Minions Are Now The Face of Women Who Just Don’t Give A Fuck


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…Is this a Pinterest thing? Maybe it’s just a subset of everyone who likes Minions, but I feel like there is more to this than pure gleeful meep badeep doop. I don’t get it! Are women empowered, or just unable to find their keys, communicate in relationships or manage their frustrations? If anyone knows of a particular tumblr or blog that this is coming from (notice the similar font on a lot of them?), kindly comment!

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Elisabeth Elliot was horrifying


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I find the purity movement that I lived through while I was both an adolescent female and an evangelical Christian absolutely horrifying in retrospect. Perhaps it is in bad taste to speak ill of the dead, but I couldn’t help but barf in my mouth a little today when I read people on F-book gushing about WHAT A GREAT ROLE MODEL Elisabeth Elliot, author of Passion and Purity, was. I didn’t want to viscerally insult some of my friends who are still trapped in the self-hating, sex-shaming, husband-defined life of fundamentalism… So here I am on the blog that is only occasionally read by random strangers.

Elisabeth Elliot’s Passion and Purity can pretty much be summarized with the old adage “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Eh? Eh? *Nudge*” I’m not sure what else to say about her, except maybe leave you with some cringe-worthy quotes which pretty succinctly summarize why I’m not a Christian anymore.

“I took it for granted that there must be a few men left in the world who had that kind of strength. I assumed that those men would also be looking for women with principle. I did not want to be among the marked-down goods on the bargain table, cheap because they’d been pawed over. Crowds collect there. It is only the few who will pay full price. ‘You get what you pay for.'”

“What God gives us is not necessarily ‘ours’ but only ours to offer back to him, ours to relinquish, ours to lose, ours to let go of, if we want to be our true selves. Many deaths must go into reaching our maturity in Christ, many letting goes.”

“Did I want what I wanted, or did I want what He wanted, no matter what it might cost?”

Crass economic metaphors for marriage, total insistence on self denial… Can anyone else please just come out and say that what she stood for was horrible, and that being a sad, old virgin is heartbreaking in a way that no amount of prayer to a non-existent God can make up for? That she lead a whole host of women down a path like lemmings to a life devoid of intimacy and fulfillment?

What I find incredibly disturbing are some of the comments left on this book’s Goodreads page. One girl gives the book only 1 star, not of course because it’s TERRIBLE, but because it WASN’T PURITANICAL ENOUGH. “When they got married, it was only a relief that they didn’t have to control themselves any longer, rather than a joy to see the two united in the service of God.” Good point, actually! That many people who are obsessed with purity inevitably become obsessed with sex.

Another girl asks a question: “What does this book say about oral sex?” GOOD QUESTION. Well, I don’t remember her saying ANYTHING about it, although I imagine that if she would have had an opinion on the subject that it would have been more buy-the-cow business. Someone had the nerve to comment daintily “what a vulgar question!” I guess what she should have asked was “What are my substitution options?” Ya know, swap the fries for a side-salad? Food/object/diet comparisons, E.E. would have LOVED it.

Annoying-Status Syndrome


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I have this syndrome that compels me to thrust my opinion forward onto the internet whenever I’m dissatisfied about something in my personal life. It’s always something that I can’t solve, and I post as if somehow winning the agreement of random people on the internet fixes the problem — which it never does. I can make it sound as general as possible, but I am never fooling myself, nor anyone else, I imagine. These aren’t PSAs, these are personal complaints, and however well-worded (or not even well-worded) they are, they always have a certain unpalatable passive-aggressiveness and vanity to them. So I usually take them down — but the impression they’ve left, the taste of their venins and noxious moods remains with me like a stain, and I feel as if everyone has seen them, and is annoyed with me like I am annoyed with myself.

It bothers me because sometimes, the quality of the ideas that I end up generating in response to whatever it is that I’m frustrated with are good; I do some of my best work when cranky. But the rightness or integrity of whatever I might produce never matters when it comes to the issue at hand. If you’ve been forced into ranting to strangers on the internet, that means you have already failed; whoever your intended audience is isn’t listening anyway. I imagine, mortified, the rolling eyes of everyone who I haven’t alienated yet, thinking to themselves Oh look, Hayley is mad at someone or something again. I know this, and invariably I still end up posting things. It’s a compulsion, I think: I have to do it, because it’s right… Because I’m “right” about something, and someone needs to know. And if the right person doesn’t understand, well — someone else might. Part of it is that I get a weird satisfaction out of putting words to injustices that have been too subtle to nail down before, and occasionally someone will have experienced a similar situation and relate. But mostly it’s just a vain, useless knee-jerk reaction.

Thank god I discovered the wonder of having a blog that mostly no one reads! …Facebag is no place for actual thinking, just puns and animal videos; also no place for personal vendettas that no one really needs to hear about anyway.


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It’s no use — I can feel your events as they pass
These to me my watcher shows:
Smiling teeth like pearly knives, prismatic
And the Cherished one, framed prettily
For me to look at, fixed
Like a pain-jewel in a setting.

