Tales From A Young Female Athlete

When I was younger my mom put me in figure skating (she also put my big brother in figure skating and I believe there's a home video somewhere of him skating around in a dog costume doing the macarena...). I rocked that (read: sucked at it) for a couple of years and then demanded to play hockey like my daddy and brothers. I believe that this may be one of the proudest moments for my dad. Aside from a minor altercation with using a male cup for my female parts and it hurting like a bitch for the first few practices, I transitioned pretty easily. I got myself a sassy lady-cup and played with the boys.

First photo that shows up on Google Image
when you type in: Sporty Girl
I believe this is the standard football uniform?  

It helped, of course, to have my dad coach me for the first few years. I never fully appreciated the difficult choice he made. He had two sons who were good enough to compete at AAA levels and he gave up the chance to coach them so that he could help his daughter transition to a male dominated sport. I was the only girl on my team for the first 3 or 4 years and he treated me just like one of the guys, which is exactly what I wanted. My least favorite moments in hockey were when the other coaches did something that highlighted the fact that I was a girl. It made me feel completely isolated. Sometimes they'd talk slower to me, as if I couldn't understand a concept because I had a vagina, or they'd give me special treatment which was even worse. If I was actually horrible at the sport that would be one thing but I could hold my own out there. It was just demeaning to have to put up with these men who saw me as different even though my only marker as a girl was a tiny blonde ponytail poking out of my helmet.

What gorgeous...sports

I think that being all geared up did help because other than that ponytail I didn't look any different than the boys in grade 3. Overall my memories of early hockey playing were positive. But when I joined lacrosse in middle school I had an entirely negative experience. In true sister fashion, I wanted to play lacrosse because my brothers were getting into it. They'd play in the yard and I would want to join in and then I decided I wanted to be on a team. I had parents who let me try anything I expressed a sincere interest in, so off I went to my first lacrosse practice. What I encountered was a team of pre-pubescent boys who had never played with a girl, only this time I couldn't hide my girlishness behind pounds of gear. With just shorts and a jersey, I set out. At first I didn't even consider this - I'd played sports my whole life and had never run into any issues. I sailed in a bathing suit and played soccer in shorts, but with sailing it was usually with my female best friend (where we had some of our most epic fights, confined to a very small boat) and with soccer I was on an all-girls team.

Couture Soccer 

It was when we got into a circle to stretch that I experienced some of the deepest shame in my life. I was doing the crouch with one leg out to the side, and I noticed that two of the boys beside me were staring up my shorts - and they could see everything. I hadn't realized that my loose shorts - just like what the boys had on - would cause a problem but those boys just stared and stared. I was looking back at them, trying to force eye contact and they just wouldn't look up. It was humiliating. Should I stop the stretch? Should I run away? Then I realized I still needed to stretch out my other leg. I switched sides gratefully, only to see that the boys signaled the group of boys on the other side. I spent that practice knowing that almost half the team had seen a part of me that no one else had ever seen. I was ten years old.

I stuck to it for a little longer and then begged to quit. Even at that age I knew that the dynamic on the team had completely changed. None of those boys ever did look me in the eye. I had been branded "just a girl" from that very first practice. To this day I can still remember their faces, totally unashamed. I couldn't believe they had the confidence to just stare at me like that. A statistic came out recently in a commercial saying that by age 14 girls are dropping out of sports at twice the rate of boys. We're bombarded with images of what women should look like, and none of those images show a girl with dirt on cheeks and sweat on her brow. Another statistic provided by Dove researchers states that 6 out of 10 girls will quit a sport because of how they feel about their looks. That's some heady stuff, knowing that girls are becoming aware of their bodies in a negative way at an earlier and earlier age. But why?

The way I felt about my looks and my place on the team was altered almost completely because of those boys. I wish I could go back and find out why they weren't embarrassed or ashamed of themselves, why they thought their behaviour was acceptable. When we have conversations about why girls quit sports, I don't think that all the emphasis should be placed on the media or their self-esteem. I understand that there's a gendered focus but there needs to be discussion about young boys too. I was sexualized by my teammates before I fully understood what sex even was. There was never an attempt to include me or befriend me. My dad coaching me in hockey was probably the biggest reason I stayed, and I can't imagine how hard he worked to make sure I felt accepted. When I started out in lacrosse I was benched during games by the coaches, ogled by my teammates and felt forced to quit by my resulting insecurities. Maybe there should be training sessions so that coaches don't remain ignorant. Maybe parents should remind their sons that girls are capable of not only keeping up but also whooping their asses from time to time. Maybe boys should be held responsible for isolating their female teammates.

