GO TOPLESS

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Saturday August 26th 2017 – the day I walked topless through Manhattan. A truly liberating experience. Women and men of all shapes and sizes joined the Go Topless parade to promote gender equality.

We walked from Columbus Circle to Bryant Park, the female band leading the way – drums beating, chests bare. The roads were blocked off so we could walk freely without having to navigate our way through traffic. Bystanders and tourists lined either side of the barricades, their camera’s pointed right at us. I like to think that most of the people present actually gave a shit about the cause. Some clearly had no idea what was going on and a handful of others were on the prowl for new content for their wank banks – let’s be serious. The reality is, none of us have control over how these people use the photographs they took but the point is – women should have the freedom to walk topless in the street without feeling objectified.

An article posted by The Daily Wire poses an interesting question – are women supposed to own their sexuality, or rid themselves of it? The article claims that feminist’s are sending a confusing message by simultaneously bragging about our empowerment, getting nude and owning our sexuality whilst working to desexualise the female breast at the same time. I took this personally because my image was the headline for this article. I felt as though towards the end of the article, the movement was made a mockery of, and I happen to quite literally be the face of it.

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In response to that question – the fact that we don’t sexualise male breasts does not mean that he has any less ownership over his sexuality nor should he feel any less empowered. So, why would desexualising the female breast, strip us (pun intended) of our sexuality and empowerment? Quite the contrary – women would feel much more comfortable being topless in public if men weren’t so openly, sexually charged by the sight of their breasts, which is obvious by the way they stare, the ‘cat calls’ and the unwelcome advances. Sadly, it isn’t just the men that need to do some social adjusting – some of the attitude dished out by women in the comments of that article were just as bad.

The female anatomy has been over sexualised for centuries. Some era’s more so than others. Pre-war we were corseted and covered from neck to past the knee; post war we unlaced and adorned utility clothing. In the 60’s and 70’s, bare breasts were as common as long hair on a man, and then we decided to cover up again. Did the baby boomers give birth to a bunch of prudes or did everyone just get really horny? How did we go from free love to forbidding women to free the nipple?

That’s what the Go Topless parade was all about – eradicating the stigma. We marched loud and proud, tits swinging all over Manhattan, in the hope that people would become more comfortable at the site of a bare breast and women would feel more comfortable baring their breasts. I’m not a Harlet or a Jezabel because I like to be naked. I am a woman and it’s my right.

the plebiscite = the pits

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I heard the term ‘plebiscite’ for the first time a couple of days ago. I assumed it was a new pop-culture term for an annoying person or something. I have since learned that a ‘plebiscite’ is a nationwide vote used by the government to determine the public’s response to a political question.

The political question in this case being:

“Do you support a change in the law to allow same-sex couples to marry?”

72% of Australians say yes, according to statistics. However, the government is still pushing for a plebiscite which is expected to cost tax-payers at least $160 million. That’s a lot of money to pay for something we already know the answer to.

I can’t help but feel as though there is an underlying agenda here. The way the government chooses to spend tax payer’s money has always been a touchy subject. The choice to spend it on a campaign that we already know the answer to as a result of statistical findings is only going to make people view the question, in all of its entirety, as a negative effect on them because essentially – they are paying for it.

According to the news, $15 million of this will be split between ‘yes’ and ‘no’ campaigns.

A ‘no’ campaign?

It’s bad enough that gay people have to deal with torments about their sexuality from random people with no political stance, let alone from a funded government party that has been organized to openly rally against their sexuality. The financial cost is one thing – the emotional cost is a whole other issue. An increase in depression, anxiety and alcohol abuse amongst LGBTI’s has been a result of referenda debates around marriage equality in other countries. It endorses a platform of hatred and contempt and there is no question about the negative effects it will have on the LGBTI community at large.

What’s worse is that a plebiscite does not bind the government to make a decision that is consistent with the people’s choice as a referendum does. The results have no weight! There is no need for a referendum though, as the definition of marriage in the Constitution – wait for it…includes SAME-SEX marriages! This means, there is no need for the government to spend all of this money, time and negative emotion rallying for or against as they already have the power to legalise same-sex marriage, and – we already have the answer.

