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May 23 2018




i think instead of the woman taking her husband’s name when they get married or doing the hyphenated thing

couples should just smash their last names together

so like if a Smith married a Grabowski you could be Smabowski or Grabith or Grasmithski

and then as the generations go on the names just get more and more ridiculous

why aren’t we doing this

you mean last names should be ship names



why do we not fear crabs but we fear spiders and scorpions? crabs are like the weird aquatic love child of both and i dont understand

i can avoid crabs by not going to the beach shane. ms arachnea likes to live in my house and oppress me because im gay.

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freshman yr vs senior yr


no offense but… whats the point in saying something rude about someone’s favorite things to their face just bc you don’t personally like it or have the same taste as them… like what do u get out of that interaction other than prove that you can’t respect your friend’s interests






I’m getting a lot of requests for the Macbeth story, which I’m sure I’ve told before but an old classic never dies.

Welp, might as well do something while I’m on the bus. Excuse any typos, typing on mobile is hard.

In news that will surprise no one, I was a drama school kid. I didn’t so much like to perform, but I did enjoy writing scripts and being the occasional narrator or background person.

In 5th year English class we were assigned a group project of retelling Shakespeare in six minutes or less. I rewrote the entire of Macbeth in a series of rhyming couplets, which by happy happenstance, synced up perfectly with Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” (”yooooou’re so vain, I betcha think this throne is bound to you, don’t you, don’t you”) which is what the group sung it as, while my favorite English teacher (the one who did the Lord of the Flies experiment with us) sat with his head in his hands, occasionally making noises like he was crying.

If I ever find those notes I’ll let you know, but that’s not what this story is about, but it is where it started. Cause I won an award for that hot garbage, and found myself propelled into the actual drama class in sixth year because of it and that’s when shit got weird.

First of all, everyone knows you don’t call it Macbeth around actual drama people, you call it The Scottish Play because of the well established curse. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Scottish_Play)

Which is what we all being good Scottish superstitious kids did. We called it “The Scottish Play” and never spoke any lines unless we were rehearsing cause that’s just what you do. And when your school is built less than a mile away from an iron age fairy mound and was built on the site of what used to be an old laird’s house that mysteriously burned down in the late 1800s and was subsequently rumored to be haunted, ye dinnae fuck wi fate like that.

Unless of course, your name was Mister Hadley, and you were a) newly arrived from England and b) didn’t believe in superstition and c) took every opportunity possible to spit in the face of the gods and call it MACBETH like you had nothing left to lose.

And this is my stop so I’ll post more when I get home.

Okay home now, lets do this.

So Mister Hadley was a hip young thing, or at least he likely hoped he was. He would show up every day regardless of the weather wearing sandals under his dress trousers, and trying to hang out with us like we were his friends and not his students. He was, in hindsight, the exact type of smiling, friendly lech who thought Woody Allen was the pinnacle of genius and was likely writing a novel about a teacher who has a love affair with one of his students. And he hated superstition. Like, HATED. And he really hated that we kept correcting him whenever he called Macbeth, Macbeth while in the theater room. To the point where one day while standing on the stage, he got really exasperated and started yelling “MACBETH, MACBETH, MACBETH! There, see nothing bad happened! I mean, what could possibly go wrong?”

It’s subtle at first, like half the supporting cast coming down with mono the first month into rehearsals. Not an unusual thing of itself for a bunch of 17 year olds in close contact all the time.

But after that things get progressively weirder and wilder. And perhaps you might argue it was something of the Salem witch trials hysteria effect taking hold, and maybe it was. But let me tell you, it’s hard not to start having hysterics when one day in the middle of rehearsing her “out damn spot!” soliloquy, Lady MacB almost gets taken out by a falling stage light that plummets out of the darkness of the ceiling and smashes through the floor like an acme anvil falling through thin ice. It was so loud several teachers came running down to the auditorium cause they thought something had exploded, but all they found was Lady MacB standing frozen in the center of the stage covered in dust, starting at her upraised hand where she’d felt the falling metal whistle past her fingertips, and all of us staring at her realizing we’d almost watched out friend get crushed to death by falling stage apparatus. The school had to call in a second councilor after that.

And I mean, you’d think after that the school would think better of hosting this end of year play. You’d think. But after the room was inspected and repaired and the falling light deemed a freak accident we went right back to it. Persevering through random fire sprinkler mishaps that soaked the stage and scenery (not to mention the electrics), my friend Mark who was Lord MacB getting thrown against a window in a fight and falling out of it when it shattered. And several other small mishaps which by themselves wouldn’t have mattered, but when you compiled them all into one stressed out space, became completely overwhelming to the point where people left.

