Lea - Lioness

everythingbutharleyquinn:

liz-the-wiz:

thatfeministdyke:

transawareness:

The above article is an update.  Her mother went to appeal to keep her out of the psychiatric ward and lost.  She will be institutionalized because of her expression of her gender.  She will be held until she conforms to male gender and then released to foster care, not her mother who was supporting her.

Please, if you haven’t signed the petition, sign it, reblog it, ask your friends to sign it. We’ve managed to get 40K signatures for a pageant model, we’ve only gotten 11K for a little girl about to have her life ruined.  Lets get on the ball and spread the word.

Sign It.

I want to throw up. I’m so fucking angry. Sign this shit.

signal boost because this is one of the most disgusting occurances invloving a child i have ever heard of. please sign it.

Sign this. It will take you 5 seconds. A CHILD is about to be institutionalised because her gender does not match the one society has assigned to her.  INSTITUTIONALISED.

Over the last 48 hours, there has been a sustained effort to smear Trayvon Martin, the 17-year old African-American who was shot dead by George Zimmerman a month ago. Martin’s mother, Sybrina Fulton, said, “They killed my son, now they’re trying to kill his reputation.”

Thus far these attacks have fallen into two categories: false and irrelevant. Much of this leaked information seems intended to play into stereotypes about young African-American males. Here’s what everyone should know:

1. Prominent conservative websites published fake photos of Martin. Twitchy, a new website run by prominent conservative blogger Michelle Malkin, promoted a photo — purportedly from Martin’s Facebook page — that shows Martin in saggy pants and flipping the bird. The photo, which spread quickly on conservative websites and Twitter, is intended to paint Martin as a thug. As Twitchy later acknowledged, it is not a photo of Trayvon Martin.

2. The Sanford Police selectively leaked irrelevant, negative information about Martin. The authorities told the Orlando Sentinel this morning that Trayvon was suspended from school for ten days “after being found with an empty marijuana baggie.” There is no evidence that Martin was under the influence of drugs at the time of his death, nor would prior possession of marijuana be a reason for killing him. It’s unclear what the relevance of the leak was, other than to smear Martin.

3. On Fox News, Geraldo said that Martin was dressed “like a wannabe gangster.” Bill O’Reilly agreed with him. The sole evidence is that Martin was wearing a hoodie. Geraldo added that “everyone that ever stuck up a convenience store” was wearing a hoodie.

4. Without any evidence, prominent right-wing bloggers suggested that Martin was a drug dealer. Right-wing blogger Dan Riehl advances the theory, also advanced in a widely linked peice on a site called Wagist. There does not appear to be any evidence to support this claim whatsoever.

5. Without any evidence, a right-wing columnist alleged that Martin assaulted a bus driver. Unlike Zimmerman, Trayvon has no documented history of violence. This allegation continues to be advanced by a blogger on the Examiner even after the real reason was leaked to the police and confirmed by the family.

6. Zimmerman’s friend says Martin was to blame because he was disrespectful to Zimmerman. Zimmerman’s friend Joe Oliver said that Martin would not have been shot to death if Trayvon had just said “I’m staying with my parents.” Of course, Zimmerman was not a police officer, and Trayvon had no duty to tell him who he was or where he was going.

The final part of the effort to smear Trayvon Martin is to link him and his supporters to irresponsible fringe groups like the New Black Panthers and marignal provocateurs like Louis Farrakhan. Threats by these groups are serious and should be investigated, but they have nothing to do with Martin or his supporters. The leader of the effort to associate Martin with these groups is Matt Drudge. You can see how he is framing the story today: http://yfrog.com/obqqjlp (How very class, Drudge, you fucking racist shit-stain.)

Ultimately, whether Martin was a perfect person is irrelevant to whether Zimmerman’s conduct that night was justified. Clearly, there are two different versions of the events that transpired on February 26, the night Trayvon was killed. There are conflicting statements by witnesses and conflicting evidence as to who was the aggressor. Zimmerman has the right to tell his side of the story. But his opportunity to do this will come in a court of law after he is charged and arrested. In the meantime, Zimmerman’s supporters should stop trying to smear the reputation of a dead, 17-year-old boy.

Source: http://thinkprogress.org/justice/2012/03/26/452310/what-everyone-needs-to-know-about-the-smear-campaign-against-trayvon-martin-1995-2012/

Read more at ONTD Political: http://ontd-political.livejournal.com/9491469.html#ixzz1qXxTenfD

acciosarcasm:

solarpowerspork:

kemeleng:

by Vanessa King

When I was six, I liked Gilbert DeSilva.  Gilbert DeSilva liked Athena Collins.  Mind you, every boy liked Athena Collins: a petite blonde with pigtails, she wore fuschia LA Gear zip-ups that made every girl envious and rocked a pink denim skirt that went with everything.  At recess, Athena would run around the playground in fits of laughter as the boys chased her.  She stole their baseball caps and their hearts, marrying a number of different boys under the twirly slide on a weekly basis.  I would sit atop the monkey bars, taking it all in.  Athena would reel them in, calling them over.  She’d whisper something in their ear and they’d both laugh.  She’s grab the baseball cap from their head and start running.

