You have to give blood to take blood.
So gentlemen, would you like to menstruate?
If Men Could Menstruate
The Feminist eZine – Funny
By Gloria Steinem.
A white minority of the world has spent centuries conning us into thinking that a white skin makes people superior- even though the only thing it really does is make them more subject to ultraviolet rays and to wrinkles. Male human beings have built whole cultures around the idea that penis-envy is “natural” to women- though having such unprotected organ might be said to make men vulnerable, and the power to give birth makes womb-envy at least as logical.
In short, the characteristics of the powerful, whatever they may be, are thought to be better than the characteristics of the powerless- and logic has nothing to do with it.
What would happen, for instance, if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?

The answer is clear- menstruation would become an enviable, boast-worthy, masculine event:
Men would brag about how long and how much.
Boys would mark the onset of menses, that longed for proof of manhood, with religious ritual and stag parties.
Congress would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to help stamp out monthly discomforts.
Sanitary supplies would be federally funded and free. (Of course, some men would still pay for the prestige of commercial brands such as John Wayne Tampons, Muhammad Ali’s Rope-a-dope Pads, Joe Namath Jock Shields- “For Those Light Bachlor Days,” and Robert “Baretta” Blake Maxi-Pads.)
Military men, right wing politicians, and religious fundamentalists would cite menstruation (“men-struation”) as proof that only men could serve in the Army (“you have to give blood to take blood”), occupy political office (“can women be aggressive without that steadfast cycle governed by the planet Mars?”), be priests or ministers (“how could a woman give her blood for our sins?”), or rabbis (“without the monthly loss of impurities, women remain unclean”).
Male radicals, left wing politicians, mystics, however, would insist that women are equal, just different, and that any woman could enter their ranks if only she were willing to self-inflict a major wound every month (“you must give blood for the revolution”), recognize the preeminence of menstrual issues, or subordinate her selfness to all men in their Cycle of Enlightenment.
Street guys would brag (“I’m a three pad man”) or answer praise from a buddy (“Man, you lookin’ good!”) by giving fives and saying, “Yeah, man, I’m on the rag!”
TV shows would treat the subject at length. (Happy Days”: Richie and Potsie try to convince Fonzie that he is still “The Fonz,” though he has missed two periods in a row.) So would newspapers. (SHARK SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN. JUDGE CITES MONTHLY STRESS IN PARDONING RAPISTS.) And movies. (Newman and Redford in “Blood Brothers”!)
Men would convince women that intercourse was more pleasurable at “that time of the month.” Lesbians would be said to fear blood and therefore life itself- though probably only because they needed a good menstruating man.
Of course, male intellectuals would offer the most moral and logical arguments. How could a woman master any discipline that demanded a sense of time, space, mathematics, or measurement, for instance, without that in-built gift for measuring the cycles of the moon and planets- and thus for measuring anything at all? In the rarefields of philosophy and religion, could women compensate for missing the rhythm of the universe? Or for their lack of symbolic death-and resurrection every month?
Liberal males in every field would try to be kind: The fact that “these people” have no gift for measuring life or connecting to the universe, the liberals would explain, should be punishment enough.
And how would women be trained to react? One can imagine traditional women agreeing to all of these arguments with a staunch and smiling masochism. (“The ERA would force housewives to wound themselves every month”: Phyllis Schafly. “Your husband’s blood is as sacred as that of Jesus- and so sexy too!”: Marbel Morgen.) Reformers and Queen Bees would try to initate men, and pretend to have a monthy cycle. All feminists would explain endlessly that men, too, needed to be liberated from the false idea of Martian aggressiveness, just as women needed to escape the bonds of menses-envy. Radical feminists would add that the oppression of the nonmenstrual was the pattern for all other oppressions (Vampires were our first freedom fighters!”) Cultural feminists would develop a bloodless imagery in art and literature. Socialist feminists would insist that only under capitalism would men be able to monopolize menstrual blood….
In fact, if men could menstruate, the power justifications could probably go on forever.
If we let them.
Source: Link
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I’m really, really, really, really, really, really tired and fed up with all these itty bitty shitty things. Why, oh why does it have to be like this? Where shall we go from here? Can we ever get to compromise?
