Do You, Boo: A Pro-Woman Rallying Cry


I have a confession to make. I love hanging out with dudes way more than women. I’d rather drink beer than wine or mimosas and I’ll never be caught dead in Chanel. I hate shopping. All of these things are things my favorite girlfriends love to do. As the resident shithead in the bunch, I’m pro-freedom, which just means I’m a horrible enabler, but I’d like to make a case for why we should all be enablers for our fellow sisters so that I can finally hang out with my girls more often. I’m selfish like that.

Repeat after me: “do you, boo!”

Now say it hundreds of times a day to the rest of the women.

Thinking about critiquing another woman’s outfit?

“Do you, boo!”

About to issue some unsolicited feminism rant to your stay at home mom friend?

“Do you, boo!” And then maybe offer to babysit.

Wanna repeat some advice you read in Cosmo about how to get a man by changing everything about yourself.


Then say, “do you, boo!”

If you are a woman, and you were socialized to be female, you’ve probably sat around and had other women tell you all the ways you are inadequate for not being them.

“Well, I did this form of therapy, and you really should try it because you’re not really trying to heal if you don’t!”

Nope. When I tell you I’m gonna make art and hang out at church instead of going to therapy, the only response you should have is “do you, boo!”

“No man is gonna love you dressed like that!”

They have no idea what clothes we are wearing, you guys. They don’t care and we shouldn’t let them dictate that anyway. The new best response to outfit decision making is just, “do you, boo!”

“I heard that if you don’t eat vegan you get fat! You should eat like me!”

The only appropriate response to food choices is now, “do you, boo!”

“Time-outs are oppression, you really should do what I do with your kid.”

Stop projecting your bad advice on to others unless you are willing to learn in exchange. And seriously, you have no idea what you are doing because literally none of us knows what we are doing.

This is the core of the Mommy Wars. It’s the core of women’s magazines and if I had a nickel for every time one of my fellow sisters tried to tell me I shouldn’t stand in my truth, I’d have already invested it and become filthy rich so I could write.

It’s probably the worst part about being socialized female and it’s even worse, if god forbid, you don’t fit a stereotypically feminine mold. I’ve been talking about doing stand up for weeks now only to get more push-back from other women than from the men, which I think is both hilarious and deeply disturbing. I look like a girl but I’m more comfortable in a dive bar playing pool. This doesn’t mean I don’t love my sisters in the wine bar.

I don’t want to turn this into a rant because we all suffer under this regime, so instead, I’d like to remind you that when a friend is doing something differently from you, it in no way invalidates you.

You can just say, “do you boo!”

And be cool with it.

For instance, instead of telling other women what will or won’t get them a man, you could say: “do you boo and if he don’t love you the way you are, fuck that noise.”

This is how my male friends are. They don’t change for anybody. They give no fucks about what other people think. I once had a pair of 17 year old boys tell me that if a woman really loved them, they’d be cool with them sleeping in 2 hour shifts and would have to “just deal with it.” This is why I love hanging out with men so much, they remind me to not give any fucks. We could easily do the same, if we all started reinforcing each other.

So. Do you, boo.

I’m starting to think most of our anxiety can be tied back to the ways we are socialized to gaslight each other and the only people that benefit are the men because we are too busy hating ourselves to organize and get together. Except that most of the men aren’t trying to oppress us either and they suffer from our low self esteem as well. Every time a man mentions his girl’s anxiety problem, I’m just like, “how the hell do you think she got that way. ” This is why women need compliments so much and it’s also why one of the ways I demonstrate my affection is to compliment them constantly, because otherwise we sit around in our heads and listen to every bad voice that has heard us without a counter plot. So join the real feminist conspiracy by being good to each other.

Tearing each other’s self esteem down is the root of so much marginalization. If you are too busy hating yourself to get anything done, you can’t get anything done. It’s been a highly successful tactic and it is a colossal waste of my mental energy and yours. I’m starting to clear out those nasty little voices, by simply saying, “do you, boo.” We need to love each other more than we do. And if the men really loved us, they’d say the same. So tell your man to say, “do you, boo” too.

We’ve gotta stop shitting on each other.

So the next time you are thinking about critiquing your friend, ask yourself, “is this in any way harmful to me or am I just uncomfortable because it is making me question my choices?”

If it’s not harming anyone, hush and then say, “do you boo.”


Community, Community, Community is Going to be my new Mantra


I’ve been thinking a lot about the way we approach community, and each other. This generation feels isolated, disconnected.

Are we really alone in this struggle?

The enormity of the struggle seems real, even my rich friends with good jobs can’t afford rent.