Imagine if my lacrosse coaches had "manned up" for me? I may have stuck with it, and instead I'm just writing a blog about it.

Baseline: Believe.

I've been looking back at the amazing support I've gotten from my family, friends, colleagues and coworkers after someone tried to break into my apartment last Tuesday. I was going over the details in my mind, and I started to think about how lucky I was in the way I was treated post-event. Let's review the facts together.

1. No one blamed me for having transparent curtains. No one told me that maybe I could have prevented the whole thing by having solid curtains, that maybe the guy felt welcomed by the curtains and it was partially my fault.

2. No one questioned my story. Why on earth would anyone make up a story about a person trying to get through her fire escape at 3:30 in the morning? That's just ridiculous...it's extremely rare for any crime to be falsely reported.

3. No one asked if maybe I had actually invited the guy inside and just regretted it afterwards. Perhaps I'd been sleeping provocatively? Perhaps having a night light on was like a signal that I wanted someone to try to enter my home? But no, that's foolish, obviously. 

4. No one told me I should consider his side of the story, that maybe he made an honest mistake and there were some mixed messages about whether or not he could break into my apartment.

5. No one asked me what kind of pajamas I was wearing, or if I'd consumed any alcohol before going to bed. It was very clear that this was not relevant to whether or not someone was trying to get inside my home. Why on earth would that make a difference? After all, someone was committing a crime. The circumstances of my attire or sobriety aren't relevant.

6. No one tried to defend the actions of the guy. No one said he had a right to come in, no one implied that I should have somehow prevented this, or that it wasn't that big of a deal. No one said "boys will be boys".

Are you hearing me? No one said I was "asking for it". No one told me to "be more careful". No one told me to change my life to prevent this sort of thing. Why the hell are we doing this to rape victims? If I had been wasted out of my mind and had passed out naked in bed, would that have been reason enough for someone to break into my apartment? Of course not. Yet every day it's used as justification for rape. And I do mean that literally. Every. Day. 

I don't know how, as a culture, we decided that women are extremely likely to falsify a report of sexual assault but the fact is that false reporting is extremely rare. Even when analyzing false report data on sexual assault we can see that many victims withdrew their claims due to fear, intimidation, or simply trying to forget it or put it behind them (a common stage in recovery from sexual assault). I cannot say this enough: Leave the judgment to the court systems, the police and the lawyers. Baseline: Believe. Do you hear me? That's all you have to do. Extend that courtesy to anyone you know who says that they've been sexually assaulted. No one bat an eye at my claim that someone tried to break in. No one questioned my story. Do not question theirs. It's much harder to come forward about a sexual assault than my situation, so imagine the strength that person has to even tell their story to a single person. Baseline: Believe. That is all I ask.

Tuesday's Gone

This past Tuesday would have been a strange night regardless of what happened to me at 3:30am, because the evening started out with me baking. Anyone who knows me can tell you that me baking is a rarity but, as my boyfriend said "you know it's a crazy night when the weirdest thing that happened wasn't you making an apple crisp".



I actually made three, and after cooking one, freezing one and fridging one I watched a few episodes of a tv show and went to bed. I'll give you the setup. My bedroom has two windows framing the fireplace. One of the windows is actually my fire escape exit, a special door-sized window that cranks open. I have curtains over the windows but they're transparent. My bed is against the opposite wall, and I have a nightlight on near the head of my bed because I've always been scared of the dark. I'm sleeping on my stomach, facing away from my bedroom windows towards the wall. My phone is on the bed in my eyeline, and my dog is asleep at the foot of my bed (where she belongs).

I wake up to the sound of Dani barking more ferociously than I've ever heard her and loud banging coming from outside on my fire escape. I initially think I should move, but realize that whoever is outside is not one of the other people in my house. Not only would they not be awake at that time, but they don't use the fire escape because it's been incredibly icy, and when they do they're never making that much noise. I just lay there with a growing sense of panic because whoever is out there can see me lying in bed. I pretend to sleep even though he's banging on my window and Dani is losing her mind and growling while standing over top of me. I know he can see me because of the night light, but I can't see him because I'm still facing the wall. I can just feel eyes on me. He moves away from my window for a moment and I can hear him banging on my neighbour's door. I grab my phone, jump out of bed and sit in the hallway. Dani's still on the bed but I've gotten her to quiet down. The person comes back to my window and starts banging again. My texts to my boyfriend in that time period read:

"Someone is currently banging around on my fire escape"
"I am so frigging freaked out"
"I can hear breaking glass and stuff being thrown around"
"Now it sounds like they're at (housemate's name)'s apartment"
"I don't have her number in my new phone. I'm too scared to go back in my room or make any noise to call someone"
"I'm sitting on the floor in the dark leaning against the pink side table by the door with no idea what to do"


"Now there's complete silence. I'm too scared to crawl into the bedroom"
"There's no sound at all. But that doesn't mean the person isn't literally staring through my window. Dani is on high alert too, still growling. She lost it initially. (Housemate's name) hasn't been using the fire escape and it was really loud. I've heard people go up and down it before. This is different."
"I used my car keys to lock my door over and over, thought that the noise might freak them out and then they went completely silent for a whole minute before banging around again."
"I'm calling my dad"
"I'm calling 911."

