Tag Archives: written from life

Sexual Harassment on the Interwebs

I just wanted to give you a little story of something that happened over the last month.

I made a comment on a Youtube video by Laci Green. She’s a well-known youtuber who runs a series called Sex +. In that series she talks about different sexual subject for each video. The one I commented on was her video about anal sex.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83lo7OqruJI

The comment was me bragging about my husband and our sex life. Another viewer (not going to mention names) decided to proposition me. When I said “no” he continued to pester me, despite the fact that I had said no two time before. My red flag went off. He was sexually harassing me over the internet.

Now, I know what you’re going to say:

“Why didn’t you block him immediately?”

“You should have reported him.”

No. What should happen is when I say “no” he should have backed off. When a woman says “no” it doesn’t mean, come at me honey! I really think Meg from Hercules said it best:

“Well, you know how men are. They think ‘No’ means ‘Yes’ and ‘Get lost’ means ‘Take me, I’m yours.'”

did eventually block and reported him. My husband even emailed him. And that’s what got him to apologize. Not the “no” and not the rants I gave him. I had to be protected by another man before he took me seriously. That’s not right.

That is rape culture, ladies and gentlemen. That right there. And I sincerely hope no other woman comes across him, because he’s a potential rapist.

Note: I can only talk about these experiences from the point of view as a cisgendered white female. If you want to share your own stories, go ahead and do so in the comments below. 

Clements, Ron and John Musker. 1997. Hercules. Film. 2014.

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Tree Stacks

The holidays are the important part of our year. My family’s traditions never really confused me. Around Thanksgiving, the tree and decorations go up. And the tree was never one of those nice smelling real ones. We always had the plastic ones. I’d never even gotten to go tree picking until my friend Julia’s family invited me to theirs.

It was a nice day temperature-wise. My outfit had only been a light jacket, long sleeved shirt, and a pair of jeans. My sneakers didn’t quite fit right. As I walked, my feet slid back and forth. Julia wore less for warmth. She was used to Illinois weather. Cold. Her parents were dressed similarily. I don’t remember where her older brother was. I don’t remember him being there.

After a long, boring trip we arrived to a building made of wood. A tree, painted in green paint, was right above the door. Mrs. Laing took us into the building and while we went to the bathroom spoke to the man. When I came out, a guide sat in a car with a trailer on the back. Hay–my worse enemy–were used as seats. We road out to the trees.

Pine assaulted my nose. Rows of trees, like the stacks of a library, seemed to go on endlessly. Julia and I walked through the trees.

“I’ve never done this before,” I said.

“Really?” Julia asked, assessing a tree. “We do it every year. What do you think of this one?”

“Where’s it going?”

“In the living room.”

“It needs to be thicker,” I said, looking around. None of the immediate ones seemed right for the Laing family. We walked to the next section. I suggested one, but Julia said that it was too tall. It started getting dark and colder. Julia and I looked around until one of us spotted the perfect tree. After agreeing, I went to get her parents. We loaded the car up and went home.

My grandparents picked me up before I could help them decorate it.