How To Figure Out If You Are Gay

Photo by Brian Kyed on Unsplash

I once read that if you are googling how to figure out if you are gay…you probably already know, bb.

And that’s not 100% untrue. It was true for me. The several weeks of intense gay panic, “Could this be true??!” led to me meditating and yogaing and of course, googling for anything I could find. I took quizzes, I journaled, I even prayed once I think? That’s a little blurry, especially as an atheist. But in time, I realized that what I was doing was trying to reconcile in my brain everything that I knew about myself up until that point and realizing that I had it all wrong. Well, mostly wrong, I’ll give myself some credit, I identified as bi afterall.

You, though, are likely still on your journey of self discovery, and ya grrl is here to help. Here is the only quiz you will need to discover if you are gay. Take it and then do what you need to do to reflect. Go for a super long solo hike. Watch a shit-ton of gay marriage proposals on YouTube. Have a long talk with a therapist or a trusted friend – extra smart if this friend is also gay or queer.
Queer we go…

  1. Are you googling whether or not you are gay because you are afraid you are? Or are you looking for other folks’ stories? Why are you searching? Ask yourself that first. Got it? At least somewhat? Good. That’s all anyone ever has really, a somewhat grasp.
  2. Have you ever enjoyed sex with the opposite sex? Yes? Not really? Throw this into the mix but don’t put too much stock in it. You may have been having the wrong sex with the wrong person, or if you did enjoy it, you may enjoy sex with the other sex even more. Or equally – BI PEOPLE EXIST, CHRISTINA, AND/OR WHATEVER YOUR NAME IS.
  3. What does being gay mean to you? I ask you this, dear quiz taker, as you need to understand that being a lesbian does not mean just staying home all day with your cats, in your comfy pants. Ok, it does, but it’s most about the vaginas. Being a gay dude isn’t mostly about clubbing it up and dressing amazingly. I mean, it kinda is, ok stereotypes are weird. The point is, if you cannot imagine yourself having sex with the sex in question – it is unlikely you are gay.
    DISCLAIMER: You could be a top or a bottom or a switch. You might not like the idea of going down on a woman, but really like the idea of her going down on you. That’s ok. You still could be gay.
  4. Do you like cats? Are you currently wearing flannel and/or a beanie? Do you have a cat named Beanie? Stereotypes yet again, however, look at yourself for a moment. Mmmhmm. Yep. Factor it in!
  5. What do you feel when you imagine holding someone’s hand of the sex in question? If you think of a lady’s hand in yours and you get that sort of electric shock through your body? That’s pretty gay, man.
  6. Who is the celeb you would most like to bang? Remember that if you have not found a celebrity of the sex in question that you dig, keep searching. I did not realize my proclivity toward sporty brunettes until I looked back and remembered Sporty Spice SUPER fondly.
  7. Lastly, if your future could look any way, what would that be? Think, think, think. Picture it. Good. Now who is there with you? Be real.

Answer these questions. Tally them up. There are no points, no right or wrong answers. But if you are wearing a beanie and working on your laptop around your cat, on a Saturday afternoon, dreaming of Kate McKinnon, I mean. Lez be honest with ourselves. I love you. And it’s going to be okay, grrl.

When did you realize you were super gay? Or not gay? Or confirm what your sexuality is? Tell us below. Do it for the baby dykes! ❤

5 Things I Want to Accomplish Before This Decade Ends (In 4 Days!)

Photo by Cathryn Lavery on Unsplash

I love a good list. And crossing things off of lists. And planning. Ok, am I an old person now?

I always was. That’s the secret.

5 things I want to accomplish in the next 4 days –

  1. Make a running plan to get my 5k back on track for 2020!
  2. Finish my emergency animal training online so i can help animals in disaster zones – lifelong goal
  3. Text all of my friends how much I love them – if they didn’t already get a love card!
  4. Plan out my 2020 goals – vision board and vodka timeeee
  5. Finish my latest erotica and share it on Literotica (I write feminist erotica! It’s pretty kool. Unlike me. I spell kool with a k.)

Those are my goals. Please tell me what yours are. You write them. You post them. You are more likely to follow through and do them!

Love to you and yours in this holiday season and HAPPY NEW YEAR.

P.S. New Year’s is literally the best holiday of all – a time for new beginnings and to leave whatever shit isn’t working for you behind. BYE 2019. I’ll miss you, kinda. But like 2020 is here and she has a motorcycle and purple hair and looks like Megan Rapinoe, so it’s time for you to GO.