During those texts I sat by my door away from the windows, wondering if my call would be loud enough that whoever was outside would hear me talking. I called my dad's phone and it went straight to voicemail. At this point I may have reached the peak of my fear, because for a second I thought someone could jam my phone. I called my mom's cell, which she doesn't always answer because she's deaf in one ear, but she answered right away and I told them what was happening and my dad told me immediately to call the police. He said "hang up now and dial 911."

I got Dani to come to me and she laid on my lap while I spoke to dispatch and explained what I was hearing. I told her how to get to the parking lot where the fire escape stairs are (the entrance is on a different street from my address). Dispatch asked if I felt comfortable going up to my window and looking out. I said no. She told me they were on their way and hung up. I put my phone on vibrate and just sat there with Dani listening as hard as I could and praying that my housemate was okay. I got a call back from dispatch four minutes later telling me that police were on site, and could I flash my bedroom lights so that they knew which place was mine? Now the noises I heard outside were police, and I feel a huge wave of relief pour over me. I was not going to die. I'm going to be okay.

Now a sense of embarrassment comes over me. I'm this single young girl living on my own calling the police over what could have just been raccoons. Did I really hear breaking glass or was that just ice coming off the stairs? Maybe they weren't banging on my window, maybe they're just a friend of a housemate. As I grow more and more sure of my paranoia, I get my final call from dispatch again asking me to let the police into the apartment. The door to the building is normally locked but for some reason that night it wasn't, so when I open my door to go let them in, they're already coming up the stairs. Dani, having been overstimulated for the past half hour, goes full attack dog and I have to hold her back. To her credit, the 4 police officers coming up the stairs took a collective step back. I told them she was friendly, let her go and she just sniffed them (bark>bite).

They troop inside my place and they say they've taken a look outside and no one is there. Oh. Then they say "do you own a car out back" and I say "yes" and they say "well, someone dropped a cinder block on it from the roof". And there it is. Total validation. I was right. Someone really did try to break in, someone was throwing things, someone vandalized my car and terrorized me for half an hour while I sat in the dark wondering if I would be able to save my dog if he got in and tried to hurt her.

First I make sure that the police check on my housemate, and then I had to go outside and get the insurance out of my car. This is when I see the damage. Someone dropped a pretty big cinder block and it landed square on the roof of my car. The dent is almost a foot deep.  I actually laugh out loud. Validation. We all head back inside and they take my statement again. At this point it's 4:30am. They've found another car with its sunroof smashed out and they think whoever is running around is still out there. I've gotten weirdly giddy, cracking jokes and oversmiling. I think it was a combination of relief and the knowledge that I was right. The police left, I called my parents and my boyfriend, and fell asleep around 7am.

I woke up at 11am and just laid there thinking of what had happened. I kept thinking back not to the sounds I heard but to how absolutely terrified I was. Even now, two days later I'm having trouble coming to grips with it. It could have been so much worse.

Now, in the light of day, I can try and see the situation logically. They caught the person early Wednesday morning (which was still my Tuesday night at that point). It was a 16 year old boy who was already on probation. He was high. For me, this just made the situation sadder. How hard of a childhood does someone have to have that they're already on probation by 16? That no one reports them missing when they're vandalizing the neighbourhood at 4am? It also made it a little scarier. What would have happened if he'd gotten in? Someone making that much noise isn't trying to burglarize. They're not concerned about getting caught. They're doing whatever they want. And he wanted in.

I wrote this post because I wasn't sure how to tell people what happened, but I still wanted people to know. I also wanted them to understand that even though now it may seem like a laughable situation, I legitimately wondered that night if I was going to be raped or killed. I might brush it off if you bring it up in person, but it was the scariest night of my life and I'll carry it with me. I will ask "what if?" for a while. I don't really feel traumatized and I slept just fine last night (although you can bet I'm going to buy new curtains), but I want people to understand. If someone in your life has gone through a traumatic experience, try not to belittle it. Let them talk if they want to or joke about it if they want to, but remain sensitive. I'm okay and I feel this way, so imagine what it feels like for someone who was traumatized by their experience (and by the way, it's not the severity of the situation that dictates trauma but rather the person's reaction to it).

