still see my writing on those walls and if you stare long enough i swear to god it’s pointing to up

This was just SUCH an amazing response, and I had to share it.




RICHMOND, VIRGINIA (12 November 2011) — Cpl. Kelsey De Santis, a Marine Corps Martial Arts Program instructor for the Martial Arts Center of Excellence, Instructor Battalion, and her date Justin Timberlake applaud guest speaker retired Sgt. Maj. Ralph Larsen at the Instructor Battalion Marine Corps Ball. The Corps celebrated their 236th birthday on 10 November.
(Man, you know your dress uniforms are awesome when you look better than Justin Timberlake does when he’s wearing a tux.  ;) )


HELMAND PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN (11 October 2011) — Cpl. Christina Oliver, 25, right, laughs with a local girl during a patrol with a female engagement team or FET. Though the overall mission of the FET teams is to engage Afghan women, the female Marines are increasingly exposed to small arms fire and improvised explosive attacks.


CAMP DWYER, HELMAND PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN (21 August 2011) — Members of Regimental Combat Team 5 Personal Security Detachment receive a brief from SSgt. Jennifer Ramsey, Explosive Ordnance Disposal team leader, prior to conducting a patrol exercise during counter improvised explosive device training.


MARINE CORPS BASE CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA (16 August 2011) — From left to right, LCpl. Shaunna T. Agalzoff, a switchboard operator from Seaside, Oregon, Pfc. Amanda S. Case, a radio operator from Belvidere, Illinois, Cpl. Brittany L. Rixon, a satellite operator from Star Lake, New York, and Cpl. Whitney N. Rogers, a construction wireman from Fort Smith, Arkansas, all from 9th Communication Battalion, hold up trophies that they earned at the Tactical Athlete Challenge at the 11 Area football. The Marines from 9th Comm Bn., placed third in the women’s competition.


ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA (9 August 2011) — Sgt. Codie Mamalis, ceremonial bugler from the Marine Drum and Bugle Corps plays taps while Marine Barracks Washington Marines fire a three round volley at the conclusion of a Tuesday Sunset Parade at the Marine Corps War Memorial.