The cast began dropping like flies, their final grades be damned. Some others who needed to complete the class for their chosen elective the following year stuck around out of desperation. And then there were the ones like me, just there for the shit-show and to see who would be left standing at the end up. We all used to huddle together in the drama room on the 2nd floor after rehearsals, survivors of this mutual train wreck of a monument to our teacher’s ego, carrying salt in our pockets and throwing it over our left shoulders whenever we talked about the play even though we never said its name.

Mister Hadley did though. All the time. Repeatedly. Even when we begged him not to.

Cause you see guys, this is Mister Hadley’s vision and nothing small like 15 kids coming down with mono or having near death experiences is going to stop him. So I get moved from helping to rewrite lines of this Modern adaptation which is shaping up like Trainspotting meets Willy Wonka down a dark alleyway, and I wind up on the raised podium off at the side wearing a black hat and holding a broom. The irony of which was not lost on me or half my friends, but hey, it’s supposed to be good luck to have a “real” witch acting as one of the witches, maybe that’ll save us.

You might be thinking at this point, “buy Joy, what did your parents have to say about any of this, why was no one doing anything?”

Have you ever tried to tell your parents “our drama teacher cursed us all by saying Macbeth instead of The Scottish Play and now we’re all going to die”? I have. My mother said “no you’re not, dear” while my dad said “that’s nice, dear” and carried on reading his book. They genuinely did not believe us, and attributed it to “high spirits” and general shenanigans.

Until opening night that is, when the curtains lifted, and Lord MacB is standing there with his shredded arm in a sling, (there are pictures of this and I have been facebooking friends all night trying to get hold of them) Lady MacB keeps looking up at the ceiling like she has a nervous tick, and everyone else is just plain god damn miserable and more than a little wild around the eyes.

But we get through it. Nothing else bad happens and no one nearly dies. Right until the very end, when Mister Hadley gets up on the stage to address our horrified looking parents to thank them for coming, says “ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to tonight’s performance of Macb—” loses his footing, and promptly falls off the stage and breaks his leg.

And that’s the story of my schools first—and last—official performance of The Scottish Play.

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It’s kind of sad to me that “Bechdel test” has become so mainstream in media that it’s completely divorced from its original meaning and intent. Most of the women who talk about their fave romcoms “passing the Bechdel test” wouldn’t be caught dead reading a comic called Dykes to Watch Out For. 

The point of the Bechdel test, isn’t just that two named women have a conversation that isn’t about a man, it’s about seeing representation for women in media that isn’t just based around relationships with men or objectification by men. It’s part of a conversation between two lesbians, women who don’t see themselves reflected in mainstream media. 

The point of the “Bechdel test” is that it’s a very low, extremely low standard to judge a movie by, but most don’t even pass those qualifications. So to say that anything “passes the Bechdel test with flying colours” is completely missing the point. 









When people get pregnant, they will give up smoking, give up alcohol, give up coffee and soda, give up fondue and raw cheese, give up cold cuts and sushi, all because they have heard somewhere, from someone, that these things can be bad for the baby. They don’t know the research, haven’t looked at the studies, can’t talk about sample sizes and control groups. But their dedication to their future child’s safety is so strong, their caution is so overpowering, that they give up these things just in case

So it baffles me when those same people will insist on spanking their kids. 

Even when they are shown the research.

 Regardless of what the experts in the field say. 

No matter who says it. 

Or how it is said. 

People are so invested in this ability to hit their kids without judgement or consequence, that it absolutely confounds me. 


When spanking is done properly, it can be an effective way of disciplining. And I’m saying this as someone who was spanked by their parents.

It’s not for everybody, I get that, but don’t shame parents for disciplining their kids.

All research says you are incorrect. There is no proper way to hit children.  Find better ways to discipline that doesn’t involve violence. 

I also was spanked when I did something wrong, it is effective because you learn that what you did gave you a sore bum. So in order to avoid getting a sore bum again you don’t do what you did that you got spanked for. Simple as that. Grounding me didn’t deter me from doing the wrong things., taking away my stuff didn’t work either. You know what did though? Getting a smack on the bum. I don’t care what some researcher came up with that says otherwise.

Some kids need the physical spanking to get it through their heads that what they did was wrong.

As long as it isn’t done in an excessive way I think giving a kid a spanking will do the kid just fine.

So you’re a science denier? Because 1 personal anecdote doesn’t erase 50 years of peer-reviewed study. 

No I am not a science denier. I am just stating how in my case it was effective and didn’t scare me for life.

There ate many kids from my generation who were also spanked as a child and it was effective. Not only that they weren’t scarred for life.