LET’S GO 2020, LET’S ROCK IT.

My Twenties are Officially Over. Here’s What I Would Tell My 20 year old Self.

The author getting a lovely vegan bday lunch at Bareburger in BK

Grrl, you are in for a wild fucking ride. First of all, you should probably know a few things. For one, you need to use face moisturizer. It will be life changing. Second, if your friends aren’t rooting for you, they aren’t your friends. And last, you’re as gay as a day at the DMV is long. Oh and you should really stop eating so much fat. Your brain doesn’t appreciate it. 

I love you. Most importantly, little 20 year old, alone in the world, having talked to your father for the last time last year and realizing that you will only see your precious baby brother that you helped raise a few times a year now, I love you. Stay as strong as you are. You are fucking hardcore. You will find people who love you – FOR YOU. The loud, weird, crazy person inside who will come out eventually. She has been there all along, but she has been forced to stay inside. You are gonna be ok grrl.

Breathe more, be as present as possible because years are gonna zoom by. Try new things all the time. Say YES and HELL YES. And know that it will all be ok, even if nothing is going to stay the same.

I don’t have regrets. At all. Not only because of that goddamn cliche that everything I have done before has led me to where i am now (true) but also because I have truly done over the past two years everything that I have had even a tiny inkling of wanting to do. i wanted to go and get brunch with my frand – I did. I wanted to tell a stranger that I liked her shoes (sparkly, rainbow, bomb-ass Converse) and I did. I told the girl I loved that she was the love of my life because it felt right. 

I like to think of myself as rational, logical, skeptical. And all of that is true, to a point. Humans cannot be 100% logical. We have our experiences, those treasure troves of memories that created neural pathways and led us to become who we are. For you, for instance, seeing a woman and a man on the street getting into a verbal fight might cause you to shake your head. For me, my PTSD tells me to get involved, stab that man. I calm it down, I wait and see what happens, I step in or the call the police if necessary. This is because I know what can happen when men are angry. I’ve seen what can happen when women are angry too – also not good. 

My emotions are a part of me. And yours, you. And that’s ok. Let’s work with them. The next time you have an instinct to do something – not stab an angry stranger, jeez – but if you want to ask that woman out, if you want to go back to school, if you want to dance but are hesitant because you are afraid – just do it. Your life is speeding by, it is up to you whether you live it while it’s here. 

It’s December of 2019. I have just turned 30. My twenties are over. I am free from so many things. So much expectation, so much concern of not being enough or doing enough. If my therapist is reading this – I know I need to work more on that, Karan! Also, see you on Wednesday. But the older I get, the more I become more of myself, my true self. I am letting myself have and do what I want and as long as it doesn’t infringe upon someone else’s well-being, I’m gonna do it. And you should too. And 20 year old me should too. She will, soon, realize that she has barely been actually living in the sense of doing what she wants and what makes her happy. Soon she will. She’ll look at herself and she’ll see what she wants to be and make a plan to get there, to become her. And now, 30 year old me sits here, on my yoga mat, smiling and sipping my tea and wishing her well. I look back at lil’ me and want her to calm down – but she has work to do to get there, here. She doesn’t even like tea yet. She cray. But not crazy.

Christina, I love you. You are who you are and you will find out who you are soon enough. And you will keep finding out as you grow. You will learn to like change as you grow. You will fall in love so many times and you will have your heart broken so many times. And you will bandage your scrappy self up and brush yourself off and try something else. Try again. Because you do not give up, girl. Just keep going. You’ll be better than ok and you will some day be happy. It make take a real decade, but you’ll get there, here. You have you. That’s all you really need. Trust her. She knows what she’s doing.

 

Expect Less of Yourself

*Not a picture of the writer*
Photo by BRUNO CERVERA on Unsplash

I am sitting here on my couch, trying to relax.

It’s 8pm and I just worked 9 hours. I work from home a few days a week, and this was one of those days. If your work from home style is anything like mine, and it probably is based on anecdotal evidence from so many people I know, you work and work and then it’s 8, 9, 10 hours later and you are like, “Maybe with a little more caffeine, I could power through this one more spreadsheet.”

NO. Do not do it. Work will always be there. It’s true. It feels good to get things done, it really does. But it feels better when your body rests and gets enough sleep. You will be more revitalized for tomorrow. For your family, your loved ones, your love of your life, your hobby.