We judge our friends who struggle and whose lives aren’t picture perfect on Facebook. We forget that Facebook is all just an elaborate series of lies.

In college, I tried to look out for everyone. Pass out on the couch? That’s what I keep an extra blanket for. Too drunk to consent, guess who is getting some snacks and a walk home. Need to be put to bed after a rough night? Only after a glass of water.

This is a deeply embedded part of my ethos. WE look after each other to survive, that’s what community is supposed to be and what worries me is that we’ve attempted to replace this with underpaid workers. Love isn’t replaceable. There is no price you can pay that replace the love of someone holding your hair back.

My generation is so starved for actual love, I’m tempted to go around the country taking care of the same people I’ve been taking care of the whole time.

That’s a joke, obviously, but the community I grew up in and built is full of misfits, orphans and some of the brightest and most beautiful minds you’ll ever meet.

And we are drowning.

Sometimes I feel like I’m slipping under water while rocks get thrown at me. Usually I’m trying to also carry others to the shore but lately I’ve just been threading water trying to survive. I wish I had the answers this time but I don’t.

But here’s how I’m coping: I’m trying to spread as much love as I can. And this is the small acts of kindness. It feels good to remind myself that I have the power to do for others but it’s also about building the communities we’ve destroyed. Those communities take work and they take more than one person to build but what comforts me as I talk to others is knowing that everyone else wants this too.

So how?

Just start talking.

Leave the house.

Help where and when you can.

Talk about everything but politics for a while. The trolls can have it out while the rest of us have snacks.

Literally all of us needs to sleep more and eat better. And we need to remember that food used to be a social occasion.

Do frontline service work, on a local level (this means you actually serve people).

Join a civic organization, preferably one with older people involved, so you get reminded that life is long and there are things much bigger than you in the world.

Our generation isn’t so much selfish and narcissistic as we are completely confused as to how to build communities. A bunch of latch-key kids obsessed with performance and success, each of us are running on a hamster wheel going nowhere.

We could get off the wheel, band together and figure out how to escape the cage.

But that means talking to each other and that also means we stop pretending everything is ok.

I tell lies on social media. So do you. And social media can’t replace real community.

How I’m Learning to Fall Back in Love with my Scars


I heard the click of the bic lighter, a sound I would later come to pretend to love and then I saw the flames.

It’s one of those cute stories I used to tell. That time I put a fire in a diaper out. At first I forgot about the lighter. I blamed it on a faulty furnace. I forgot where the burn scars came from, scars that only some of my more observant lovers would notice. They are actually all over my body and I remember now how I treated them myself. A cold shower flushed the plastic down the drain, but the scars remained.

I issued excuses, and then covered those up. It’s all a series of elaborate lies. I could lie so easily, my intelligence and respectability, my pale skin acting as a kind of alibi only I would ever have to live with.

Now it’s all of you who will need the alibis.

Only once did they ever ask questions, my body seems to know how to hide. My body knows how dangerous the truth can be, maybe that’s why I’d fall in love with the truth later as an adult. Maybe that’s why I went looking for it.

And so here I am today, thinking about how best to cover up defensive wounds on my wrist from that Christmas they tried to kill me. I remember how they got there now and I used to be grateful only those with the right background could see they weren’t self inflicted. Pretty clear defensive wounds, kids. I wasn’t kidding about some of my skill sets. I got them from the father in died in prison for selling the same drugs you are now all entrepreneurs for selling.

I lied because I had no choice and you can call that convenient but I know my brain is magic because the truth only came when it started to be safe. All right, I lied again. It came a little sooner than I would have liked but that’s the way my brain handles things. I’m not in control of it and that has turned out to be the greatest miracle of all.

Or so I thought.

Then I got reminded how much pain my scars could cause.

I could lie but the truth should be obvious now. I can play CSI on myself. I change the subject and pretend to be normal. Do the scars or the Stanford degrees come first?

No one seems able to process both.

So from now on you’ll have to listen to those stories about each scar because each and every single one of them is proof that I belonged at Stanford in the first place.

You did extracurriculars. I survived murder attempts and rape.

I’m not going to apologize for that. I won’t be backing down or lying anymore. I’m here because my own brilliance saved me from multuple attempts on my life.

My ability to get back up and laugh after rapes can be called madness all you like but it’s also why I’m an unstoppable force. I refuse to apologize for that either.

I’m going to stop apologizing for my pain. I’m going to start falling back in love with my scars. I know who I am and I’m not going to be told what to hide anymore. Choose to deal with it or don’t. I can’t help you there.

But if you want to know how to survive, how to thrive even, when everyone around you is mad enough to light babies on fire, I’m your girl.

