This Pretty Well Sums It Up

"Online Witch Hunt Flowchart" from Depressed Feminist

You Know, He's Right!

A number of MRAs have complained that women get preferential treatment at clubs and bars that offer discounts or free admission to women. I always dismissed their resentment as frivolous at best. My knee-jerk reaction was they should be grateful for institutions like "Ladies Nights," which at least improved their odds of actually meeting "a lady" in the flesh. Then I stumbled on this interview with grad student / DJ Trevor Doughtery about why "ladies nights" are downright pernicious, and it got me thinking.

Fact is, in all my years of being an XX person-in-drag, I had never taken advantage of a "Ladies Night" special. In large part, this is because I have always recognized on a subconscious level that because I was not the kind of "lady" these promotions were designed to attract, taking advantage was a violation of the terms of an unwritten contract. I would be cheating the system. Then I fell in with a group of cross dressers who thought such promotions were a fun way to "turn the tables," so I thought, Why the hell not?

One night my SO and I met up with some other "ladies" at a local piano bar that had "Ladies Night" specials on slow Tuesdays. It was not a pleasant experience. In fact, it was the only evening I have ever felt that we, as a couple, were in real physical danger. To make a long, creepy story short, a party of "frat boy" types locked us in their cross hairs, relentlessly imploring us to join their table, and wouldn't take our polite "no's" for an answer. There was a predatory vibe that unnerved us to the point where we wound up "sneaking out" of the back of the club and high-tailing it back to our vehicle as fast as we could. 

Any woman who attends a "Ladies Night" does so at her own peril. She is placing herself in an environment where the men who are paying full covers feel that they are "entitled" to her favors. OK, to be blunt? She is whoring herself for cheap drinks (and mediocre entertainment). She is putting herself in harm's way. 

No wonder "Ladies Nights" are now banned in five states.

Twitter Blocking

Has blocking people on twitter become the modern equivalent of "shunning?"

Some of the manosphereans and neo-reactionaries are upset because they are finding themselves literally shut out of feminist and liberal conversations. Cuz censorship! Freeze peach!

What kind of activism will they be able to do if they are no longer allowed to intrude on or "re-tweet" their "enemies"? How will they fight the Blue Pill now? There are even "feminist blockbots" out there that will automatically block social undesirables them.

"I don't get it," one little shitbot tweets plaintively, if a bit disingenuously. "I don't block anyone." Indeed not, since provoking people young women via his smartphone is his raison d'etre.

At least I don't have to worry about it: I've never twittered, and never will. I don't even have a smartphone (to the endless derisive amusement of my students). As far as I am concerned, people already have far too many ways to communicate with me, and I already have far too many ways to get myself in trouble. La Strega + twitter account + 2 martinis = hella trouble.

Nobody Knows

Nobody knows, nobody can know, what goes on between couples. Curious onlookers, we may wonder what keeps them together, or what drives them apart, or whether they are truly as happy as they purport to be, or which party loves more, but we cannot know anything more than what they choose to reveal in their actions and words. Often the people involved don't know themselves! I've read that, while fifteen percent of married Americans admit to having "cheated" on their partners, the majority of these "adulterers" maintain their marriages are "happy." And not even swans, who are said to mate for life, are entirely monogamous. 

Of course, some people can only screw up their courage to leave an unhappy relationship by hopping, like anxious frogs, onto the next lily pad. And some people engineer spectacularly hurtful breakups because they enjoy creating drama, or they need to force the other person to leave them. And sometimes they just can't help falling in love with someone else, or they're in the process of becoming someone different than the person who once swore, in all sincerity, to be loving and true 'til death dost them part.

Shit happens.

I've been cheated on more than once, and nothing is more wretched. I've howled at the moon and torn my hair over the unfairness of it. Years later, I could start to acknowledge the role I had played in these dysfunctional relationships, and it was both humbling and healing. And now, many years later, I am mostly grateful, because the breakups that ensued pushed me on down the path of my own personal journey. And I must say, I am happy where I've wound up, so I guess it was all worth it...