I am writing this partially to convince myself. You see, I am here on the couch, but I am also eyeing my desk. My multi-screen set-up. I could probably cross another thing off of my list tonight. But, I’m being good. I’m sitting here in an uncomfortable position, “relaxing.” Am I doing it right??

I decided something today as I took a 30 minute “break” where I answered emails on my way to, while waiting at, and on the way back from Starbucks to get my daily peppermint mocha (I’m addicted, pleez send help).

I am no longer going to expect much from myself.

No, this does not mean that I am giving up on me, or that I am giving in to my failure. I am siding with reality. I have never been able to cross everything off of my daily to-do list in one day. Have you? Has anyone? Every day, I sit down, I write it out. I think, I plan, I assume this can be done in one hour, this can be done in two. They can’t. There will be emails that need me, coworkers who need help finding something, a Slack message from a workfriend.

I have decided to admit something to myself: I’m human. Humans suck at estimating – check it. I always think I only need 20 minutes in the morning to get ready. Then I miss my train. I think I’ll read my book on the way to work and back home. I just kind of turn into a lump instead. We all do it. My girlfriend and I together are terrible at getting to parties. We think we can shower, put on makeup, feed the cats and even bake cookies in the like 30 seconds we give ourselves. We are genuinely shocked when we are an hour late. But being late to a party’s cool, so whatever.

I want to give myself a break. I have 4 federally recognized disabilities. Yep, 4. MS makes me so frickin tired, and I don’t want to admit that. I want to work 9 hours and then run a fucking marathon and then come home and clean the house. I am Superwoman. And I am, but Superwoman needs to rest too.

So now, I am going to expect less of myself. I am writing my to-do lists and then cutting them in half. I did it today and it felt great. I still over-budgeted my time. But I am going to work on it. I want to cross off my list. I don’t want to feel bad about not finishing my impossible lump of tasks. I want to be like, “Fuck yeah, grrl! We nailed it!” and then high five myself. High fiving yourself feels great, you should try it. That’s a side note, but an important one.

Expect less of yourself, dear reader. Shower before the party but buy store cookies. Or go disheveled, but still feed the cats first, you monster. As for me, tomorrow I’ll write my list as usual, but this time, I’m going to tear it in half.

You’re Not An Environmentalist Just Because You Use A Metal Straw, Karen

Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

The idea of reusable straws saving the world has irked me from the onset. Not just as a person with a disability that could potentially take away my ability to easily feed/hydrate myself, and not only after I read this article about a fellow disabled lesbian who died when a straw impaled her brain. Although, yeah, that article doesn’t exactly add to the other side’s argument. Are people harmed by literally everything in our environments? Yes. Could you die tripping over a young girl’s lego mansion or a boy’s barbie – yes, of course. That doesn’t mean that we should ban legos or barbies (although barbie does present questionable female body standards, but that’s for another post).

I’m not anti-reusable straw.

When I’m home, I only use glass or even, yes, metal straws. They aren’t the devil. They are the devil to clean though, that’s really a pain in the ass, but I do it (my girlfriend does it). It saves money and stops plastic from going into the landfill. Listen, I’m pro-environment, Karens of the world. Your grrl hasn’t used a reusable plastic bag since like 2012 (unless I’m super depressed and just can’t fight the cashier that day – shout out to those of you who get that). I’m a vegan – not supporting factory farming over here. I even use all-natural products when they don’t even work very well. I’m committed. And yet. The straw thing.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so peeving if the liberal hive mind hadn’t decided to turn against anyone who uses or asks for straws. A swanky coffee shop I went to the other day in FiDi (shitty mocha, don’t recommend) literally had these weird ass lids that you were supposed to drink out of? I looked around for straws and there was no sign in sight with an explanation. You just get the weird ass lid with the shitty drink, and you suffer. For the environment! ❤

I want to make the case that it doesn’t really matter what we as individuals do for the environment.

Our small scale recycling and diligent denying of bags for our other bagged and boxed goods pales in comparison to what major corporations are doing every day. The changes we make, make us feel good. They make us feel better about ourselves and our world, and for a delusional few, our future on this planet. In that sense, go for it. That’s why I do it – I’d feel bad if I didn’t. Just don’t make other people feel bad for their straw-consuming choices. Go to your yoga class and breathe it out. Maybe pick up a nice smoothie on the way home. Just don’t be too hard on yourself if you reach into your yoga bag and realize you left that incredibly-hard-to-clean-straw dirty in the sink again, ok?