It does not matter, what I do not see:
You cannot save me with screens.
My Watcher watches, she has no choice;
She tugs at the chronological string.
She traces back to a time within reason
And day by day, by inch, it retreats.

You cannot hide the thread from her.
If she cannot see, she imagines
Through gaps and obfuscations
And privacy settings, divining
That little knot — that was when I knew you —
Escaping, for we are strangers.

You cannot hide how long it’s been; she reports,
Gropes at the frayed edges of memory,
Annealing with deductive stitches.
The distance of the timeline, the length of it —
It is all horrifyingly before her
And she reports, she reports.

“Good resolutions…


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…are useless attempts to interfere with scientific laws. Their origin is pure vanity. Their result is absolutely nil. They give us, now and then, some of those luxurious sterile emotions that have a certain charm for the weak… They are simply cheques that men draw on a bank where they have no account.” – Oscar Wilde

On the End of Writing


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I made a fire; being tired

Of the white fists of old

Letters and their death rattle

When I came too close to the wastebasket.

What did they know that I didn’t? —SP

At some point I stopped describing character’s faces; it seemed to be in vain. How many times have I read in a book that so-and-so had auburn hair, or that whatshisface had smoky eyes? Someone could read that in other books — I needn’t put it in mine. Then I stopped writing adjectives. There were only so many, after all, and every one I used seemed to me like it was a pretentious adornment, only fit for someone who clamored for accolades, and I would only come by mine honestly. There was a four letter echo in my brain: tee ell dee ar. What you have to say is filler. …And I wasn’t about to be filler.

So what was left? Tiny, two-lined pearls of thought. Meager bits of product, eluted over cycles and cycles of pain, frustration, and happiness. Barely enough to gnaw on, let alone nourish. It seemed like there was not enough of me to export, no surplus; I needed all of me to live.

And if I were to become more productive again? If I ever had more wealth of wisdom, memories, hypotheses? Now I would just feel like hoarding it, obsessively, for myself and for the right time. I’d rather keep my brain quietly, like a knife lying in wait. There is no longer a benefit in showing it to anyone.

Edit: It seems like every page hosting Sylvia’s “Burning the Letters” has it put down wrong, with apostrophes in the possessive its 😦



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Someecards is so depressingly full of advertisements that I almost feel tempted to make a user card about it. …What is this? Sponsored by iHop? Nine West?

I’m really going to have to start finding more new things on the internet to replace all of my formerly favorite things that are suddenly diluted by mountains of advertising. I guess I should have noticed when all the unfunny vintage card copycats started showing up on my Facebag newsfeed a couple of years ago (mostly with an “I’d rather be drinking red wine” theme, to an extent that started to make me question how many of my acquaintances were actually alcoholics). Tell me the new things, people. Do you know the times?

“Boys only want love if it’s torture”?


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Edit: I think I get really mean sometimes — and maybe I’m not alone. Particularly when it comes to celebrities, or people that society seems to have ‘figured out’ already. She’s just a person trying to figure out how to deal with being labeled, I think. If my entire life was being played out in front of an MTV screen, people would be pretty annoyed with me too, I’m sure. And perhaps my reaction to this says way more about me and my issues than it does about anything else. Look at me, thinking that my opinion amuses anyone… This is probably why I stopped blogging, because it makes me cringe later.

Ummm… This?

Is this video of Taylor Swift gleefully wielding a kitchen knife real? I don’t know what’s more wtf… The shot of Generically-Handsome-Guy vomiting out Taylor Swift’s apple metaphor like someone just gave him the heimlich, or her frenzied, tear-stained mascara face saying “I’M INSANE.” It might have been cool if she’d actually parodied herself… But instead this looks more like a sad confirmation (and glorification) of all of the criticism that is generally leveled at her.

I love how the guy too is totally uninteresting, and sort of looks at her with scowly bland indifference while she’s cutting his clothes and lighting them on fire. Don’t try to act too hard, bro, you’ll put wrinkles on your Zoolander face. Also, will someone point out that players want anything but torture? They want gratification at the expense of others; they will push you off a cliff for a brownie. So if anyone wants torture, it’s Taylor herself.

…What’s oppressive about the whole “crazy girl” stereotype is the way in which it’s applied to women who are actually SANE — just having appropriate responses to being emotionally shat on. And of course, men say “bitches be crazy”-esque things to escape any possible moral indictment. Her thinking that being ACTUALLY mentally ill is the point, well… Misses the point. It casts women who ARE labeled that way in an offensive light. And I generally think that it is sad to take on “craziness” as an aspect to your identity; I feel like that is what happens when your self esteem has been totally broken down, so you finally believe about yourself what oppressive people have told you.

At this point, making critiques of her is sort of pointless, I guess. We can only sit back and watch in slack-jawed amazement, wondering at the notion that this is an actual video that someone is jamming out to.


Yeah, I don’t get it.