The answer to the question of how I’ve survived seems to be jokes, music and love. Little acts of kindness made by people who didn’t have the power, fallen soldiers in a war we lost before I was even born. I got conscripted before I even had a choice, like my ancestors before never, going further back than I even know. We come by our stubbornness honestly, because what other choice is there? They said give me liberty or give me death, and too many people weren’t given the choice at all. I’ve always been more of a lover but that’s a weapon too when the whole world wants war and the struggle is against anger, pain and hate. They called me stubborn, and I call that still being alive. That stubbornness was all passed down from ancestors who survived long enough to keep me alive.

My body is all the more beautiful because it has been marked by monsters that fell long before they could take me with them and I’m going to fall back in love with it even when no one else can handle it.

It’s not my concern anymore whether or not it hurts you because maybe you need to know discomfort. There is beauty in this kind of madness. I wonder sometimes how much beauty the rest miss out on because they are so afraid of being anything other than normal.

But I can’t make you see what is patently obvious to me.

This is centuries of the human condition. I wasn’t the first fire. I won’t be the last one sold. This isn’t an unfamiliar story, it’s just one that never gets told.

I’m almost bored by it these days. It makes you forget your social graces.

“Oh shit, was it just inappropriate to mention the murders I witnessed. My bad.”

That’s my mundane.

And I’m not sorry about it.

And the reason I’m not sorry is because despite this, I’m still standing, and laughing my ass off at this whole charade.

That’s a choice.

It’s always a choice you have.

So make that choice like your life and the lives of everyone depends on it.

Those scars, they aren’t going anywhere but if they remind you to love they are beautiful, and you should demand love for them.

The Best Gift my Pain Gives me


A bunch of people died so I’ve been quietly mourning. I decided I didn’t want to be a burden. That’s how I roll. It’s failing miserably.

I could tell you about my mourning but I won’t. My body count is mounting and it’s been growing for years and I’m tired in a way I can’t explain.

If I went to every funeral, I’d never have time to do anything else. And my jokes are so morbid now that no one hears them as jokes anymore but me.

So that’s what I’ve been up to.

Sometimes I lose hope.

But I can’t. It’s not allowed. Because most of the time that hope is the only thing standing in the way of destruction.

Sometimes I dream about running off into the forest and just reading Rousseau style so I don’t have to cope with humanity anymore.

I straight don’t have the balls to pull it off.

So, I’m trying to rebuild the things we destroyed and I don’t know how they got ruined. I’m running around listening to the pain and isolation all of us are experiencing.

We’ve forgotten how to be friends in our efforts to be perfect.

We put on the brave face and fill social media and our conversations with bullshit. We lie and pretend to be normal.

Our generation’s real claim to fame might be how absolutely full of shit we all are. We’ve all become PR pros. It is destroying all of us.

We’ve ruined communities in favor of pretending we can be completely independent. None of us know how to listen because we are so terrified of how what we say will look.

We’ve made dating a ridiculous charade where none of us knows how to love anymore, where apps have replaced any sense of real love. Swipe left, fuck badly and pretend it’s fun. Cry and repeat.

We’ve replaced friendships with drive-by conversations we put on each other’s walls as if it is the same as the salons of the past. As if it is the same as showing up and laughing in person.

We’ve destroyed whole relationships in the name of what? You know the ideological game is nonsense? RIGHT?!

I can’t care anymore. It’s all so absurd. We are past satire and I know what that means historically and the only good news I have is that we have the power, only collectively, to change it.

I was hoping I wasn’t going to be part of a generation where absurdism won the day but maybe it’s right because my life is so damn absurd. And it’s absurdity that makes me laugh the most.

These aren’t good signs.

And before you ask, this has nothing to do with the presidency or the Republicans. This has been our trajectory for some time and our cultural problems have been there for a while. The conservatives just caught on to the game faster than the left did. I’m pleading with everyone to wake up.

“Progress” is not inevitable and nothing is coming to save us. I hope that empowers you because we actually have the power to control the culture around us.

All of this: institutions, culture, community are nothing more than a group of people. So stop acting as though these forces are outside of you. Indeed, they are all of us. In every moment, in every way.

Neither side is right. There are so many sides. None of this matters as much as sharing food with one another.

Please tell me someone knows this fighting with the people we love about ideas that shouldn’t divide us is bullshit because I can’t keep pretending?

We have to stop the circus.

We have to stop the charade.

Because I can’t keep watching the best of us destroy ourselves any longer.

And I have a solution….

No I don’t.

I have suggestions I hope you will all think about.

I can’t carry this alone. I can’t do this alone anymore and neither can any of you.

So here’s what I’m proposing.

