A Day in the Life of a “Gamer Girl”

Let’s pretend for a moment that all of the “Gamer Girl” stereotypes were true. What would that woman look like? What would her life be like? What would she do with her time?

2:00 p.m. – Wakes up from naked and restful sleep

2:15 p.m. – Showers, obviously assisted by woodland creatures, anime chicks, or random strangers from the internet (choose your own fantasy!)

2:45 p.m. – Puts on garter belt, fishnet thigh highs, and corset: “Look ma, no panties.”

2:59 p.m. – Walks into door frame because she can’t see without her glasses.

3:00 p.m. – Logs into game, hoping that someone, anyone will volunteer to play it for her in exchange for pictures of her in that schmexy outfit.

3:02 p.m. – After finding a poor man to take advantage of, using her feminine whiles, begins taking selfies with controller covering vagina, controller in mouth, licking controller, sitting on controller, tangled up in controller wire.

4:00 p.m. – Turns on Twitch live-stream, gets 30,000 viewers because she has her webcam on.

5:00 p.m. – Checks that character is still on auto-follow, responds to all offers for free items and gold which accumulated while AFK.

5:02 p.m. – Uploads selfies to Reddit for free karma.

5:15 p.m. – Engages in ERP with the creepy *insert class or race here* who sent her a dirty private message.

7:00 p.m. – Convinces unsuspecting victim to order her a pizza and volunteers to tank a raid while waiting for said pizza.

7:01 p.m. – Agrees to heal after logging onto ventrilo/teamspeak/mumble/skype and raid members hear she’s female.

7:05 p.m. – Lets tank die because she is distracted by painting her nails or sucking on a nearby controller.

7:06 p.m. – Rages in ventrilo/teamspeak/mumble/skype about how unfair it is to blame the healer every time the tank dies. “Obviously the tank needs better gear.”

7:10 p.m. – Privately flirts with raid leader in order to keep raid slot.

7:30 p.m. – Tops healing charts; obviously using witchcraft.

7:35 p.m. – Gets kicked from raid for hacking.

8:00 p.m. – Pizza arrives. Snorts pizza through left nostril because 400 pound women can do that.

8:01 p.m. – Seeks attention in trade chat by advertising vagina.

8:02 p.m. – Gathers more free loot because boobs.

8:03 p.m. – “Girls don’t play ___”; “She’s probably really fat”;  “Look at the little virgin trying to get some action by pretending to be a girl”; “Will you marry me?”; “Get back in the kitchen and make me a sandwich”

8:04 p.m. – Calls police to handle the large crowd of men who have gathered on her lawn to witness “The Perfect Woman.”

9:00 p.m. – Skype-date with in-game boyfriend. Lots of cosplay.

10:30 p.m. – Breaks up with in-game boyfriend because he’s become too clingy.

12:00 a.m. – Receives 107 Tweets, 79 text messages, 50 emails, 3 video messages, and 1 package from ex-in-game boyfriend who wants her back.

12:30 a.m. – Dyes hair a different shade of brown.

2:00 a.m. – Notices ex-in-game boyfriend lurking on lawn with a boombox over his head.

2:05 a.m. – Calls police.

4:00 a.m. – Is told by police they can’t do anything because they don’t know what a Twitter is, and they have no idea why anyone would want to use the intermesh.

5:00 a.m. – Dies when murdered by lurking ex-in-game boyfriend-turned-stalker (after he rapes her).

9:00 a.m. – Is blamed for own rape and murder because women don’t belong on the connectiwebnetintermesh.

Does sex education need to include sexual etiquette training?

This post really thoughtfully discusses the kind of problems we have in terms of, for lack of a better term, sex etiquette. The OP even goes as far as suggesting we teach it as part of sex-ed in schools (which I think is a really interesting idea). I have no moral objection to the idea, but I certainly think that, since teenagers are all at extremely different places in terms of sexual maturity, it would be difficult to pick an age at which the students would appropriately receive that information. The process by which one might select students to attend such a class if it weren’t based upon age just sounds unspeakably awkward.

I suppose the adults could try creating an atmosphere of trust and allow an actually open, and honest, dialogue, but that would never happen in America.

Setting the record straight.

There are a lot of different branches of feminism, and they all believe different things. In fact, there are so many different factions, it’s kind of difficult to keep track of what they each specifically believe, and frankly, I don’t think that the definitions which have become attached to those labels should matter as much as they do, except for one point:

Feminism is a belief in equality among people. It is a belief in gender equality, in racial equality, and general social equality. It is a belief that all people are valuable, and all people deserve a fair chance, and decent treatment, regardless of their age, race, socioeconomic status, marital status, sexual preference, or genetalia. 

For me, it is a belief that we need to find ways to build ourselves up without tearing others down, and that we need to remember that all human beings are exactly that, and should be treated accordingly. 

It is also my belief that there are too many instances when I see women who think that, if they call themselves feminists, they can suddenly make broad generalizations or say terrible things about “skinny girls” or “men.” So, let me go on the record and say that, as a feminist, I try to avoid making generalizations, and ironically make a decree that generalizations are almost always a bad idea, and quite often hurtful. And fighting inequality by making other people feel bad about themselves is absolutely the wrong way to go about it. 

Skydiving for Diamonds

Okay, that title is totally misleading. But I just saw another one of those articles about diamonds synthetically made from human ashes, and I am relatively sure I would like to have that be my fate.

Why is the source material always so disappointing?

Obviously, there would be a clause in my will prohibiting the Amy Diamonds from being sold, destroyed, or otherwise disposed of. It would be nestled smack in the middle of the clause saying that my funeral has to be an approximate re-enactment of Weekend at Bernie’s, ending with a fantastic sky-diving trip. Preferably somewhere that people would see my parachute fail to open (since corpses can’t open parachutes and obviously you won’t get the point of my joke unless I explain it), so that I could scare the bajeezus out of someone.

You probably think I’m kidding. I’m oh-so-very-not.

These people are also serious.