Give me a break.
Zen! Zen!
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Cái bếp là cái bếp ơi
Sau khi đọc blog của bạn mình thì thay vì ngồi ôm quyển Kinh tế Lượng mân mê, mày mò, sờ soạng, vùi dập, dỗ dành, khóc lóc…. thì mình lại ngồi cười lăn cười bò cười đau cả bụng trong phòng computer room thế này. À từ bây giờ mình sẽ cắm trại ở cái phòng này, vì mình xin đổi cái ghế mà không được chấp thuận. Thế là mình dùng lappie trong phòng thì phải đứng, cũng hay, việc này rõ là giảm thời gian mình ngồi làm chuyện vô bổ nhạt nhẽo và tốn tiền.
Tối hôm qua mình đã ngồi hí hoáy gõ một entry mà nghĩ sao mình chằng publish. Giờ đọc lại chỉ thấy là một nhúm những lời vớ va vớ vẩn. Thôi thì tha cho cái blog của mình một lần phải gồng lưng gánh những thúng than phiền cằn nhằn giận dữ và phẫn nộ.
Mấy hôm nay trời How Sadly có ấm lên một tí. Một tí tẹo thôi, đủ để mình không cần đeo tai khi ra đường. Nhưng hai bàn tay đã đeo găng len thủ sâu vào túi mà vẫn lạnh. Sáng mình ngủ dậy thì mũi vẫn đặc nghẹt, xì ra toàn những máu. Mình sắp xài hết hộp khăn giấy đầu tiên. Mình đang suy nghĩ chuyện có nên phủ khăn ướt lên mặt lúc ngủ hay không, nghe đồn làm thế nó đỡ. Nhưng khăn ướt lạnh lắm và mình sợ chết ngạt trong cái khăn đó. Người ta cũng bảo treo khăn gần chỗ sưởi cho nó tỏa khí ẩm ra, mình vừa treo vừa để cả cái tô nước to đuỳnh (đấy cái tô nhựa cũ của mình đấy) mà khô vẫn hoàn khô.
Tin rất rất buồn không những cho mình mà cho cả cộng đồng học sinh ở đây, đó là tất cả nhà bếp trường mình sắp đóng cửa. Trong khi mình vừa mới khuân 1 cái nồi bé giá 35 ngàn ở VN sang để phục vụ mục đích nấu mì, kho thịt, nấu canh… của mình. Trong khi MHCVSA đang định nấu ăn vào dịp Tết. Trong khi nhà bếp là một trong những niềm vui nhỏ nhoi của mình và các bạn. Sau khi nguôi đi cơn buồn thì mình lên cơn giận. Sao có những đứa ngu thế ăn xong bày ra không dọn, bẩn không chịu được nữa người ta mới khóa. Cha chung không ai khóc nhưng đến cái mức độ này đúng là không đỡ nổi luôn. Đấy chúng mày ở dơ nữa đi, trốn tránh trách nhiệm nữa đi, một hai ba không có ai thì ta phắn hết nữa đi, đồ ăn thừa cứ thả xuống bồn rửa cho nghẹt cứng nữa đi, tủ lạnh chung cứ tiếp tục phá hoại đi, để đồ ăn quá đát trong đó vài tuần vài tháng cho mốc xanh mốc đỏ, đồ hộp để vào thì không đậy nắp đi, bây giờ thì có mà gặm mì sống đồ ăn sống nhé !!!!!!!!!!
Mình sợ phí cái nồi 35k, nên sáng nay đã đem ra nấu mì Hàn Quốc. Mình còn chục gói mì HQ nữa mai mối bếp khóa làm sao ăn??
Và đây là bức ảnh ấn tượng nhất trong tuần, ít nhất là đối với mình. Narcissism 101 Instructor lol.
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Dreams:
- To be eating a huge bowl of newly cooked jasmine rice with caramelized fish. oh.my.god.
- To have no effing back problems. Or any other physical problems.