I also want everyone to know that if they think, even for a heartbeat, that they should call the police, DO IT. You never know. If your gut is saying something is off, you're probably right. In that split second that I woke up, I just knew something was wrong, that it wasn't a housemate or a friend. I had a bad feeling and I rolled with that instead of explaining it away.

That's all I really have to say on it. I'm glad I'm okay and that my housemate is okay. I hope that the boy responsible gets help instead of punishment. I'm asking you to be sensitive to the experiences of those around you. I'm asking you to trust your instincts and take yourself seriously.

Stay safe.

(As a side note, the Saint John police officers did an amazing job that night. On site within 5 minutes, thorough check, constant reassurance. I hope we don't lose them to RCMP. I told them I felt a bit stupid calling 911 and they told me repeatedly that they'd rather come to a false alarm than miss a serious situation every single time. They told me to always call. The night was a horrible experience but they were a good one.)

Long Distance Relationships!

I am struggling with my long distance relationship. It's hard being apart, I have trouble keeping in touch and it can be really lonely. And no, I am not talking about the relationship with my boyfriend. He is as close to perfect as a dude can come. I'm talking about my friends. The problem with being my upper/middle class self is that my friends are spread out all over the world. They're not held in place by financial restrictions or obligations and so they've spread their well-feathered wings and flown off to regions unknown. And it blows.

I'm happy where I am ((physically) and also emotionally and all that crap), but I wish my friends were here. I've got a best friend in Australia, Saskatoon, Edmonton, Newfoundland, Ottawa, Ghana...and as happy as I am that they're living out their dreams and I would never begrudge them that, sometimes, in my most selfish of hearts, I wish they were all within a two minute walk.

It's hard not to make subtle hints every once in a while, during conversation, about them maybe moving a bit closer. They say "It's so cold here!" and I say "It's not too bad in Saint John! Now move here!". As you can see, my subtlety needs work. When one of my best friends actually did move here, I think I cried actual tears of joy. It's gotten to the point where I feel a tiny bit like a creepy spider sitting in the middle of my web, trying to reel in juicy flies.

So I've been giving it some thought, and I think I've come up with a few ways that may make long distance friendships a bit easier.


1. Talk about nothing.
Have you ever thought 'I should really get in touch with so-and-so' and you start an email to then and before you know it you've got an essay going on the past 6 months of your life. You send it, and then you get an identical one back a week later, and you tell yourself you'll answer it when you have more time and then it just sits there for the next 6 months? What makes my long distance relationship with my boyfriend work so well is that we never have to do a giant update because we already know the little things, because I send him a text along the lines of, "My office is so cold today I have the shared space heater hiding under my maxi dress" and he answers with "You're an idiot" (or something nicer than that). It's not a big thing, it's barely a blip in my day but now he knows it. So instead of a full-on essay, it might be easier to message my friends along the style of a casual conversation instead of a months-long update.

2. Invest some time.
I put thoughtful effort into my long distance relationship with my boyfriend. I make sure it's a priority because I love him a whole bunch. But I also love my friends a whole bunch (just in a different way except for a few lucky gals during my experimental phase (I kid)). I'm also unorganized and scatterbrained. Keeping track of the one boyfriend is pretty easy. Keeping track of the friends I genuinely want to stay in touch with is a bit more challenging when they're not in my day-to-day life (which can be remedied by #1). So, I made a list. I really did. A list of friends in my life who I want to stay in my life. And I told myself I would make sure to send them at least a little something once a week. If I can text the bf like 20 times a day, I can text my long-distance lady loves once a frigging week. And then I find that the more they're at the foreground of my thinking, the more I'm reminded of them, and the more I message them. For example, one of my friends is terrified of snakes...so I send her creepy snake stuff when I see it. You may choose to be kinder to your friends. I apparently thrive off of exploiting their fears (I may have to find a new angle for this friend).

3. Ask questions.

This seems so simple. I think it could actually help with #1 and #2 as well. We've sort of developed into this ego-centric self-absorbed society. When people have whole albums of just their faces smiling/duck-facing at a camera from an upward angle with a minimally varied hairstyle and background, you've got to wonder how often we focus on the other person. With my boyfriend, I make sure I ask questions, and not just to get information about his day but also to show him that I care about what he's saying, that I'm interested in how his day was or how hard his roommate slipped and fell on his face (great story). So why not use the same method with my buddies? Instead of always updating them about yourself, it's so easy to pay attention to their text and ask another question. So when you get one saying "my day sucks dick", instead of answering "oh me too, my coworker is the worst", you could try "Why the dick-sucking day my friend?" (or something more eloquent). Your friends should be getting something out of the friendship...like your ear. AND YOUR HEART.

