Ditch parasite dudes

Alright, imma rant about something that will make boys all kinda butt hurt so if you’re reading this grab some iceeee!

Male friends are G-A-R-B-A-G-E.

Let’s start by using the perfectly scientifically representative case study: my life.

In the past 48 hours, I’ve been approached (via text, this is 2017 after all) by exactly four friends about hanging out or catching up: two females and two males.

There is a stark difference between my interactions with female friends and my interactions with male friends that is SO tangible and obvious it would almost make me laugh if it didn’t make me mad.

One of my fabulous female friends asked me to hang out because she’ll be starting a new job soon and wanted to spend some time together before her schedule picks up. Sadly I could not because I had work, but I know this particular friend always makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside AND THAT’S THE BEAUTY OF FEMALE FRIENDSHIP.

Another friend of mine, another wonderful woman (how many alliterations can I make in this post?), and I haven’t seen each other in awhile and have expressed how we miss each other dearly and need to catch up soon… out of a desire for spending time together and genuine care for each other’s lives and enjoying each other’s presence.

What a beautiful world, huh? Friends who enjoy spending time together and care about each other and want to be around each other to soak up the joy in their association.

Well, some friends that is. I’ve noticed throughout my long, wise years that male friends take a decidedly different tone when reaching out.

Particularly, the two male friends I interacted with in the past day, coincidentally enough BOTH expressed the desire to get together not to hear what’s new in my life, not to bask in my intellect and humor, not to frolic in the beauty of friendship and human interaction.

But because they literally were bored and wanted me to materialize on-command to entertain them.

One had an hour in town to kill and mass-texted people to see who he could hang with to not get bored during said hour. (Yes, he told me this.)

A few weeks ago, a male friend got annoyed when I couldn’t go do something fun because again, I was working, and he said he “had been working really hard and deserved to do something fun.”

And that’s my problem why??????

Keep in mind these are totally platonic friends who are more than aware that I’m in a relationship and sexual activity is nowhere even near a possibility, so don’t let their terse and uncaring tone fool you: they definitely aren’t just looking for a hookup. This is genuinely how they approach friends.

There’s lots of people who only reach out when they need something. I know several women who do this. But this lack of valuable contribution to a friendship, and expectation that the other person exists solely to hang out with you even though you give approximately zero shits about their life, seems to be an intrinsically male phenomenon, at least in my particular experience.

I’m not saying there aren’t wonderful male friends out there. I’ve had plenty of positive interactions and long-time friendships with good dudes. Some of my favorite people to hang out with include some great guys.

That is, the ones who don’t ditch when you realize you won’t have sex with them. (That will be for another post obliterating the goddamn “friend zone” to bits.)

All I’m saying is to evaluate (all) your friendships and see if there’s a roughly equal give-and-take. I guarantee you have a few parasitic dudes in the mix who either 1.) have pressured you into sex or otherwise joked that you aren’t sexually available/interested, 2.) only talk about themselves, 3.) expect you to listen to all their problems while never offering you a listening ear in return, and 4.) want you to entertain them when they’re bored.

The different ways that men and women approach friendships may not be that surprising when you consider the science (which OMG I hate myself for saying since gross men’s rights *activists* always say crusty shit like “Well if you look at the FACTS…”) ANYWAY, science shows [cringe] that women are more emotionally empathetic, better communicators, and have better social skills and higher standards of friendship than men. Hmm.

There’s nothing with reaching out to a friend. In fact, that’s what friendships are for. But if you’re constantly expecting others to entertain you while simultaneously not giving a flying fuck about them or anything in their life, you need to take a seat and stop being a Parasite.

And I’ve noticed this trend with way more male friends than female, which I guess is to be expected in a society where women are expected to drop everything to dole out our coveted emotional labor  for men who frankly don’t know what to do with themselves without it.

Friendship is a two-way street, and I’m done being the only one driving.

Pop Culture

If you can laugh at rape then you’re a psycho

When I watched Sixteen Candles awhile back, I was ready for silly teen hijinks and possibly some outdated references I could have a chuckle at. After all, “classic” movies like this stick around for generations, show up in many answers to “What’s your favorite movie?” and even elicit eye rolls from culture snobs who love to exclaim “How have you never seen that movie?!?!?!!?”

Hate to say it, but I fail to see the charm in such films.

The bottom line: If you can laugh at rape, you need to take a hard look at yourself.