- To be in some scene of some Korean drama. Ok this is not a dream I’m dying for lol I just hmmm kinda want to see how people would react when I, say, throw up on some old man’s head and fall on a young man, mumbling “honey….”. Or, I’d be slapping some jerk real hard and grab my make-up bag purse and have my little hideaway trip, on which I’d meet a damn cool guy who will totally win over my 5+ year boyfriend hahahahhaha.
- To be able to run 1 mile, or even half a mile, without gasping for breath as if I’m dying in 30 secs.
- How about that sheer ombre window curtains to be priced at $5.99 instead of $14.99?
- Two more inches please thats all i’m asking for. I’m sick of buying jeans in short inseams…
Facts:
- Yes there was jasmine rice at today’s lunch. And it was NOT fully cooked. Very, very funny.
- Laugh some more? I’m out of luck today or what, I went to Target and stopped at the candies place to find some Haribo gummi bears. The only packages left are the one-pound ones, no regular small ones left. Then I gave up and said, fine i’m not gonna buy Haribo, then turned to the chewing-gum section to find the type of gums I like are GONE. like, effing gone. The other 20 flavors are still there but I WANT MINE!!!!! Lastly, I found some uberly cute tops at AnnTaylor but didn’t have time to try on so didn’t buy
EXTRA 50% OFF!!!!!! !!!
- My back problem significantly got better. Young kids you gotta listen to your sistah, exercise and drink some milk every day no matter whether you like it or not +__+. Or take calcium supplements. And don’t sit on uncomfortable chairs. And exercise. Haiz.
- No more jetlags I’m back to my super unhealthy schedule aaaaa ok i’m going to sleep after this. Despite being very not productive AT ALL.
- Don’t think I ever grew any taller after 9th grade.
- But this cheered me up. Yup happiness can come in small form.
- What does it mean to wake up every morning and feel like you’re dying, that your body is sore and you can’t pick it up and you feel like having a headache and only dressing nicely cheers you up? Does it mean that I’m sick or just plain lazy +____+
Forgiving
Hello I’m blogging in English again
. Ni I wonder if you still check out my blog by any chance since I’ve been writing in Vietnamese…? If so…. *waves* woohoo yes you can read and understand it now!
To cut things short, I’m back to campus. Still having jetlags from the long-ass flight with damn tiny seats and super ultimately crappy food (yeah shame for America I flew United Airlines). My stomach starts having problems right away but it hasn’t been too bad so I haven’t tried the curcuma powder dad packed for me yet – by the way, it works like a miracle! But yes it tastes like hell. My nose has been bleeding on and off every day, hopefully the 3 Kleenex boxes I bought will last through this winter. I had class right after coming back, a class in a university nearby and I’m still deciding whether I’m really willing to travel 1.5 hours back and forth on the bus + 20 mins walking in the snow to take this class or not. Good thing about it? Well new environment, new professor, class is not offered at my college, and LOL coed class. Bad thing? TRAVEL TRAVEL TRAVEL. hmmm.
I’m obviously not writing this post just to tell my everyday shit to everyone else. Well, I’ve just realized that maybe I’m not as forgiving as I thought, and I fit the description “Women tend to forget, but not forgive” to a T. Some time ago, I came across a Facebook page of a person who really messed my life up (and at a very, very wrong time, with a wrong technique to mess someone’s life up…) and who I refused to talked to ever since. And suddenly the memories poured back to me like crazy. Funny thing is that I couldn’t remember the little details, what he did, what words he said, or the time frame when did which happened. However, I could still feel the annoyance, anger in me at that time, it was quite fresh. Years have gone by, we have all grown up, and I don’t think the person still has that childish manners within. But I doubt that if I happen to meet that person again in life I can really talk to him casually anymore.
Sigh. Why can’t I be a, well, somewhat better person? Whycan’t I become more… peaceful/ Zen-ish in mind? Why can’t I be more forgiving of others’ mistakes?… Then how will others forgive mine?
ps: I’m still dreaming about a pair of red flats, shiny, classy & comfy. Despite the fact that Andersen considered “red shoes” as something evil that will haunt you for years and years… until you chop your feet off -__-. Check it out here lol: The Red Shoes.
Hm.