#YES

Image from http://www.abc.net.au/news/image/1139024-3×2-940×627.jpg

‘red rage’ – a guide for men

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It’s that time of month again, when despite being surrounded by a diverse landscape of vivid colours – all I see is red. I can go from being super nice to super psycho in seconds, if provoked. Well, that’s not entirely true – I don’t even need to be provoked.

I am a woman, just like any other (pre-menopause) and I have my period (OK!)!

Yep, I said it. My f****** period. That one time of the month when zero f***s are given (literally). My care factor has booked a one-way ticket the f*** out of here and my menstrual cycle has sabotaged my mental state – once AGAIN! My emotions are having the time of their life on a rollercoaster in god knows where and all I want for breakfast is 364574837 Snickers!

I don’t want to go to work, I don’t even want to stay home. I want to cry because I can’t find my favourite pair of socks and I want to tear shreds off Qantas for flying their planes over my roof midway through S4 E6 of Girls, drowning out all sound momentarily. The fact that I can simply rewind the program 4 seconds to hear what was said is absolutely, f****** irrelevant – I am FURIOUS!

It’s safe to say, I’m a bloody mess and that pun was definitely intended!

Tread very carefully and choose your words very wisely around a woman during this time or else. ‘Else’ could be anything, depending on how badly you piss her off and I don’t recommend letting it get to this point. Definitely do not make her wait any longer than not at all. Or make that irritating, whistling sound through your nose when breathing.

Tough questions pack a punchier response this week and touchy subjects should be avoided completely or things might actually get physical. Cut us some slack because unfortunately, we can’t cut it out.

Avoid comments about what side we chose to exit the bed from because we all know, that’s irrelevant. And you’re not funny. Don’t tell us to ‘snap out of it’ because, we will more than likely snap you and DO NOT assign human qualities such as, ‘cranky’ to our pants. Lastly, the worst thing you could do is call us ‘Drama Queens’, unless of course you want to treat us like royalty.

We have to endure this temporary bi-polar, every month. Poor us. Seriously. As if it’s not unfair enough that if you want kids, WE are the ones that have to carry them around for 9 months whilst our body starts to resemble the shape of a small house. AND, wine time is no longer a fine time for us because – We. Can’t. Drink. The. Wine! Not to mention, everything about the birth. Let’s just take a moment to appreciate all the mama’s out there, please – R.E.S.P.E.C.T ladies!

The joys of being a woman. I really wouldn’t have it any other way though. I can’t imagine not giving a shit about shoes or bangles.

I gave up blaming my period for these mood swings a little while ago because – well, by blaming them – I was blaming me. And this isn’t my fault. I am not wrong. I am a woman and these are the hormones I have been blessed with (blessed may be an overstatement, not going to lie) and the natural side effects that come with them. PMS is a Part of My Story and you need to let it play out.

You may have survived Day 1, but my cycle is like clockwork which means we’ve got 6 days to go, so man-up matey!

*****R.E.S.P.E.C.T to all the men out there that just get it. Ya’ll are keepers.

Image from http://himg2.huanqiu.com/attachment2010/2013/0410/20130410054041903.jpg

YOLO

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Last week I met a fabulous woman who had just been told she was going to die. Cancer doesn’t play fair. Despite being beaten once, it was back. Odette was given 6 months to live and she asked me what I would do?
I had no idea what to say. Fuck. We are told over and over again to live each day like it’s our last and that “you only live once” – it’s become such a cliché that we say it without taking into consideration the harsh truth that the words refer too.
You’re not going to get yesterday back. EVER. You don’t get a second chance at life.
Yet, we continue to take it for granted, enduring the daily grind to make a buck and survive. For what? For the house and the car and all of the other crap society tells us we ‘need’?
What about what we want? Are you doing what you want? Are you happy? If the answer is no, it’s time to make a change. Don’t settle, don’t put up with it. Don’t put the crap that doesn’t make you feel good, before the things that do! You’ve still got time, unlike too many others that have been diagnosed with terminal illness such as cancer. I am not suggesting that you quit your job and become a gypsy (unless of course you want to – by all means, go nuts!), I am only asking that you ask yourself these questions and make sure that you can answer them with a genuine, ‘yes’.
Odette showed me her scars from her previous battle with cancer and she told me a bit about her family and how she came to meet her bestfriend Lou, whom I also had the pleasure of meeting on the night. We talked about boys and growing up and we cried and laughed together. It was such a rare experience, one that I will never forget.
 For me, losing a friend to murder, an uncle to cancer and a grandfather to old age and stubbornness in the past year as well as meeting Odette, has only concreted the fact that we are not immortal. It seems obvious, yet we still continue to assign a sense of immortality to ourselves and those around us. We put things off, hesitate or hold back because we feel as though we have all the time in the world. Then reality bites.
 Live life with no regrets, take chances, be liberal, make changes, be kind, keep an open mind and let go of the things that no longer serve your purpose. Choose a life that you love and love the life that you choose because after all, you do only live once.