When it comes to matters of the heart (or loins) I can only say this:

The older I get, the less judgmental I can be. Life is complicated and messy, and nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors.  [cue Charlie Rich]

Zoe Quinn

UPDATE: I came back to this blog after a few days off the internet, and was surprised to see the number of comments. Zoe Quinn is, to me, a complete "non-story" except insofar as yet another young woman being the target of online harassment. I'll admit I am not into games, and I'm in no position to judge whether or not she wrote a good one, but that is the only question anyone should care about. It's absurd to care a fig whether, or with whom, Ms. Quinn cheated on her boyfriend. Substitute the name "Tyler" for "Zoe," and imagine Zoe were the angry ex who had thrown up a website for the purpose of humiliating him. You can be sure "Zoe" would still be the target of angry, jealous little shitbots like Matt Forney. 
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So apparently Matt Forney's latest "doxing" victim is Zoe Quinn, a talented young female game designer who had the misfortune of having a vindictive ex. And so it goes...

Giving Away My Age

I'm trying, but old habits die hard.

Trolling For A Living?

I once had a boyfriend I felt pretty serious about, but was frustrated with because he never had enough time for me. Part of the problem was that when he wasn't working, he was tied up with his mysterious friend, "Steve." They often spent their weekends engaging in various male-bonding activities (i.e., drinking copious amounts of beer and smoking prodigious quantities of pot), yet in the two years we were together, I was never introduced to "Steve." 

There was a fairly elaborate back-story with "Steve," and I remember many of the details. He had a sick mother whose house he shared, kept a high-strung miniature Doberman Pinscher my boyfriend detested, and worked sporadically as a painter (and therefore required my boyfriend's assistance moving furniture at odd times). Although "Steve" was a depressed, rather needy friend who required an awful lot of TLC, what could my boyfriend do? They'd been best friends since high school; they were "brothers from another mother."

You can see where this is going, can't you.

I'm not the jealous type, being so narcissistic oblivious that it rarely occurs to me someone would want to be unfaithful to me, but it finally became apparent that my erstwhile bf was a two-timer.

But I had to know for sure.

So I set up a sting operation wherein I invented a fictional character of my own; we'll call her "Delilah." Of course "Delilah" was tailored to my boyfriend's specifications and had all the attributes I lacked: She was a sultry brunette with just enough avoirdupois who was considering breast reduction surgery because her 36GG "girls" were a physical burden, not to mention a distraction, in her quest for Mr. Right. She was looking for a sensitive long-haired poet-type to take her to art films and alt-rock venues. And let's see, what else..? Oh yeah, she loved to cook.

I cast my bait and waited. Within 24 hours, I reeled him in. And then I played him a bit, just for sport, and when I'd had my "fun," I cut the line.

And that was the end of that!

Years later, I deigned to re-friend my ex (platonically) because I have a nature that is, paradoxically, both vengeful and forgiving. (And also, I needed someone to accompany me to indie movies and alt rock venues.) One night, we were sharing drinks when he began to reminisce about this incredible woman he'd once met named Delilah. They'd never met in person, their correspondence having been mysteriously and abruptly terminated -- but he still longed for her, still wondered what if...?

Emboldened by my second martini, I bit the bullet and confessed my hoax, prepared to endure his righteous wrath over my deception. But my ex wasn't angry at all. He wasn't angry because he didn't believe me.

And flash-forward ten years later, he still talks about Delilah, and I still remind him she was my creative "product" (a figment, to be sure, of both our imaginations) -- and he still doesn't believe me.

I confess all this to explain why I have a serious fondness for those pranksters who troll the manosphere sites. Or maybe I just want to believe that some of these guys are trolls. The Internet allows all kinds of virtual realities to flourish. And I've had enough exposure to the "manosphere" that I'd like to see what I could pull off. 

If I was able to "play" a truck driver with an eighth grade education IRL, I'll bet I could play a gun-totin', bible-thumpin' casserole-bakin' red hot mama with a pit bull stashed in her apartment and a secret vocation to... wait, I don't want to give it all away yet! Suffice to say that only true Christian gentlemen would be allowed to comment on my website -- y'know, the kind who know how to treat a lady!

Well, someone has to fill the void that Sunshine Mary left. The Manosphere needs the crazy ladies. Just remember: It's all about sex! And who knows, maybe I could become so successful that I could retire to, say, Mexico, and surround myself with dancing cabana boys, just like Ava Gardner in Night of the Iguana.

And maybe Richard Burton would stop by now and then.