4. Travel.
So this spider situation, is there a rule that says that the spider has to reel in the flies? I think the spider could probs go to the flies instead of expecting the flies to come to her. While a lot of my best buds end up here for Christmas because their families are here, some of them are from other provinces or countries and I'd be their sole reason for visiting Saint John. I can't continually expect everyone to come see me and not make any effort to visit them. It's just not really fair to sit here and miss them and expect them to walk through my door. This is a lot easier to accomplish, of course, if you're on the privileged side of the tracks, like me.

5. If 1,2,3 &4 fail, move on.
Friendships run their course. It happens pretty organically in person, but sometimes it's hard to read the signs when your friend is away. This is where I have the most difficulty. Say I've made a huge effort, visited them (even if it was just when they were home for a visit), I message them, I make them more of a priority, I ask questions and make sure I know about their lives. But I sit down one day and see that they don't know much about my job, have no idea what province my boyfriend is in, haven't made an effort to see me when they're in town, and continually keep the focus on themselves. Just like in a romantic relationship, there's got to be a balance in effort and dedication. It's sad when you realize that's not the case. I think maybe the healthiest thing you can do is gently let them go, and if they find their way back to you then that's okay. There's nothing that says you can't grow apart and then back together again. But you can't kill yourself trying to make it work. You shouldn't have to put in 90% only to see your friend barely put in the last 10. You deserve better! I deserve better.

My best friend and I. Photos twenty years apart and friendship still strong

We all have those friends who we don't talk to for months or years and then when you get back together it's like no time has passed. Don't ever lose those people. I'm not saying you should drop them. That's silly. I guess what I'm saying is that if a friendship isn't working for you, it's okay to move on. But you should try your very hardest first before you make that call.

A Virginity Tale - Guest Post!

I mentioned to a buddy of mine that I'd post anything she had to write, considering she's funny,  honest and foraying into her first sexual adventures. So a few nights later she gets back to me and has drunkenly written out the story of losing her virginity. And here it is. It's frigging amazing.


It's raw, it's real:


The first time I had sex marked an interesting point in my life. Or I should say, it marks an interesting time in my life because this particular chapter I feel is far from over.  The first time was with an odd fellow by the name of Christopher. At least that is what I think his name is, I can’t be sure. The night, as a whole, was rather strange. I was with Alyson, and we were wandering around pretending we were from Ireland (although, unfortunately, I am relatively certain that my accent was far from accurate). Anywho, as we meandered through the university’s “student ghetto” we found ourselves at a party of sorts. In the traditional style of my university’s parties it seems, there was a required fee in order to gain admittance. Due to the fact that we were (and still are) terribly broke, we decided instead to hop the fence. This resulted in several bruises and a smattering of scrapes, but nevermind. At lease we were now in the party environment and not just a pair of fools standing on the street.

Once in the large gathering of people, I found myself talking to a medium size Chinese man. He was very interesting. He spoke of his work with organizations that dealt with malaria in disease-ridden countries. Given the fact that I had consumed a lot of vodka, and a strange mango energy drink, I was rather taken with him. But then he had to leave, called away for some reason, and I was left alone. Now being alone in general I do not really have a problem with. But, being alone at a kegger is an entirely different story. It is in this state that you begin to see the party for what it truly is - a desperate group of people all trying to make some kind of superficial connection with someone else. This is something you want to avoid at all cost because then you end up questioning the meaning of life, and how you are failing miserably in every aspect at whatever life could signify. So, naturally, I grasped on to the only other person I had made casual small talk with; the man in the silver fedora. This is the man that I would lose my virginity to. I know, it seems insane.

I began making casual conversation with this fellow, and then the next thing I knew, he was leading me to his house. And I just followed. Even now, I still cannot quite decipher why I did this. I could have easily broken free and forged my way home. But no, I decided to follow this strange man home. Upon arrival, his seduction techniques consisted of him showing me his collection of kitchen knives, all of which he sold, his bow and arrow collection, and his exact replica of a medieval sword. I was surprised by his tactics to say the least. And then, just when I thought he could not out do himself, he began to recount to me the history of battleships during the world wars.

It was after this display that we actually had sex. I must say, I was very drunk at the time. Sadly, this did not lessen the pain I experienced in the least. I am not sure if this was because of a lack of cunnilingus or what, but on the whole, I do remember a significant amount of pain accompanying the experience. And then, on top of that, his head would not stop moving. It just kept bobbing up and down in front of me as if he was some kind of tropical fish in a sad little tank. And then, I threw up. Classy right?