music and cars

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Is it just me or do you feel like the next Australian Idol when you get behind the wheel as well? I’ve never been one to sing in the shower, my Yaris has much better acoustics.

My parents couldn’t play an instrument to save their lives (when would it?) but they LOVE music. And they played it loud. We had a very eclectic and extensive collection growing up, a 5 stacker CD player hooked up to a ridiculously large church speaker and 5 acres of wide, open spaces – entertainment for daysssssss.

The fun didn’t stop at home. Roadtrips were just another excuse to be obnoxiously loud and it didn’t matter how long or short the trip was, if you had to drive to get there – you got yourself some rehearsal time! A built in 6 stacker CD player meant that DJing was easy – especially if you had all the latest So Fresh albums. Singles were the devil!

These days we have Bluetooth and Spotify (there truly is a God) and there is no need to lug around 5364844747 of those CD wallet cases or worry about your friends shoving CD’s in your glove box or back in the sleeves of the wallet case shiny. sides. together. Mum is going to kill you! Scratched CD’s = the devil (devil = Mum).

Bad song choices are still a worry though – nothing worse (ok, that’s a bit dramatic but it is pretty bad) than when a friend jumps in your car, assumes the role of DJ and makes a crappy song choice disregarding all of those playlists with funky names like “Get It Poppin” and “Haus of Funk” that you spent hours creating to avoid situations like this. Consider the next 3 minutes (atleast) of your life, wasted.

The ultimate worst though (not being the slightest bit dramatic here) would have to be those riders that turn the music down to tell you a story – unless you’re about to tell me that Liam actually dumped Miley to wife ME – save it. Don’t even think about turning that shit down. Save it, have another think about it – is it really a good story? Is it worth pausing our date with Lady Gaga for?

Image found on media.indiatimes.in

sunday FUNDAY

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Sunday Fundays are so bitter sweet. It’s a beautiful day, you’re feeling fresh and you’re surrounded by your mates – it’s Sunday and it’s going to be a funday. The fact that tomorrow is Monday and you have work manages to escape your attention momentarily. You seize that moment like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, taking yourself to the bar to order a round for you and your friends. Don’t bother telling yourself, or worse – telling other people – that you’re only going to stay for one drink. Because you would be lying. You are in it for the long haul and you might as well order a bottle because let’s face it, it will be cheaper.

A good song comes on and by this stage you’re pretty confident you’ve got the moves like Jagger so you get up and hit the D-floor. Turns out, you actually don’t. But what you don’t know (or have) can’t hurt you and your friends all join in so you must be doing something right, right? You grab your bestie and slur how much you love her and how glad you are that you came and she grabs you back and agrees. You start to become aware of the hell you’re creating for yourself tomorrow yet you still stumble up to the bar for another round.

It’s now closing time and provided you remember to, you gather up your belongings and head for the nearest exit. It takes a lot of focus to navigate your way out with all sorts of obstacles in the way such as stairs and giant pot plants but you get there in the end.

Next challenge: find the nearest kebab shop. Conveniently, there is one near by and you march on in and order away. You attempt to pay the man in cigarettes – sadly, that currency is not accepted. You’re beside yourself – since when?! Your friend pays and you and your gal pals find the comfiest looking gutter to park your arses and tuck in. There is no need to worry about calories consumed because you manage to wear most if it, missing your mouth completely.