Are you going to sit there and tell me that my personal experience means jack shit when it comes to some random scientists research?

Did those scientists question a broad spectrum of children who were spanked growing up and weren’t scarred for life in order to determine that spanking a child doesn’t work?

Yes. The study from 2016 was built on 50 years of data and over 100,000 children. 

And saying that your personal subjective feelings about your own personal experience outweighs 50 years of peer reviewed research is science denial. Painting that meticulous research as “ some random scientists “ is science denial. 

The Importance of Mary Sue



When I was in Ninth Grade, I won a thing.  

That thing, in particular, was a thirty dollar Barnes & Noble gift certificate.  I was still too young for a part-time job, so I didn’t have this kind of spending cash on me, ever.  I felt like a god.

Drunk with power, I fancy-stepped my way to my local B&N.  I was ready to choose new books based solely on the most important of qualities…BADASS COVER ART.  I walked away with a handful of paperbacks, most of which were horrible (I’m looking at you, Man-Kzin Wars III) or simply forgettable.  

One book did not disappoint.  I fell down the rabbit hole into a series that proved to be as badass as the cover art promised (Again, Man-Kzin Wars III, way to drop the ball on that one).  With more than a dozen books in the series, I devoured them.  I bought cassette tapes of ballads sung by bards in the stories.  And the characters.  Oh, the characters.  I loved them.  Gryphons, mages, but most importantly, lots of women.  Different kinds of women.  So many amazing women.  I looked up to them, wrote bad fiction that lifted entire portions of dialogue and character descriptions, dreamed of writing something that the author would include in an anthology.

This year I decided in a fit of nostalgia to revisit the books I loved so damn much.  I wanted to reconnect with my old friends…

…and I found myself facing Mary Sues.  Lots of them.  Perfect, perfect, perfect.  A fantasy world full of Anakin Skywalkers and Nancy Drews and Wesley Crushers.  I felt crushed.  I had remembered such complex, deep characters and didn’t see those women in front of me at all anymore.  Where were those strong women who kept me safe through the worst four years of my life?

Which led me to an important realization as I soldiered on through book after book.  That’s why I needed them.  Because they were Mary Sues.  These books were not written to draw my attention to all the ugly bumps and whiskers of the real world.  They were somewhere to hide.  I was painfully aware that I was being judged by my peers and adults and found lacking.  I was a fuckup.  And sometimes a fuckup needs to feel like a Mary Sue.  As an adult, these characters felt a little thin because they lacked the real world knowledge I, as an adult, had learned and earned.  But that’s the thing…these books weren’t FOR this current version of myself.   Who I am now doesn’t need a flawless hero because I’m comfortable with the idea that valuable people are also flawed.

There is a reason that most fanfiction authors, specifically girls, start with a Mary Sue.  It’s because girls are taught that they are never enough.  You can’t be too loud, too quiet, too smart, too stupid.  You can’t ask too many questions or know too many answers.  No one is flocking to you for advice.  Then something wonderful happens.  The girl who was told she’s stupid finds out that she can be a better wizard than Albus Dumbledore.  And that is something very important.  Terrible at sports?  You’re a warrior who does backflips and Legolas thinks you’re THE BEST.   No friends?  You get a standing ovation from Han Solo and the entire Rebel Alliance when you crash-land safely on Hoth after blowing up the Super Double Death Star.  It’s all about you.  Everyone in your favorite universe is TOTALLY ALL ABOUT YOU.

I started writing fanfiction the way most girls did, by re-inventing themselves.  

Mary Sues exist because children who are told they’re nothing want to be everything.  

As a girl, being “selfish” was the worst thing you could be.  Now you live in Narnia and Prince Caspian just proposed marriage to you.  Why?  Your SELF is what saved everyone from that sea serpent.  Plus your hair looks totally great braided like that.

In time, hopefully, these hardworking fanfiction authors realize that it’s okay to be somewhere in the middle and their characters adjust to respond to that.  As people grow and learn, characters grow and learn.  Turns out your Elven Mage is more interesting if he isn’t also the best swordsman in the kingdom.  Not everyone needs to be hopelessly in love with your Queen for her to be a great ruler.  There are all kinds of ways for people to start owning who they are, and embracing the things that make them so beautifully weird and complicated.

Personally, though, I think it’s a lot more fun learning how to trust yourself and others if you all happen to be riding dragons.

Mary Sues exist because children who are told they’re nothing want to be everything.

A girl making herself the hero of her own story is a radical act. Stop shaming girls for doing it. Stop shaming yourself for it. 