I’m proposing that the best solution to my problems and yours is to love each other like our lives depend on it.

Because lord knows they do.

And the rest of it, is meaningless. We work to survive and to occupy our our time. We work to feel useful.

But maybe it’s time we start living for each other instead.

Because I think we could have saved some of us. I think we could have done it through love.

I think our ideologies could succeed better through love.

War has been tried. Anger has been done. Hate is so boring to me now I can’t take it anymore.

I don’t know how to be mean anymore.

I don’t have the capacity to hate anymore.

The only thing I have left is my capacity to love.

And they call me crazy for it.

They call me weak.

They claim I don’t understand the nature of oppression. The nature of oppression is hate.

It’s my pain that makes me like this. You see enough dead bodies and you start to value life. Take enough beatings and you can’t watch other people take them either. Be surrounded by enough hate and you learn to love to survive.

I’m beginning to think that maybe that pain is a blessing. That maybe the energy I no longer have to hate is gone for a good reason.

I keep getting told that my love is why they hurt me but they hurt me when I hated too. And if they will hurt me anyway, I’d rather go down for love.

I know who I am. The thing I am always proudest of is that they did everything they could to take my capacity to love from me and they couldn’t.

I’m going to the grave with a love that I hope that everyone understands, because it has been so much more powerful than my hate and anger.

And you can quote whatever study you want to me, but I didn’t need a study to know that love is what has kept me alive despite my PTSD.

I know what has been keeping alive.

And it isn’t my anger. It is my love.

It is the joy I feel helping others and feeling like I’m a small, meaningless, insignificant person in a vast universe where nothing matters except how hard I tried to love in this vast absurdity. It is all meaningless but it is all still so goddamn beautiful. This existence is the most ridiculous and loveliest miracle of all time and it has been for all time.

And the worst thing our generation has done is we tried to shed that love in the name of the self. We shed it for rationality. We laughed at it and patted ourselves on the back for our inability to feel. We are proud of the communities we destroyed.

I don’t have all the solutions but I know something for a fact.

We need each other.

We need love.

We are not going to thrive or survive on our own.

We aren’t good feminists for leaving half our community out and not taking care of each other. Feminism wasn’t about independence, it was about acknowledging that our world needs us to provide leadership that emphasizes love and community. It’s a heavy responsibility but all of us are responsible for this world we are in.

Our men might be happy at work but each and every single one of them needs warmth. And we need them to lead. We need them to remember their strength because they need it too. We need them to remember their responsibilities to their communities. The burden is easier when we carry it together.

I’ve never been so scared for us.

And there is no technology that can save us from this.

And I don’t know how else to ask for this:

But I’m begging each and every single one of you to set aside your ideologies and PR and rebuild the communities we need.

Not ideologically.

Not tribally.

Not for work reasons.

But because the best thing I learned from being poor is that the only way to get the cup of sugar you need is to love the person you are asking it from.

And now two Stanford degrees later I don’t know how to teach everyone of us to ask for sugar.

It seems like we can replace these things with professionals, but there is no replacement for love.

I’m telling you, I’m being honest now. I’ll be the one to say it, if I have to: none of us are ok right now.

There is only one cure.

It’s love.

An unconditional love that follows you through the moments you don’t post on Facebook. It’s the kind of love you have when staring down the face the of monsters. This is going to be carried in on the backs of warriors for love. And we need each and every single one of us to carry some of the load.

It’s the kind of love that doesn’t ask us for anything but our truth. Our truth is dark and painful sometimes but it is gorgeous too and I’d rather hear it than watch a sea of glossy lies while I watch the best people I know forget who they are and who they were meant to be.

I’m not watching the best of us destroy ourselves.

I won’t.

I can’t.

If the best thing I contribute in this lifetime is my love, I’ll be happy.

Because there’s no point in saving the body when the soul is gone.

I’m going to find that soul again because I refuse to believe we are are the sheep and robots they tried to turn us into.

And maybe the real rebellion is to be as human as we can be.

I’m human.

So are you.

And it is so fucking beautiful, and I just wanted to be the one to tell you that.

Because there is still time for us.

And in case you didn’t know

I’ll love you no matter what

Because I don’t know how to do anything else.

And that is the greatest gift my pain has given me.


Comics and Images


Note to the real male feminists in my midst: you have to stop this.

You have to stop this because I’m not playing with you anymore.

If you do this kind of shit, I will NOT sit back and take it. But also because no one loves you as much as I do and you can’t keep doing this shit to us. You keep it up and none of you will be welcome among the women.

Ask yourself, do you want your movement to go down as the one that did this shit to your own women on the left?

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