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babeinthewoodsGAH!
So, much as I'm wont to do, I wrote the other day.
Something that was funny and really just intended to make TheSugaryOne laugh on a morning when she maybe needed a good, old fashioned chuckle.
And, as has happened so many times before, the fucker went Kinky and Popular. Every time this happens (and really it's happened MANY times now) I'm shocked because I only have THIRTY FUCKING FRIENDS.
That's barely enough to get a good, silly conversation in comments going let alone catapult me into the silliness of K&P over and over...and yet, it happens. Ironically, most of my friends never love or comment the shit that goes K&P. Strangers I've never heard of just sort of swarm all of a sudden and there I am again.
Truthfully, this rant isn't about me being on Kibbutzing and Pedantic...*again*. It's about what happened when I looked there this morning.
I found [THIS][https://fetlife.com/users/1121098/posts/1294477#comments].
It was sitting alongside my silliness and it is titled "REALLY, ladies????". I took a peek.
And immediately I wondered what the holy, flying, ever-loving, effing fuck????? How on earth could my silly essay describing feelings as an STI the kink community wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole be sitting next to this mean, mean-spirited, victim blaming pile of holier than thou crap?
For those of you who have managed to miss it, allow me to recap:
The author calls out "ladies" (and the author would say "you know who you are", except they're apparently too stupid to know that they're the object of the author's derision) who live in their "hurt".
Essentially, the author has great disdain for everyone who isn't the author themself because the author is quite perfect and living life the right way.
It's the most self-congratulatory piece of twuism I've ever had the misfortune of reading.
And it's *LOVED*. I mean...uber loved. At the time I write this, it's received 218 comments and 557 loves in one day, putting it right at the top of the K&P pile.
With few exceptions, the comments say things like "Bravo" and "Well done!" in total sheepish agreement with the premise that women are weak willed creatures who choose to live in hurt rather than getting on with life.
To make it even more nauseating, a sad percentage of the commenters copy/pasta the most egregiously trite "I am WOMAN, hear me RAWR" part of this misogynistic essay:
*We are WOMEN. We are all magic, and mystery, and moondust. We have the power of CREATION in us. We have potential for great and powerful things. Will you waste your potential over a lost relationship? Will you board up your heart, then aim anger toward those who have the nerve to arrive without a crowbar? Or... or will you choose to become more? To become stronger and better? To elevate and grow? To ensure not your survival, but your happiness?*
I don't know about you all, but I'm so not the protagonist of a song that Stevie Nicks wrote fueled by cocaine, witchcraft and an overwhelming desire to jump the dumbstick of Lindsay Buckingham.
I'm not made of magic (with or without the "k"), mystery OR fucking moondust.
I'm no goddess (despite the fact that the one I crave and adore describes me thus from time to time and I think he may need corrective lenses).
I'm not some Helen Reddy parody of a gal.
I'm babe.
I'm made of snips and snails and puppy dog's tails. I'm also made of sugar and spice and every thing nice.
I'm equally capable of being hurt as I am of hurting. I'm neither blamless nor solely to blame.
I'm a person. Flesh and blood. Capable of mistakes and misteps as well as of great empathy, sympathy and forgiveness.
I'm not the nauseating creature that this author paints among "victims" as even though I've been hurt mightily in the past. I'm also not the Valkyrie who takes the transgressions to harness my superpower of Estrogen and Ovaries.
I'm just a gal who can't believe that I'm sitting side by side with someone who views the world with such a fun-house mirror perspective, and I hope that there are more of me than there are of her.
Suddenly, being "popular" seems to be a little insulting. If I managed to touch the same crowd that writing did, maybe I'm completely off the mark.
So, much as I'm wont to do, I wrote the other day.
Something that was funny and really just intended to make TheSugaryOne laugh on a morning when she maybe needed a good, old fashioned chuckle.
And, as has happened so many times before, the fucker went Kinky and Popular. Every time this happens (and really it's happened MANY times now) I'm shocked because I only have THIRTY FUCKING FRIENDS.
That's barely enough to get a good, silly conversation in comments going let alone catapult me into the silliness of K&P over and over...and yet, it happens. Ironically, most of my friends never love or comment the shit that goes K&P. Strangers I've never heard of just sort of swarm all of a sudden and there I am again.
Truthfully, this rant isn't about me being on Kibbutzing and Pedantic...*again*. It's about what happened when I looked there this morning.
I found [THIS][https://fetlife.com/users/1121098/posts/1294477#comments].
It was sitting alongside my silliness and it is titled "REALLY, ladies????". I took a peek.
And immediately I wondered what the holy, flying, ever-loving, effing fuck????? How on earth could my silly essay describing feelings as an STI the kink community wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole be sitting next to this mean, mean-spirited, victim blaming pile of holier than thou crap?
For those of you who have managed to miss it, allow me to recap:
The author calls out "ladies" (and the author would say "you know who you are", except they're apparently too stupid to know that they're the object of the author's derision) who live in their "hurt".
Essentially, the author has great disdain for everyone who isn't the author themself because the author is quite perfect and living life the right way.
It's the most self-congratulatory piece of twuism I've ever had the misfortune of reading.
And it's *LOVED*. I mean...uber loved. At the time I write this, it's received 218 comments and 557 loves in one day, putting it right at the top of the K&P pile.
With few exceptions, the comments say things like "Bravo" and "Well done!" in total sheepish agreement with the premise that women are weak willed creatures who choose to live in hurt rather than getting on with life.
To make it even more nauseating, a sad percentage of the commenters copy/pasta the most egregiously trite "I am WOMAN, hear me RAWR" part of this misogynistic essay:
*We are WOMEN. We are all magic, and mystery, and moondust. We have the power of CREATION in us. We have potential for great and powerful things. Will you waste your potential over a lost relationship? Will you board up your heart, then aim anger toward those who have the nerve to arrive without a crowbar? Or... or will you choose to become more? To become stronger and better? To elevate and grow? To ensure not your survival, but your happiness?*
I don't know about you all, but I'm so not the protagonist of a song that Stevie Nicks wrote fueled by cocaine, witchcraft and an overwhelming desire to jump the dumbstick of Lindsay Buckingham.
I'm not made of magic (with or without the "k"), mystery OR fucking moondust.
I'm no goddess (despite the fact that the one I crave and adore describes me thus from time to time and I think he may need corrective lenses).
I'm not some Helen Reddy parody of a gal.
I'm babe.
I'm made of snips and snails and puppy dog's tails. I'm also made of sugar and spice and every thing nice.
I'm equally capable of being hurt as I am of hurting. I'm neither blamless nor solely to blame.
I'm a person. Flesh and blood. Capable of mistakes and misteps as well as of great empathy, sympathy and forgiveness.
I'm not the nauseating creature that this author paints among "victims" as even though I've been hurt mightily in the past. I'm also not the Valkyrie who takes the transgressions to harness my superpower of Estrogen and Ovaries.
I'm just a gal who can't believe that I'm sitting side by side with someone who views the world with such a fun-house mirror perspective, and I hope that there are more of me than there are of her.
Suddenly, being "popular" seems to be a little insulting. If I managed to touch the same crowd that writing did, maybe I'm completely off the mark.