I won’t do it any dignity by linking to it, but if you haven’t seen it, Sixteen Candles contains a scene where a piece of shit dude literally passes his girlfriend’s unconscious body to another guy so he can have a go at her… or rather, her body parts (which, when you think about it, is really no different from necrophilia… Makes you think about rapey dudes a bit differently, huh!). To make it even worse, this transaction is in exchange for another girl’s underwear. So yeah. That’s real cute.

There’s all sorts of fucked up stuff in that particular movie, but this one is especially visceral, especially to young women whose worst fear is played out on screen for filmwatchers to laugh and holler at. Waking up and not knowing if you’ve had a penis in you isn’t silly, quirky, or funny.

You think I’d learn my lesson and only watch… well… actually it’s hard for me to think of any genre that doesn’t involve women’s bodies being used or objectified or brutalized in some way. ANYWAY, perhaps I should just stay away from 80s films altogether, because I recently watched Heathers, which was pretty much the same song and dance.

It had promise, until a scene where one of the Heathers is struggling in the background with a guy on top of her while we’re supposed to focus on the “main” scene happening in front of them with the film’s two main characters, Veronica and JD. Surely, rape wasn’t being used as just a silly background daring the watcher to tear their eyes away from the dialogue to watch the sexual assault happening in the background. Right?

I tried to convince myself it was a depiction of consensual sex, but that’s kind of hard to do when the girl is flailing around and the dude is trying to push her to the ground. (This also immediately follows a scene in which the boys incidentally splash cow shit on the girls’ faces and burst out laughing, which I assume is supposed to be funny? I guess?)

SPOILER: Any cleverness of the movie goes out the window 1.) when several times men force women into sexual acts they clearly are not consenting to, and 2.) it ends with a psychotic outcast trying to blow up the school.

Forgive me if it’s hard to laugh at this plot line when it’s not just fiction for young disturbed boys to turn their violence outward seeking some sort of glorious death, taking down others with them. This happens all the fucking time.

What’s the satire here?

Heathers has been heralded as a genius satire that some cynics get boners for, and the writer takes accomplishment in how rape is used as a punchline.

Both these films were written and directed by men. I’m not even going to say anything else there. Just stating a fact. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I remember recently discussing the show 13 Reasons Why with a male friend (who is no longer a friend, for reasons other than what is discussed here but that you might be able to foresee based on this person’s beliefs).

I told him how hard it was for me to watch the scenes in which [SPOILER ALERT] hulking jock Bryce rapes multiple female characters. His response: “But he was just so nice. Like I know he was a bad guy, but come on! He was a likable dude.”

I’m not shitting you. Seriously.

Why aren’t we disgusted with rape yet? Why do we act like “rape” is some distant occurrence even though it happens around the corner, down the hall, and in the room?

Why are we supposed to laugh at it?

The bottom line is: If the idea of rape, of an individual (usually a man) violating and brutalizing the body of another individual (usually a woman) doesn’t make you want to vomit, take a hard look at yourself, what you tolerate, what you’ve let happen in your life when you’re a bystander, and what you yourself are capable of.

I could talk about this forever, and I will. But for now I’m tired. (In more ways than one.)

Just, don’t laugh at rape. Don’t support movies or music or anything where rape is a joke.

Rape isn’t a wacky hijink.

Rape isn’t a punchline.

And if you think it is… what does that say about you?


Just lots of funny tweets

I’m feeling more peaceful than usual today so I’m just going to do a round-up of some hilarious/solid/relatable tweets I’ve seen lately that are very #OnBrand with BOTR. (I should probably state that I’m not affiliated with any of these Twitter users. I just think they’re hilarious and you should follow them.) Enjoy.

If you don’t already, follow me on Twitter, twits.

^Go read my last post where I rant about staring and more specifically the men who do it!!!!

Street Harassment

The Owl Harasser

If you’re someone who even slightly resembles female, you’ve probably discovered that there are many forms of street harassment. Turns out, men can get a lot more creative than just “Hey baby!” (Sometimes they even venture into “BITCH” and “COME BACK I’M TALKING TO YOU.”)

One of the most amusing forms (and by amusing, I mean rage-inducing) is what I’m calling the Owl Harasser. And yes I made up this name right now.

These harassers turn their heads ALL THE DAMN WAY AROUND just to get a glimpse at your luscious form.