I could do that.  I could get Gilbert DeSilva to notice me just like he noticed Athena Collins.  I would make him like me.  He’d want to spend all of his time with me when we were together and he’d continue thinking about me once we were apart.  He’d be comfortable enough to share secrets with me and invite me over for playdates where, as we sat in his treehouse, he would tell me how much he loved me – even more than Athena Collins – and then one day I would steal his baseball cap and he would chase me and then marry me under the twirly slide.  All I had to do was get him to notice me.  Operation Marry Gilbert DeSilva had commenced.

The whole thing was rather easy.  One day I commented on his Fraggle Rock lunch box and from that moment on we were inseparable.  We spent our lunchtimes swapping desserts and talking about He-Man and She-Ra’s complicated sibling relationship and the pressures they were under to keep Castle Greyskull safe from the evil clutches of Hordak and Skeletor.  Gilbert DeSilva would help me with subtracting and I’d help him sound out words of more than two syllables.  I taught him the benefits of the bunny-ear method of tying shoelaces while he taught me the proper way to kick a soccer ball.  We’d discuss the sheer skill it took to not over-chocolify your milk with Nestle Quik.  We were partners whenever the need for a buddy arose, and we spent our ride home on the bus sharing the titles of our favorite library books.  We were a match made in heaven.  And then one day, feeling confident that Athena was no longer a risk, I passed him THE NOTE, the surefire way of finding out whether you had a chance with someone in the First Grade.  I passed him THE NOTE, and this was his response:

As a Friend?

Uh, no Gilbert DeSilva.  My First-Grade “Friend” Dance-Card was full.  This was a tried and tested, highly scientific likability scale.  A 50/50 chance.  An exact unit of measurement.  There were no fill in the blanks.  What a freakin’ bust.

At some point between discussing the Thundercats and the Cobra-Kai, my relationship with Gilbert DeSilva had entered The FriendZone: that place you find yourself when someone of the opposite sex decides that you are from now on henceforth in perpetuity no longer a viable option for any kind of physical relationship.  Gilbert DeSilva would never chase me around the playground.  Our twirly-slide marriage was completely not happening.

The FriendZone is a dangerous place and 25 years later, I still find myself unintentionally stuck in it most of the time.  With each introduction, there is an 80% chance of me being relegated to this makeout-free zone.  Seriously, I’ve done the math.  The Gilbert DeSilva FriendZone Curse has followed me throughout adulthood and in writing this article, hoping I might learn something, I decided to reach out to my friends for some Un-FriendZone-Myself tips.  Like a PSA for those like me – without game – I bring to you:

10 Ways To Remain FriendZone Free

Never know too much about him.  Just ask most married couples.  They know zilch about each other.  (Knowing Gilbert liked He-Man before he told me he liked He-Man was my first mistake.)

Never go to an event clearly indicating a “Guys Outing”.  If you’re the only girl watching Monday Night Football in a packed bar with your crush and his friends, you’re dead in the water.  (So apparently, if he asks you to be his field-trip partner, say NO.)

Don’t go out of your way to do everything to please him.  Not only does this solidify FriendZone, it also makes you a doormat and sisal looks bad on everyone.  (No, Gilbert DeSilva, I will not help you make flash cards for words you have trouble reading and you can just go on and forget me saving you a seat at the lunch table, while you’re at it.)

Never allow someone to be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option.  (Next time, Gilbert DeSilva, I will happen to forget your birthday and will definitely not convince my mother to purchase as a gift for you the largest bottle of Nestle Quik on the face of the earth, just so you can invite me to your birthday along with Athena Collins.)

Cease all communication immediately upon meeting them.  (Unless it’s to whisper sweet nothings in their ear – because that apparently works and is followed by laughter and a game of tag through the playground.)

Be the true version of  Y O U.  (You know what, Gilbert DeSilva?  I don’t even like the Thundercats.)

Never let yourself be the shoulder to cry on or the listening ear.  If they’re venting to you about girls, consider yourself screwed.  Or, I guess, not screwed.  (The next time you bring up the name Athena Collins, I’m moving to a different seat on this bus.)

Be sexual.  Invade their space.  Throw as many innuendos into the conversation as possible.  Do this while also not being a stalker.  (Steal their baseball cap, steal their heart.)

Suck up your pride and make it obvious friendship isn’t what you’re after.  Use your feminine wiles.  Let them know how you feel.  (Instead of writing Do You Like Me, Circle One, I should have written I Like You.  Period.)

Perhaps the most important piece of advice?  Never hang out with him with pants on.   (…because it’s all about Athena’s pink denim skirt that goes with everything.)

this explains every time I ever tried to have a boyfriend from 14-18 and 20-27.

Oh awesome.  Hi Love Life.  So basically, I have to play games.  And then get yelled at for playing games.   Sweet.  

Hellllllllooooooooo future as a cat shelter owner. 

I wear pants, I don’t play games, I’m sexually aggressive, I say whatever the fuck I want, I’m fat, a lot of people probably don’t consider me attractive but I get dudes hitting on me all the time (some married, some with girlfriends) and not in a harmless “we’re just flirting, nothing is going to happen way”. In a very serious, “where can I meet you, I want you, I need you, oh baby” way. I get numbers. I get numbers while wearing the most unflattering uniform possible.

I emphasize my strength, I don’t play dumb, I don’t laugh when it’s not funny. Fuck that shit. And I’d rather be alone than stuck with someone who doesn’t even know the real me.

I mean, granted, pretty dykey over here but you get what I’m saying, right?