Yes, I threw up in the middle of having sex for the first time. At this point I decided it was time to go, and so I said to the man in the silver fedora, “I must go, or else the feminists will be disappointed in me.” I am not sure exactly what I meant with that phrase, only that I knew it would make for an excellent exit. He was a bit confused, I think.

That was my first time having sex. It was not romantic, or magical. I did not see any stars, or form any kind of emotional attachment to that man. It was just something I did, and that is all it was.

A Very Important Sex Tip:

This is going to be a very short post. 

I have a very important message.

When you are having sexual fun times with a woman and she says "just like that" or starts moaning louder or gives indications that she is truly enjoying the hell out of the sexual experience...

DO NOT GO FASTER. DO NOT GO SLOWER. DO THE THING THAT IS MAKING HER MOAN.

(Side bar, and I cannot emphasize this enough, communication is key. Hopefully, if all is well with you and your partner, she'll let you know when she wants it faster or slower. Seriously, otherwise, do what you were doing. DO WHAT YOU WERE DOING.)

Have A (Sexy) Feminist Christmas!

A Feminist Christmas Poem

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the old flat
Not a creature was stirring, not even a cat
The shoes were all lined on the mat by the door
In hopes that snow would not melt on the floor

The feminist was nestled all snug in her bed
while visions of vibrators vibrated in her head
And boys in their boxers and boys in their briefs
Just had some "me-time" into their kerchiefs

When out on the street there arose such a clatter
The feminist sprung from her bed to see what was the matter
Away to the front door she flew with her sash
(To close her nightgown so she wouldn't flash)

The moon on the boob of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the people below
When, what to her wondering eyes should appear
But a young couple, doin' it in the rear!

With the half-naked guy so lively and quick
She knew in a moment it would be over in a lick
More rapid than eagles his thrusts they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and yelled out her name;

"Oh Brenda, wait Brittany? No, Tiffany...or Tia?
Is it Tori? Or Laurie? Not Laura...it's Leah!"
To the top of the porch, leaned up on the wall
The feminist dashed away, dashed away, dashed down the hall

As poles help with the pitching of a tent
so too did this young woman give consent
and on down the hallway the feminist flew
Til she ran into a housemate or two

And then, in a twinkling, she heard on the roof
the unmistakable sound of a "woof"
As she drew to her door and turned around
the couple from apartment 4 fell down the stairs with a bound

He dressed all in latex, from his head to his toes
She wearing nothing but some fishnet panty hose
A bundle of toys he had flung on his hip
While in her two hands she cradled a whip

His eyes - how they shifted! His face all blushed!
His cheeks were like roses, his face was so flushed
His droll little mouth was about to apologize
When his lady friend silenced him with her eyes

The stump of the whip he held tight in his mouth
And he kept his submissive eyes trained south
She said "sorry for this, I mean - hell we
were just going to get some more lubricating jelly"

Then she led him to their door by his tiny rhinestone collar
It was easy to see which one of them was the brawler
But a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave her to know she had nothing to dread

He spoke not a word, but went straight inside
And his lady friend loudly tanned his hide
Tonight the feminist had seen just two kids of femme
It takes all kinds, even BDSM

She sprang to her bed, turned on by the night
and got herself off, as is her right
And, she thought, as she slowly drifted away
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good lay!"

14 Women Died - PAY ATTENTION TO THAT

On this day 24 years ago, Marc Lepine entered Ecole Polytechnique in Montreal and found a classroom of 60 engineering students. At gunpoint, he ordered the men to leave the classroom while the 9 women in the class were asked to line up against the wall. Later, the men would say they were confused, hesitant - but they all left. The women were shot. Six were killed instantly and three were injured. Lepine then left the classroom and continued to seek out female students throughout the school, entering classrooms, administration offices and the cafeteria and firing on every woman he saw. At one point a wounded woman asked for help. He stabbed her to death.

Before he took his own life he had murdered 14 women and injured several more.

In the wake of this massacre, the press labeled Lepine a sick man and said that it was coincidence that only women were killed. They said that he, too, was a victim of society's cruelty. When his suicide note was later leaked anonymously to Francine Pelletier, a reporter whose name was found on a hit-list in Lepine's pocket, it showed that he was specifically targeting women he viewed as feminists, stating that they had ruined his life. Lepine was denied entry to the school and determined that if the school - which traditionally had only enrolled men - hadn't had female students, he would have been granted admission. For the record, this is untrue. He did not meet the school's enrollment standards.

