My guy friend believes that a single woman is a slut if she has casual sex. His logic is that men are like keys and women are like locks. If a key opens a lot of locks it’s a good key but if a lock opens up to a lot of keys then it’s a shitty lock. I guess it’s sort of sweet( i guess… -_-) that he sees women as something along the lines of a treasure. But mostly i’m pissed at that idea but I can’t exactly articulate the exact why…

Sort of sweet? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s a disgusting metaphor, and your friend is a gigantic asshole for saying shit like that out loud in this century.

He doesn’t see women as a treasure. He sees them as an enigmatic device, a mechanical problem to be picked. Naturally, his penis is the fucking solution, literally the key. What a douche.

It’s just a faulty simile that reinforces an antiquated sexual double standard rooted in archaic notions of masculine virility and feminine chastity. It doesn’t even make sense within itself. After all, just because a guy slips it in to my keyhole, that doesn’t mean my shit’s gonna automatically unlock for him.

Do you see how it’s all a clumsy value judgment? There’s nothing clever in his trite little comparison. There is no logic. It’s just ignorance masked as folk wisdom.

I’m new to this whole sociology thing. I took my first class to start off my sophomore year and I’m currently up to my neck in ‘social-change.’ My professor (probably the most compassionate woman I’ve ever met) tells our class to never let a single comment about racism, sexism, or classism go unnoticed and to correct it at it’s core. Even our books tell us to do so. This is in reference to that coonty-coont who wrote you about being a feminist.

Is there some sort of balance to all the activism madness? Like still making a difference in trying to eliminate my own privilege without allowing oppression to continue. I know I can’t stop it completely but what can I do?

A little help would be nice, I don’t want to end up screaming till my voice goes out about situations that may not even be appropriate talk. You’re wonderful and I feel like you have more than just a grasp on the knowledge of privilege and what not. Anyways, hope you have a wonderful day.

Your professor is absolutely correct, but probably not in the way that you think.

You should never let racism, sexism, or classism go unnoticed, but by acknowledging it in your own mind, you have already corrected it at its core. That’s all you need to do.

By simply recognizing it, you have defeated it.

You are not responsible for other people’s minds, and I assure you, if you take it upon yourself to correct someone else’s way of thinking when they’re not open to it, you are wasting your breath. You create nothing but confrontation.

Please understand, I’m not talking about cruelty or suffering. If someone through their racism, sexism, or classism is inflicting cruelty or suffering on others and you are in a position to alleviate that suffering, by all means do so.

Alleviate the cruelty. Alleviate the suffering. If you are diplomatic and graceful about it, you may very well show the offender that his or her way of thinking caused pain in others.

That is what will change minds, not screaming until your voice goes out.

As for worrying about social privilege, the same thing applies. Don’t let it go unnoticed, and by acknowledging it in your own mind, you have already eliminated it.

I have no doubt that your sociology professor is a compassionate woman, but ivory tower academics who prattle on about privilege need to be reminded of their own hypocrisy.

Professorial tenure as an institutional entitlement is the very definition of privilege, so before she slathers you with guilt for being born a white male, perhaps she should abdicate her own privilege and renounce her tenure.

Fair warning, don’t say that shit out loud in class. If you do, she will fucking destroy you. I only bring it up to point out that no one is innocent, not even her. Still, her privilege isn’t the cause of another person’s oppression. Neither is yours. It’s not a zero-sum game.

In other words, you needn’t feel guilty for your social privilege. It’s enough that you recognize it, acknowledge it, and thereby eliminate it.

Did you honestly use the phrase ‘man up?’ Are you Sarah Palin now? Maybe men should just stop being such bitch-ass pussy vaginas complaining about their periods and get shit done. Like a man would. Not a woman.

Quit acting like a little girl.

I’m in school for Emergency Pre-Hospital Medicine, Fire Science and Hazardous Material Control… Sounds quite like I’m blowing smoke up my own ass for studying to be in the Fire/Rescue field, but those are what the degrees are actually labeled as.

I’ve been in a relationship for four years. It’s been quite a lot of work, it was long distance for a awhile there while we attended colleges in different states.

Next year we have planned to move in together. I’m moving out there. I’m the one dropping my shit for her and starting over. I got a job offer at one of the local fire departments. A switch flipped and she went from mild 20 year old nursing student crazy to Call of Cthulhu nuts.

How do I explain it’s what I want for my life, it’s what I’ve always wanted? I worked hard for my degree, I’m leaving everyone and everything behind to go live with her. I tried calmly talking about it and to paraphrase, “Go fuck yourself if you think I’m waiting while you die in a fucking fire.”

WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?

Man the fuck up.

Don’t ever put up with an ultimatum, especially from some dream killing bitch who thinks she owns you because you’ve been porking her since she was sixteen years old.

For fuck’s sake, dude. You’ve been together for four goddamn years. She knew from day one you were gonna be a fireman. It’s not like you woke up one morning and decided to rob banks or some shit.

Fuck explaining yourself. You don’t owe her an explanation. Unless you two shit kickers already have kids that you’re not telling me about, you’re an idiot for leaving everyone and everything behind to go live with her in the first place.