5 Things You Know To Be True If You Have Major Depression

I have had Depression (it’s a big deal, so I capitalize it) since I was about 14. It was at that age I started self-harming, started retreating into my own head, withdrew from family and everybody, and had several crises. Two years later, I was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder which, contrary to popular belief, is not just something that means I like my house to be clean. Take this perfect combination of sadness and madness, and throw in a little PTSD from a chaotic childhood, and it leads to me struggling more than I’d like to admit, which is not at all. But, since I do struggle, and am currently, I thought it best to share and relate to other folks who go through – or are going through – the same things. Here are 5 things you can relate to if you’ve been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (aka Depression).

  1. You want to hang out and talk to your friends, but you just can’t gather the energy.

    This one really sucks, especially if you are like myself and get energy from being around people, but cannot find the energy to be around people. Yes, it’s a horrible conundrum. It often feels like you are watching life go by from behind a screen, and if only you had enough serotonin, you could join in. But, alas.

  2. Finding the right therapist fucking sucks.

    I had a therapist for a year and a half that referred to me as a “homosexual,” which, while technically true, is not really comforting. I kept seeing her because she was good enough and because FINDING A GOOD THERAPIST KILLS YOUR SOUL. You call and leave a message and no one returns it. You send email after email only to get therapists saying they are not accepting clients. It takes time and energy that we often do not have. If you are looking for one, however, check out psychologytoday.com and ask folks you know for recommendations. Even consider asking a trusted loved one to research therapists for you and send you a list of well-reviewed ones in your area.

  3. Showering two or three times a week is a win.

    When the organization I worked for mentioned something about my hair being “not done enough” and my shirt not being ironed, I knew it was time to drop them. Depression isn’t a joke. And sometimes you can’t take care of yourself. You do the best you can, bb.

  4. You sometimes feel you are doing better and ‘coming out of it’ and you don’t realize that you are about to crash again.

    I’ve found this to be true for a lot of folks I know: we see the sunset and think, “Wow, life is beautiful. Maybe I won’t jump off a building” and the next day we are in the fetal position on the couch questioning why we were born. You know what I say, though? Enjoy it while it lasts. If you are happy, even for a second, enjoy it to its fullest.

  5. Zombies aren’t always the undead, sometimes they are fully alive and walking among us.

    Finding the right anti-depressant can be a beach. Even if you do find one that helps you get out of bed, do some dishes, and go to your job the vast majority of the time, you might be on autopilot every waking moment. If you haven’t experienced this, you may not understand what I am saying at all, so here’s an analogy. Imagine you are a tiny robot that is controlling a body with buttons and pull strings from a human-like skull-ship. This is what disassociation is: a feeling of disconnect from your body, like you are viewing your life from the third person. It’s a common side effect of antidepressants, and to be honest, it sucks.

Depression is a difficult disease to live with and a difficult one to talk about. I’ve found in my (nearly!) 30 years that people who don’t have mental illness often cannot understand what those of us who do are going through. So let’s talk to each other.
What did I get so right? What did I forget? Send me a comment and let’s talk.

Ten Benefits of an Abusive Childhood

While you’re in it, it obviously doesn’t seem like a childhood filled with verbal abuse, feeling constantly under siege, or being physically harmed to the point of having PTSD would have any benefits. When you become an adult, however, you learn that enduring all of the shit that you did actually does have some positives. Here’s just a few.

1. We don’t have anyone to put in a home when they are older.

Most children of abusive parents decide to cut ties with their “caregivers” as adults. As for me, I haven’t talked to my father in about a decade (is he still alive? What a mystery that I do not care to solve!) and have spoken to my mother once in five years.

Neither of these people are my responsibility.

I will not be paying for their medical care and I will not be making decisions for their health as they age. Someone else is gonna have to pull that plug.

2. We are already in therapy so we are prepared to deal with all the rest of our shit.

The older I get, the more I realize that everyone needs therapy. Whether you think you do or not, whether you come from a great family or one like mine, you should talk to someone who knows how brains work on the regular. My therapists have uncovered things that I did not even know were there and helped me stay (relatively) sane while navigating the world.

Find a good therapist on psychologytoday.com.

3. We know what a shitty relationship looks like.

This one can be a little tricky. If you grew up in shit, most likely you will either end up exactly like your parents, or exactly opposite of them. When we do run the other way at full speed, we look for those relationships that are uber supportive and, after a few years of therapy (see number 2), we refuse to accept anything less.