On this day we remember:

Genevieve Bergeron

Helene Colgan

Nathalie Croteau

Barbara Daigneault

Anne-Marie Edward

Maud Haviernick

Maryse Laganiere

Maryse Leclair

Anne-Marie Lemay

Sonia Pelletier

Michele Richard

Annie St-Arneault

Annie Turcotte

Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz

I know most of you scrolled through that list. I know it seems like just a bunch of names. But it is so much more. Each of those names is a woman who would be an engineer today. They would be mothers and wives. Their parents would be grandparents now. They would have never heard of Marc Lepine. Instead, there are childless parents. There is cold stone where there should be warm skin. There is a man today who is married to a different woman, or who never married at all because the woman he was meant to be with was killed December 6th, 1989. People compare death to snuffing out a candle, but that's not true. A candle can be reignited. We lost those women forever, and with their deaths the face of Canadian feminism changed.

Here's why this is still relevant.

For a heartbeat in Canadian history, people thought about taking a step back. They thought, why put our women's lives at risk by pushing them into uncharted territory? If those 14 women were never in an engineering school, they'd still be alive. Maybe we should stop progressing towards this mythical concept of equality. Maybe we should focus on sheltering women from these harsh realities. Maybe we don't need female engineers. Maybe...

And then the Canadian heart, strong as always, beat on. As a collective we realized that that line of thinking is toxic. It's repulsive. One man's delusional actions should not halt the progress that we've made as a society. We must fight back! Not with guns, not with knives (the weapons of choice for Lepine) but with female engineers! Female politicians! Female doctors and lawyers and welders and electricians! With equality! With rights! What a beautiful thing.  As feminist Andrea Dworkin said "It is incumbent upon each of us to be the woman that Marc Lepine wanted to kill. We must live with this honour, this courage. We must drive out fear. We must hold on. We must create. We must resist."

Here's why I wrote this post. Because I have a point to drive home, and it is this: If you, like me, are glad to hear of the progress we've made in spite of Lepine's wishes, if you felt inspired by Dworkin's words, if you are happy that we have female engineers today, then why do we ask women to stay home at night, or not drink as much, or dress more conservatively to avoid sexual assault? In the circumstances of the Montreal Massacre, Canada could have withdrawn all female students. But we didn't. We pushed on, because we knew that it was not feminism but Lepine's anti-feminism that was at fault. We knew not to blame the victims simply for being in a classroom learning about a male-dominated field. We knew that they were innocent, and Lepine was guilty. Why then, when it is sexual assault do we ask what the woman could have done to prevent it?

We must, as a culture, as a community, acknowledge whole-heartedly that the victim is innocent and the aggressor is guilty. Should women deny their freedoms so that they avoid cruel men? If we always let the cruelty of the world dictate our actions, we would not be mourning the loss of the great Nelson Mandela, who believed in love over hatred. We would not celebrate Rosa Parks, who was tired in every sense of the word. We would have a history that would include Adolph Hitler's victory and Nellie McClung's defeat. But we didn't tolerate that. Let's be a culture that looks back in 50 years at the way we handled discussions on sexual assault and be proud. Don't settle. Don't accept. Do what Dworkin insisted upon. I will say it again:

"It is incumbent upon each of us to be the woman that Marc Lepine wanted to kill. We must live with this honour, this courage. We must drive out fear. We must hold on. We must create. We must resist."

Sexist Feminist?

On my previous post, I let the world (lol jk the people who read this blog) know about the Empowerment All-Nighter, the event I created for women ages 17-25 in Saint John. It's going to be a blasty blast with games, zumba, self-defense, hair & makeup, a photo booth, yoga, games, food etc. I am pretty pumped about it, even though getting women ages 17-25 involved in something is extremely difficult sometimes...

So anyways, I posted this event, was interviewed on the radio, spread the info on Facebook, via Twitter and email, talked in schools, and offered my kidney to strangers to get people involved. Well. The other day someone called me sexist for making the event for women only.

I would like to clarify something.

The most at-risk group to be sexually assaulted is women ages 18-24, who make up the vast majority of both reported and unreported cases. This statistic determined who would be invited to our event. For good measure, we expanded the age range by a year both ways, for those entering the danger zone, and those exiting. If it were men ages 35-45, we would have catered our event to that age group, so it probably would have involved hockey or golf or some other male stereotypes (kidding). But since that group are far more likely to be the aggressors of sexual assault, we figured that they could survive not coming to an event that was designed to create a safe space for women to talk about rape culture and sexual assault.

I am not trying to put women above men. I am not trying to exclude people. That would make me a hypocrite. I am trying to create a space where women can talk about the weight that they carry on their shoulders just because they are women. The judgments, pressures, insecurities, impossible ideals and fears. I don't think that my intentions or actions are malicious towards men. No one has called me an ageist for restricting the event to 17-25 year olds. I guess I'm just shocked that someone would try and pick a fight rather than ask a question. 