They walk into poles, signs, and buildings because their eye balls are magnetically glued to your asshole. (Unfortunately I’ve never seen this karma happen in person, but I’m sure it happens and I’m sure it’s hilarious.)

And they’re nowhere near as cute as real owls.


I’ve had my fair share of owls, like the recent man who was mesmerized by watching me clumsily organize my CVS bags. Who knew watching a girl figure out how to carry home three boxes of cereal and laundry detergent was so arousing? I sure didn’t!

Or the man who craned his head out the back window of the car to watch me stand and wait at a crosswalk. (To be clear: He was sitting in the back seat, not driving the car. If he was driving and was able to stick his head out the back window, I would be fairly impressed and also wonder why a giraffe was driving a vehicle.)

For context, I was walking to church when this latter instance happened (yes, even angry bitches like me go to church. Namaste. Oh wait, that’s yoga). I was dressed conservatively (NOT THAT IT MATTERS WHAT YOU WEAR WHICH I’M SURE I WILL DISCUSS AD NAUSEUM ON THIS BLOG BECAUSE CREEPS DON’T DISCRIMINATE.) What’s the point of staring? What did this man think would happen? I would flash him right there? He might get a glimpse of my knee once I started walking and my hemline altered slightly? WHY?

It may not seem like a big deal. After all, they’re just looking, right?But walking down the street and feeling a million eye balls laser-beamed onto your chest, your legs, your face, all by men with wide eyes and hungry looks on their faces, really makes you feel… disgusted. Like they are predators and you are their prey. Like every second they continue staring drains you of another ounce of your humanity.

And I’m not outside to be drained.

I’m outside to live my damn life.



Welcome to BOTR.


Photo by coffeebeanworks via Creative Commons


If you’re a woman who’s angry, fired up, or sick of smiling while men make you squirm in your seat, welcome.

If you’re a troll, also welcome. I’m sure anything you want to say, I’ve heard before. So have at it – the wage gap is a myth, the friend zone is real, it’s really men who are oppressed when you think about it, male superiority is just biology really. Have at it.

I started this blog because I’m sick of filtering. I’m a feminist and I’m mad. I’m mad that when I walk down the street I clutch my keys between my fingers in case I have to gauge any eyes out. I’m mad that every 9 seconds a women is assaulted or beaten in the United States.  I’m mad that 1 in 6 women in the United States is a victim of rape. I’m mad that young, white men commit the vast majority of shootings but we still give them guns like assault rifles are a birthright. I’m mad that suicide is an epidemic for men, for the ones who have no other option but to turn the violence they’re told makes them “manly” inward at their own expense.

I’m mad that when we talk about these things, we’re told that we’re just ugly and fat and men must hate us and we just need to get laid.

(For the record: My dad is awesome and I have a wonderful boyfriend who loves me. So those accusations won’t really do much in terms of attacking me personally. Besides: Why are people so quick to scoff “daddy issues” when a girl is mad or depressed or sexual or slightly imperfect? As if men control everything, even a woman’s outcome in life.)

I’m mad that even with how advanced our country is, we have a problem with gender, and that feminists are “crazy” for wanting to not be raped and for men to have outlets that don’t include slaughtering dozens of children.

Talking about rape is uncomfortable.

Talking about violence is uncomfortable.

That’s because it is uncomfortable. But we have to start somewhere.

And I’m starting here. I want everyone who reads this blog to think. To think hard about their world and how they treat the people in it, how they react to the people in it. But this blog is for me. I will rant and I will rave and I will laugh because if I do not laugh at the constant mistreatment of women in this world then I will cry.

And I’m sick of it. And I bet you are too.

The title for this blog is crude and might make cause some people (those who find it hard to believe that vaginas are for something other than having sex with) cringe. That’s the point.

You can call me a bitch. You can say I’m just “on the rag.” These sorts of terms have been used to dismiss, degrade and demean women for centuries. But I won’t let them.

And you shouldn’t either.


Bitch on the Rag

Disclaimer: I identify as a feminist, but anything I write or post is not representative of feminism as a whole. Feminism is about equality of all genders, which I obviously believe in because I don’t have my head up my ass. But as I said, this site is for my unfiltered thoughts and at times I’ll probably say something offensive or shitty. Actually, I will definitely say things that are offensive and shitty. So don’t go railing that all these feminists are crazy when really it’s probably just me. They don’t deserve that. Again: This blog does not reflect the feminist movement as a whole.