4. No difficult conversations need to be had – because we don’t talk to them!

Again, this is for the children of abusive parents who have the luxury of no longer speaking to those who led to their creation. Of course, one may have to for the sake of siblings or for financial assistance, or some other valid reason. However, if you are in the position to be able to, cut them off for your own sake. It was one of the best things I ever did.

That said, I never had to come out to my parents. I also never had to tell them about diagnoses, introduce my partner to them, or share any of my life with them in general. (Sigh of contented relief.)

5. We aren’t easily rattled.

The little things in life aren’t going to devastate us. In fact, there are multiple studies and articles like this one that say of children from abusive homes, “exposure to early challenges which don’t destroy us may actually enhance our ability to cope with future threats.” Indeed, I’m super calm in a crisis, never cry over spilt almond milk, and I’m about to start classes to become an EMT.

6. We make awesome friends.

We will always show up. If you need help, even if you need help MOVING, we will be there. Our friends are our family – since we do not have a biological one – and we know what we always needed and deserved, so we try and deliver just that.

7. We adopt all of the animals.

Name one person you know that had a fucked-up childhood that hasn’t adopted an animal. I’ll wait. (Cue sipping iced chai for a loonnnggg time.)

8. Jokes don’t really offend us.

A bit like the us never being easily rattled benefit, we also are not quick to be offended. Send us the links to those hilarious, crude YouTube videos, spill the tea about coworkers, and hey even send around this article. The title will probably make us laugh our asses off.

9. So much money is saved on flowers, ties, cards, and other shit for “holidays.”

I’m gonna eat out alone next weekend for Father’s Day. And enjoy it. And have all the hummus to myself. Hell, maybe I’ll even buy myself a tie.

10. When we put ourselves back together we are stronger than anyone else.

Truth be told, if you haven’t struggled, you aren’t legitimately strong. You haven’t been put through hell and clawed your way back, so if you lose your job, your world crumbles. For those of us who grew up in poverty and/or turmoil, our survival instincts kick in. We know where to go for financial assistance, we are willing to work any job to stay afloat, and we do what we have to do to survive. Survival instinct isn’t something that can be taught from a book or The Google. You have to earn it, the hard way.

There you have it. Ten reasons why an abusive childhood is beneficial to us as adults. Obviously, this means that everyone should start abusing their children asap to reap these benefits.

April (or whatever month it is rn) fools!

So many positives come from growing up in a supportive, functional, affirming household without the downsides of increased likelihood of diseases, be that physical and mental, the emotional scars that never really go away, the loneliness of not having a family to call up and ask for advice or visit during the holidays, and insert a million other examples here. BUT, if you are like me, effectively an orphan, take some solace in the fact that you are not alone and that you are bomb and can survive a literal apocalypse.

Now, go forth and enjoy your regular old Sunday, however the fuck you want to.

Liberal Men Will Let You Down Too. I’m Looking At You, Joe Biden

I was scrolling through my Goodreads “read” list the other day and as I went back the past two years, I realized that every man I have read a book by recently has been accused of sexual misconduct. Aziz Ansari. Willie Parker. Admittedly my list of books written by men that I have put myself through is short, but we are talking two for two. 100% of the men on my “read” list over the past two years have been accused of inappropriate behavior towards women; Ansari for pressuring a woman who clearly was not interested into sex and Parker for sexual assault.

What strikes me most about these two instances is that these are were both outstanding, liberal, feminist men that we as a society held out as doing the right thing. Ansari worked on one of the most feminist shows ever made (also my favorite of all time), Parks and Recreation, and was known for calling out gross male behavior on his own show Master of None. Parker is a leading abortion provider in states where providers are few and far between such as Mississippi and Alabama and has served on the board of organizations such as Physicians for Reproductive Health.

With these new allegations toward former Vice President Joe Biden, I cannot say that I am surprised. I am disappointed. In myself. For thinking that just because a man says he fights for women, that he cares about our bodily autonomy and respects us as equal human beings, that he would actually practice what he preaches. We’ve seen it so many times. Here’s a hint: if you wouldn’t act that way toward a man, don’t do it around a woman. Would Biden kiss a man’s forehead? I doubt it.

A New York Times article from April 3rd quotes Biden as saying, “Social norms have begun to change, they’ve shifted, and the boundaries of protecting personal space have been reset and I get it. I get it. I hear what they’re saying.”

If that paragraph doesn’t make you want to punch a wall, we cannot be friends.