I think what I'm getting at is that when you're about to call someone sexist, racist, ageist, homophobic, etc. especially when it's the reverse of the typical sexism, racism, etc. that takes place, find out what their intentions are. I am not a sexist (or any of those other things...). I am just trying to wake Saint John up to the fact that we have the highest rate of sexual assault in Canada. The only reason we're not hosting an event for men alongside this one is time and budget constraints, because that's life. We had to prioritize, and we went with women. When we were in Saint John High School last week doing our education piece, it was open to both boys and girls, and both boys and girls attended. If my project somehow gets more funding or support, the women I work with are incredibly enthusiastic about doing something catered towards young men. 

So please, do not think I don't care about what rape culture does to men. Rape culture encourages women to end up as prey, and it encourages men to end up as predators - neither situation is healthy! I don't fight rape culture just for women! I can't say it enough. I'm fighting against ignorance, stereotypes, violence, hatred. That means I'm fighting for women AND men. Just because I'm running a women-only program does not mean that I hate men.

STOP CALLING ME SEXIST! 

Some Great (Feministish) Movies!

I watched a fantastic movie this weekend and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that a list of great movies may be in order for ma blog. They have a bit of a feminist vibe, but not really? I just like them because they break the mold a little bit (or a lot). Also these are not chick flicks. I've never met a man who doesn't love #4 on this list.

1. The To Do List - Frankly this was one of the most hilarious movies I've seen in a very long time. Huge laugh-out-loud moments, great comedic timing, and a brilliant storyline. This one is about a recent high school graduate who has never had a sexual experience and, being a very studious person, embarks on completing a list of sexual activities before the summer is out, ending in her losing her virginity. She's so factual about it that it's basically the total opposite of all the other teen virginity movies out there - unless the main character was a guy (read: American Pie). She's not out there to fall in love - she's out there to get shit done. No pies were harmed in the making of this particular movie.

2. No Strings Attached - This cinematic adventure came out at the same time as Friends With Benefits, and a lot of people preferred that one, but let me explain why I like the Ashton Kutcher/Natalie Portman duo over Justin Timberlake/Mila Kunis. FWB follows an incredibly predictable plot, where the girl falls in love with the guy and the guy isn't ready to commit. Have we not seen this before? I get it. Girl falls in love with guy and guy takes some extra time to realize that he, too, is in love with the girl. He then makes a grand gesture which makes up for the previous tiff. Good stuff. No Strings Attached flips the scenario on its head.
Here we have a girl who's in it just for the orgasm and the guy who's trying to push for the relationship - a situation that a lot of ladybirds I know have been in. I love this one because it's funny and it's atypical.

3. The Hunger Games - I know this choice is obvious. I just don't care! There's this new Swedish movie feminist rating system and The Hunger Games passes with flying colours. Some of the requirements are as simple as two female characters having a conversation about something other than a fella. Not even Harry Potter (<3) passes this rating system. I love this movie for a billion reasons, but one of the aspects I admire a lot is that Katniss knows she's got to save her life and protect her family. She has priorities that extend beyond falling in love, getting a boyfriend, etc. She's independent, strong, rebellious and also awesome. May the odds be ever in her favour. (Also, the quote in this photo is brilliant.)


4. Mean Girls - Such a classic. My generation may never stop quoting this movie. But it also carries a great message about how girls tear down other girls. As a feminist, I don't see the "enemy" as men; I see it as ignorance, tolerance of inequality, condescension, hate, sexual assault. Tina Fey makes the great point that if girls keep calling each other sluts, we're just giving guys permission to do the same, and that is not cool. In short, this movie is just plain fetch.

5. The Duchess - I wasn't sure if I was going to add a fifth movie to the list, but this one left me in tears. It is incredibly sad, thought provoking and beautifully done. It's kind of the opposite of a feminist movie but it's based on a true story and I think that it shows how far we have come. It's easy to crap on a lot of the issues our society still struggles with but when you watch a movie like this and see what it used to be like, you can think "yeah, we've made huge progress". And this is about a woman of high society - imagine what the working class was like. It's definitely worth a watch, but if you're a crier (LIKE ME) then I suggest you keep some tissues close by. Or a whole box.



That's it for now! Just glad I could share some thoughts. Also:
My leadership group is hosting an Empowerment All-Nighter November 30th, 6pm-6am. Zumba, Hair and Makeup, Self Defense, Yoga, Food, Movies, Games, etc. If you are a woman ages 17-25 in the Saint John area, email me for details!  rgrantvolunteer@gmail.com. It's going to be amazing fun, don't pass up this opportunity :)