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Thank God For Our Brave Men And Wimen Keeping All Of Us Safely Tucked In At Night God Bless Blue Lives

The onion is about to go out of buisiness



Teach boys about periods

My mother also talked about periods to my brothers.

When I first got mine I had terrible cramps. Crippling cramps. I once was camping with my family and a few of my big brother’s friends when my period came. My cramps were so bad that my mom gave me a full pain killer ( I was 13 and before that she only gave me pills cut in half).

I literally laid down on my parents’ air mattress and cried in pain for an hour before the pill kicked in.

My brothers friend came in to the big tent and I was just curled up and sobbing. Now, I was quite the tomboy and was known to rough house with my brothers and their friends and made sure I wasnt seen as just “a little girl.” So my brother’s friend was confused to see me openly weeping in the fetal position (seriously, these were the worst cramps I have had in my life. My vision went white). He asked what was wrong with me.

My big brother stood up immediately and suggested a nice long hike. During this hike I am sure he had a pretty awkward conversation with his friend explaining menstrual cramps, because when they got back the pain pill had (mostly) kicked in and I was sitting up at a table when my brother’s friend sheepishly asked me if I was feeling better. I said I was better, and he said good.

When we made s'mores that night my brother and his friend kept me well supplied with chocolate.

Making sure sons know as much about periods and menstruation as daughters makes them better brothers, better sons better fathers, and better men. A man that understands a period will not lightly accuse a woman of “being on her period” if the woman is in an argument.

Raise better sons Teach them about normal bodily functions.


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me making friend

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im more confused on my artstyle tbh…


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May 22 2018

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Watch: Viral clip shows a woman in genderless clothing being ejected from a ladies’ bathroom by the police.

I saw this tagged as transphobia and while the laws and atmosphere that surrounds this is very much grounded in transphobia, I think it’s worth mentioning that that’s a cis woman.

So you know.

Fucking thanks, TERFs. Aren’t you glad bathroom laws trying to prevent “men” from entering the ladies room has caused two male police officers to eject cis women from the bathroom already? Since that’s the only women you care about maybe you might actually spend longer than .5 seconds thinking about possible fucking reprocussions of this shit now.

Oh my goooooddddd this shit is ridiculous. Like, this law has always been complete and utter transphobic bullshit, but here’s the god damn proof it will never work the way these idiots want it to. You cannot determine someone’s gender by the clothes they wear. Fuck, I get misgendered and called a man all the time. Do I need to bring my I.D. next time I take a shit? I am so tired of this garbage. Let people use the damn bathroom they want to.

But this is exactly the outcome of laws like this: policing and punishing people who deviate from the gender norm. The direct target is of course trans people (with the brunt of the focus on trans women), but anyone who doesn’t fit with the norms will also be impacted by the law because now there’s a witch hunt against anyone who doesn’t seamlessly blend in.

Isn’t it terribly ironic that this law was intended to prevent men from entering a woman’s bathroom and harassing women (which wasn’t actually happening) and it has directly resulted in male police officers entering the women’s bathroom and harassing a woman?

If you’re horrified at cis women being treated like this, you sure as shit better be horrified at trans women being treated like that too.

There have been at least 3 other incidents of cis men entering women’s bathrooms under the guise of “protecting” them from trans women. These bills literally gave cis men a better excuse for invading the women’s restroom. 

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Flint isn’t the only city with a water crisis. This majority black town in Louisiana has had brown water for years


#BlackLivesMatter #Louisiana #Government  #StayWoke

Hey guys! I know I just posted some water-drive info, but I this shit is important and I am appalled that the American government finds treating it’s people, most of all it’s most vulnerable, like this, is acceptable in any way.

This is not a random petition.org type thing, it is a white house site petition looking for enough signatures to qualify to be presented to people of power in the American government. 

If you are American, I hope you will sign it and pass it on to be seen. If you are not, like me, I hope you will pass it on to your American friends. No access to water is not an inconvenience, it is an emergency.


You know, a couple of years back I remarked on how it’s clear that most iterations of the Sad Dad genre involve daughters rather than sons because of the video game industry’s collective discomfort with male-male emotional intimacy… and then the God of War reboot comes along, quite possibly the least likely candidate for entry into the Sad Dad genre, and the plot is literally about Kratos’ discomfort with expressing emotional intimacy toward his son.

Like, no offence to the franchise’s creators, but God of War is literally the last place I would have expected that kind of self-awareness.

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Chris Hedges on America entering the “Trump Phase” of late capitalism

I hope they call it that forever.

I hope five thousand years in the future children in space stations and planetary colonies half a galaxy away learn about the Trump Phase of Capitalism as the keystone argument as to why we don’t do that anymore.

I hope it becomes the new “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

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