No, Joe, our boundaries have not changed. How would that make sense that social norms have changed our desire for personal space? We have always wanted you to step back; now we are just more empowered to tell you. This is his way of pushing responsibility of his creepy behavior off of his plate. Own up to your mistakes – I mean, if we can call hugging and kissing and rubbing women’s backs mistakes instead of utter stupidity and complete disregard for personal space – or in other words, woman up.

Giving up on men entirely is not the answer, tempting as it is. Standing up and not accepting their behavior, calling out men who do not call out other men (it’s your job, dudes), and making sure other women are supported, accepted, and are ok, that’s what we can do. Oh that and help elect more women into office.

As for me? Well, until there is a fundamental change in human male behavior (will this be in my lifetime, I do not know) all books written by men are officially banned from my Goodreads list.

Honesty Scone: Being a Woman is Exhausting

Taking up space in a world that men think they own is exhausting. It’s necessary, but it can be draining.

In the grocery store where men think they can push past you to get to the lettuce. In a meeting where a man tries to talk over you. And sometimes, as was the case a few weeks ago, men literally try to take up all of the space around them.

For an entire 3 and a half hour plane ride, the guy to the right of me decided that not only was the armrest between us his, but also that he could take up some of the space on my seat with his elbow or knee or whatever body part he wanted.

Boys who are never told no turn into men who pour over into women’s spaces, put their hands where they are not welcome, believe that women’s lives are less valuable. There are countless examples of this in screenshots of dating site conversations, like on the Instagram account #byefelipe. 

Keep fighting, fellow women. Keep walking into men, staring them down, and keep pushing them back into their seats. I know it’s exhausting, but nothing will change unless we fight. Yes, men need to be raised better. They need to be taught as boys – from birth – to respect women, and not in the sense of holding open doors and pulling out chairs.

We already have hands.

What we need, men, is for you to keep your goddamn mouths shut when we walk past you on the street. To make sure that you don’t take women’s ideas and claim them as your own. To take the fucking space that you already have in the world and make it feminist; without demanding space in feminism.

Have pictures or stories of men that need to be called out? Share em and shame em below!

Women, You Don’t Owe Men Shit

A few months ago, I was in a thrift store just checking out the furniture selection for my newly single lifestyle when a dude decided that he deserved some space in my life. “How are you? How ARE you? HOW ARE YOU?” He asked more and more frantically and loudly as I continued to ignore him. As is typical for me, I had my headphones in and zero interest in beginning a conversation with a middle-aged straight white man (who also happened to be shopping with his wife/female partner).

“Hi,” I said, after his third obnoxious proclamation in my direction. I wanted to continue looking at what I was interested in, and in order to do so, I had to stroke a man’s ego. You can’t ignore men. It drives them insane.

Here’s my argument to you today: Let’s make them insane.

And while we’re at it, let’s make men afraid.

Women are always taught to make ourselves smaller, to not take up too much space, to let others cause a ruckus. There’s fear for our safety, fear for our likeability, and most importantly according to society, advertising, and media, fear that men will not want to fuck us if we are too. Too loud, too confident, too bold, too hairy, too masculine, too muscly, too anything. We have to stay in our lanes, in our boxes, don’t push, don’t question.

I’m here to say: question.

Why do men think they can call us “sweetie” as we pass by on our way to class or look us up and down as if they are planning on consuming us? Why do we let them?

I’m not arguing that all situations are safe or easy to push back in. If it’s late at night, you’re alone, and in a non-public space, that’s maybe not the best time to get in someone’s face.

But.

If you feel safe, but pissed, violated, frustrated, sick of men’s shit – tell them. Tell them that they can go fuck themselves. Refuse to be smaller. Reject their attempt to make you fell lesser. No one can do that without your consent (paraphrasing my girl Eleanor).

The next time some dude gets too close to you in the grocery store line, hit him with your bag “accidentally,” tell him you need more space, start to act real weird and loudly burp or fart – just remind him you are human and he needs to back. the. fuck. up.

And when you do this, don’t apologize. Even if it’s insincere. Men are never sorry. Don’t give them your apologies. They need to earn it.

One of my favorite things is bumping into men and having them apologize to me. Try this experiment: every time you walk past a man, don’t move out of the way. Most of the time, he’s not going to either. He’s used to people catering to him. This is going to lead to you bumping into each other. Trust me. Almost every day I bump into a man.

And you know what? Sometimes it leads to a hurt shoulder. But you know what else it leads to? Satisfaction. Own. Your. Space. You matter. Act like it.