You’ve finished your kebab and hailed a cab. When you get home you’re starving AGAIN so you rummage the fridge for whatever ready-made snacks you can find – you’re willing to make toast despite the amount of effort it is going to take.

It is finally time for bed and it looks even better than last Sunday – winning! You pass out (literally) as soon as your head hits the pillow, fully clothed with a face full of make-up.

And that is a wrap – another Sunday Funday done and dusted. Just like that. The sequence of events may vary depending on the person – you may prefer a greasy Big Mac instead of a kebab or you might actually have the moves like Jagger. One thing is for sure though – Monday is going to suck big f****** hairy arse balls.

Image found on x17online.com

we are not your game

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I like to think I am a pretty tough chick and can hold my own in most situations. Sure, I’ve been naïve in the past and have had some pretty wild encounters – that’s all part of the rollercoaster of life. However, nothing I have ever experienced before compares to that sick, defenceless vulnerability you feel when you know you are being preyed upon by a man.

I’m not talking about a dick in a club. I’m talking about 3am, on your way home, tired, maybe a little delirious, with just enough wit about you to realise the seemingly helpless situation you have gotten yourself into.

Some people would ‘righteously’ say – “well, you shouldn’t have been walking home that late.”

Really?! I can’t enjoy the walk home after work because it’s late and I was born a woman with breasts and a uterus as opposed to a penis and too much testosterone?

Regardless of what you would say – that is THE fact. And quite frankly, the facts are fucked.

It shouldn’t matter what time it is, what I look like, what I am wearing, where I have come from OR what I bare on my chest and between my legs – it is all irrelevant.

We are not your game.

We are your mothers, your sisters, your aunties, your grandmothers, your friends and your lovers so please – RESPECT and PROTECT WOMEN.

 

Image by Graycee Maycee

mondayitis

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Monday’s can “go suck a big f***** d*** Jill”.

Mondayitis is definitely a thing. It affects men and women up to 50 years of age that over indulge on Fridays, Saturdays and Sunday Fundays. It is highly contagious – if your best friend is suffering from it, chances are you will be too (usually as a result of being a bad influence on him or her). It is generally caused by “failure to quit” when told by security guard that “you’ve had enough” and that you should “go home and sleep it off”. Instead, choosing to move on to the next venue and continue consumption.

Symptoms include:

  • little or no attention span
  • grouchiness
  • guilt
  • cringing
  • flashbacks
  • tiredness
  • resting bitch face
  • frowning
  • constant complaining
  • headaches
  • vomiting
  • muffled ears
  • loss of taste
  • blocked nose
  • bags under eyes
  • sadness
  • self pity
  • tears (usually fake)

Although it feels as though the world is going to end on the Monday, symptoms only last until Friday afternoon.

Below is a list of cures for Mondayitis:

  • McDonalds (Burger and/or Desserts menu – avoid anything from the Salads & Wraps menu) NOTE: try to resist the urge to drink post mix coke as your tastebuds are pretty non-existent at this stage and it will taste like soda water.
  • Call in sick – this is generally the best option in order to avoid getting fired.
  • Sleep in – majority of symptoms (excluding cringing and flashbacks  – you’re stuck with those!) are a result of lack of sleep.
  • Get a job that enables you to “work from home” on Monday’s.
  • Phone a friend – usually best to contact a friend that was with you on Friday, Saturday or during the Sunday Funday as they will be able to offer some sympathy as well as insight into potential causes of your symptoms.
  • Dancing – take T-Swift’s advice and shake it off.
  • Beer/Wine/Spirits – either/or/all.
  • Huggles – a mixture of hugs and snuggles with Mum, pet (cat, dog, bird if you’re desperate) boyfriend, girlfriend or gay bestfriend.
  • Half-arsed pledges of sobriety – keeping in mind “after-work” drinks on Friday.

Remember, you’re not alone. Chances are, majority of the office is suffering too. It won’t be long before Tuesday slaps you in the face and you wake up to yourself. Hang in there!