I know this is gonna come as a shock, but guess what? You don’t have to put up with her crazy ass shit. Not for one burning second. In fact, if I were you, I’d take her up on that offer to go fuck yourself.

Just break it off with her. Do it now while you still can, while you still have your balls. Even if the two of you eventually reconcile, at least she’ll know that it won’t be so easy to castrate you.

Don’t let her selfish fears get in the way of what you want for your life.

So in the bedroom, I am all for being held down, tied up, controlled, etc. I love it when it’s simply me and my boyfriend.

But the thing is, outside the bedroom, I am absolutely terrified of all of the above. I cringe when I think about being taken advantage of. Hell, I can’t stand to think of going to the gynecologist because even that scares me.

So basically, I don’t understand how I can fear something so scary, but lust for it in the bedroom…

You’re confusing submission and victimhood. Being sexually dominated is not the same thing as being sexually violated. For some reason, you’re failing to make that very obvious distinction.

Being held down, tied up, and controlled by your boyfriend are acts of intimacy made possible by the love and trust you share with him. He’s being dominant. You’re being submissive. It’s safe, consensual, and non-violent.

When you imagine being held down, tied up, or controlled in a context other than a loving relationship, it rightfully terrifies you because it’s no longer safe, it’s non-consensual, and it’s suddenly quite violent.

The shit that turns you on isn’t the same as the shit that freaks you out. You’re not fearing and lusting for the same thing at all.

I saw what you said about being indifferent to an ex. But what if your ex has never responded to that. What if it takes sheer fucking embarrassment, or a smashing of his precious car, or face. What if you never see you ex anymore, and never got the revenge you should have months ago?

Your ex never responded to indifference because you never showed him any. You aren’t capable of indifference until you let all that negative shit go.

Do it, babe. Just let it go, for your sake. You’re sounding a little crazypants.

Hi, first of all I love you, don’t care who you are I’m just happy this exists. You’ve helped me stop being a doormat. But can you teach me how to ruin my ex’s life with my own self respect? We are part of the same group of friends and if I go off and start my own life I will be losing some of my friends, I think.  I want to be around him but I want to be fair to myself and make him wish he didn’t fuck around.

I can teach you how to ruin your ex’s life, or I can teach you how to have self respect. Those are mutually exclusive lessons, babe.

I highly recommend you choose self respect. To whatever degree that allows you to be in the same room with him, that’s entirely up to you. I don’t know the circumstances of his particular fuckery, but odds are, he didn’t get wildly creative in his betrayal, just some garden variety episode of cheating.

In other words, he’s nothing special. Act accordingly.

Hit him with total fucking indifference. Mean it. Show him neither love nor hate. Let him neither charm nor annoy you. As difficult as it may seem, give him only the common courtesy afforded to strangers.

The trick here is for it not to be an act. It’s not that you’re trying to insult him by not laughing at his jokes. It’s that you simply don’t care. He doesn’t even get an eye roll out of you. Do you see what I’m getting at?

You’re not doing this for any desired effect on him, by the way. This is for you. Sure, it will drive him crazy in a way that you will enjoy, but try not to enjoy it. Be indifferent to that too. Well and truly give not one ounce of fuck about anything he says or does, and I promise, you will be content with the way things turn out.

Your friends will think you’re a bad ass, too.

My colorist is awesome, but I’m newly self employed, and I just can’t keep shelling out $250 every 3 months for blond highlights. What was once a vanity project has now become a more necessary youthening project: I’m finally going gray. Should I try The Coloring Project on my own?

Gonna cook it yourself, eh? This isn’t a spaghetti dinner, bitch. It’s your hair. Listen, I’m not gonna tell you how to spend your money, but some things in this world you just gotta leave to the professionals.

If you try this at home, you will fuck it up. Guaranteed. Maybe not a lot, but certainly enough to where you’d look in the mirror every damn morning and be willing to trade your cup of coffee to have that shit looking right.

That’s all we’re talking about, by the way. You can have your favorite colorist keep your gray away for $2.75 a day, and not for nothin’, but these days you could find a professional willing to get it done for half that.

Oh, and I suppose I’d be remiss if I didn’t call you out on your bullshit. What was once a vanity project is still very much a vanity project. None of this is necessary, not one bit. If you can’t afford the gold, own that silver, you fox.

What’s enlightenment? Who has it and who doesn’t. And once you have it, what do you do with it?

Enlightenment is just a word, and there is no way to really answer you without sounding like a raving lunatic playing circular semantic games.

For instance, you ask who has it and who doesn’t, and I smile with my whole heart and nod in agreement.

You ask me, once you have it, what do you do with it? I tell you, there is no you that ever has it, nor can anything be done with it other than what already is, and you get pissed because you think I’m being a pretentious bitch.

Then, once again, I smile with my whole heart and nod in agreement.

Just letting you know my love, you need to make a fuckin’ T-Shirt already.

Thanks, babe. That’s not my style. My shit’s not gonna get screened onto American Apparel.

If I ever decided to put out a line, seamstresses would be involved. Some lucky designer would get to cross brands with me and make a funky fresh high fashion love child. Bitches would be able to write me questions on the wall by the Coke Talk racks at Opening Ceremony.

I don’t fuck around.