My New Life Starts Now

I got this from school (the whole sex ed “here’s what to know about your menstrual cycle and oh BTW here’s the ways you can ask to be raped” thing) to my parents (”never trust men ever for anything EVER”) to magazines and general “safety tips” like the flyers you sometimes see in women’s rooms. It was usually billed as Common Sense Ways To Avoid Becoming a Victim. Usually included not wearing heels, carry your keys in your hand and lock the car as soon as you’re in it, park under a light pole, etc.

keep your car doors locked at all times especially at traffic lights

call/text someone whenever you go somewhere and whenever you get home

never listen to music when walking on your own

self defence classes being offered to fourteen year olds and up at all girls schools

keep your keys between your fingers

aim for soft targets

never cut through parks

never walk within a metre of the road

if a car stops in front of you, stop, walk backwards a safe distance, and wait for the people inside to drive off or get out

never leave drinks unattended/drink it in one go or abandon it after the first time it leaves your hand

no heels

no skirts

don’t let them get on top of you

kick them in the balls

DON’T kick them in the balls

pepperspray/tazers/stunguns/weaponry in general is illegal (in England)

don’t go down roads without adequate lighting

walk IN THE MIDDLE of the road in quiet residential areas

know where your closest friend/family/sympathetic acquaintance lives on your route home in case you have to sprint it

WAS

THAT

“I was going to write a nice speech about all the things I like about Sarah Paulson. Sarah Catharine Paulson, she likes when you use her middle name, or Powell-son, as my 5-year-old calls her. But it’s been a crappy few weeks. My dad died, both of my dogs died. You turn on the television or computer and it’s endless tragedies and it seems like more than ever now if you have a vagina, you have to be a fighter as well. So I don’t feel nice. So I decided tonight I’m going to talk about all the things I don’t like about Sarah.

I don’t like the fact that she can wear things that look like a child threw a box of highlighters. Or that she dissembled her grandmother’s couch and reassembled it with safety pins. And still takes your breath away the minute she walks on the red carpet. I don’t like that bravery and I don’t like that it’s inspiring. I don’t like that she loves so deeply and so openly. And I don’t like that she is loved so deeply and so openly by extraordinary people because it only shines the light on how I just need to be better. I don’t like her work ethic. It reminds me that I need to work harder.

I don’t like that her and Holland’s joy for life and each other reminds me that I need to be a better girlfriend. I don’t like that she’s the kind of person that after a long day of flying and fittings will sit in your hotel room after you believe she has nowhere else to go when in fact she is fully aware that you’ve been stood up and she doesn’t want you to be alone. Just like I didn’t like the dozens upon dozens upon roses with little white poppies intermingled in them mere hours after I put my dog to sleep, whose name happens to be Poppy. So if that is the type of person you want for your icon, then I think you have chosen well.”