Some things (i.e., facts) are not a matter of opinion.
Some men are really afraid of women's humanity. Some (surprising) women aren't helping.
I've retired the mom blog (mom's historic warm, fuzzy affirmations are still available in the archives (posts labeled 'mom blog' and, for the best of those, 'classic')). I enjoyed the years of fat talk and running commentary on my hair and personality as much as you did, but mom moved on and so must the blog.
In fact, some of the biggest "water hogs," indirectly, are meat and dairy. Cows and chickens and other animals eat a lot of crops, which in turn require a lot of water. So it takes 86 gallons of water to make just 1.75 ounces of beef. Some research has suggested that the country's meat industries create such a high demand for water-thirsty feed crops, that if every American ate meat one less day a week, it could save as much water as flows through the Colorado River in an entire year.Also, bacon comes from a system of environmental racism and farm animals are sentient beings.
“Hate is hate whenever you see it,” Talve says. “This has been a time for us to show that, as allies, we understand that if we don’t all work together to end hate – racism, antisemitism, homophobia, Islamophobia – and if we don’t stand up when it happens, then we’re all going to suffer.”
Assertiveness is the skill of using adult, confident, polite, logical and clear communication. I finally said, “I am tired of your apparent assumption that you have the right to comment on my weight, or to grill me on what I eat, how much I exercise or anything else related to the topic. You cross a line into my space in doing do, and I want this to end. I cannot change your behavior, but if this happens again, I will leave immediately.”Memorize, fill in the blank, and repeat as needed: I am tired of your apparent assumption that you have the right to...
I wanted to do them all. Men – young and old, thin and heavy, coiffed and shaggy – walked past my gate in Hartsfield-Jackson as I waited for my connection to visit my sister in Connecticut. Not all rated attractive, but I found the idea of sex with each captivating.
The young man with the tight shoulders, the bookish guy with Clark Kent glasses, the soldier in fatigues? Yes, yes and yes. The sweatshirt-clad-torn-jeans man was not my type, but I ogled him anyway.
I had been taking estrogen replacement therapy for four years prescribed after my hysterectomy at 36. But two weeks ago, my doctor added a special cream to boost my testosterone. She warned me of “odd symptoms,” but she didn’t mention this constant sexual distraction.