descomic

fullten:

fullten:

I need to go the fuck to bed, I dunno what happening anymore… Btw I’m a phone sex worker, sooo that is the context of this in case you weren’t sure. 

for alicetookadrink, this is what I pictured when I first started talking calls. It’s like next to impossible not laugh and relax when you picture a chestburster asking to see some titties while he’s chillin outside the belly of some dead guy. 

But I’m a bit morbid. 

emiratexaaron
jnenifre:

From Facebook

After spending years developing a simple machine to make inexpensive sanitary pads, Arunachalam Muruganantham has become the unlikely leader of a menstrual health revolution in rural India. Over sixteen years, Muruganantham’s machine has spread to 1,300 villages in 23 states and since most of his clients are NGOs and women’s self-help groups who produce and sell the pads directly in a “by the women, for the women, and to the women” model, the average machine also provides employment for ten women. Muruganantham’s interest in menstrual health began in 1998 when, as a young, newly married man, he saw his wife, Shanthi, hiding the rags she used as menstrual cloths. Like most men in his village, he had no idea about the reality of menstruation and was horrified that cloths that “I would not even use… to clean my scooter” were his wife’s solution to menstrual sanitation. When he asked why she didn’t buy sanitary pads, she told him that the expense would prevent her from buying staples like milk for the family. Muruganantham, who left school at age 14 to start working, decided to try making his own sanitary pads for less but the testing of his first prototype ran into a snag almost immediately: Muruganantham had no idea that periods were monthly. “I can’t wait a month for each feedback, it’ll take two decades!” he said, and sought volunteers among the women in his community. He discovered that less than 10% of the women in his area used sanitary pads, instead using rags, sawdust, leaves, or ash. Even if they did use cloths, they were too embarrassed to dry them in the sun, meaning that they never got disinfected — contributing to the approximately 70% of all reproductive diseases in India that are caused by poor menstrual hygiene. Finding volunteers was nearly impossible: women were embarrassed, or afraid of myths about sanitary pads that say that women who use them will go blind or never marry. Muruganantham came up with an ingenious solution: “I became the man who wore a sanitary pad,” he says. He made an artificial uterus, filled it with goat’s blood, and wore it throughout the day. But his determination had severe consequences: his village concluded he was a pervert with a sexual disease, his mother left his household in shame and his wife left him. As he remarks in the documentary “Menstrual Man” about his experience, “So you see God’s sense of humour. I’d started the research for my wife and after 18 months she left me!”After years of research, Muruganantham perfected his machine and now works with NGOs and women’s self-help groups to distribute it. Women can use it to make sanitary napkins for themselves, but he encourages them to make pads to sell as well to provide employment for women in poor communities. And, since 23% of girls drop out of school once they start menstruating, he also works with schools, teaching girls to make their own pads: “Why wait till they are women? Why not empower girls?” As communities accepted his machine, opinions of his “crazy” behavior changed. Five and a half years after she left, Shanthi contacted him, and they are now living together again. She says it was hard living with the ostracization that came from his project, but now, she helps spread the word about sanitary napkins to other women. “Initially I used to be very shy when talking to people about it, but after all this time, people have started to open up. Now they come and talk to me, they ask questions and they also get sanitary napkins to try them.”In 2009, Muruganantham was honored with a national Innovation Award in 2009 by then President of India, Pratibha Patil, beating out nearly 1,000 other entries. Now, he’s looking at expanding to other countries and believes that 106 countries could benefit from his invention. Muruganantham is proud to have made such a difference: “from childhood I know no human being died because of poverty — everything happens because of ignorance… I have accumulated no money but I accumulate a lot of happiness.” His proudest moment? A year after he installed one of the machines in a village so poor that, for generations, no one had earned enough for their children to attend school. Then he received a call from one of the women selling sanitary pads who told him that, thanks to the income, her daughter was now able to go to school. To read more about Muruganantham’s story, the BBC featured a recent profile on him at http://bbc.in/1i8tebG or watch his TED talk at http://bit.ly/1n594l6. You can also view his company’s website at http://newinventions.in/To learn more about the 2013 documentary Menstrual Man about Muruganantham, visit http://www.menstrualman.com/For resources to help girls prepare for and understand their periods - including several first period kits - visit our post on: “That Time of the Month: Teaching Your Mighty Girl about Her Menstrual Cycle” at www.amightygirl.com/blog?p=3281To help your tween understand the changes she’s experiencing both physically and emotionally during puberty, check out the books recommended in our post on “Talking with Tweens and Teens About Their Bodies” at http://www.amightygirl.com/blog?p=2229And, if you’re looking for ways to encourage your children to become the next engineering and technology innovators, visit A Mighty Girl’s STEM toy section athttp://www.amightygirl.com/toys/toys-games/science-math

jnenifre:

From Facebook

After spending years developing a simple machine to make inexpensive sanitary pads, Arunachalam Muruganantham has become the unlikely leader of a menstrual health revolution in rural India. Over sixteen years, Muruganantham’s machine has spread to 1,300 villages in 23 states and since most of his clients are NGOs and women’s self-help groups who produce and sell the pads directly in a “by the women, for the women, and to the women” model, the average machine also provides employment for ten women. 

Muruganantham’s interest in menstrual health began in 1998 when, as a young, newly married man, he saw his wife, Shanthi, hiding the rags she used as menstrual cloths. Like most men in his village, he had no idea about the reality of menstruation and was horrified that cloths that “I would not even use… to clean my scooter” were his wife’s solution to menstrual sanitation. When he asked why she didn’t buy sanitary pads, she told him that the expense would prevent her from buying staples like milk for the family. 

Muruganantham, who left school at age 14 to start working, decided to try making his own sanitary pads for less but the testing of his first prototype ran into a snag almost immediately: Muruganantham had no idea that periods were monthly. “I can’t wait a month for each feedback, it’ll take two decades!” he said, and sought volunteers among the women in his community. He discovered that less than 10% of the women in his area used sanitary pads, instead using rags, sawdust, leaves, or ash. Even if they did use cloths, they were too embarrassed to dry them in the sun, meaning that they never got disinfected — contributing to the approximately 70% of all reproductive diseases in India that are caused by poor menstrual hygiene. 

Finding volunteers was nearly impossible: women were embarrassed, or afraid of myths about sanitary pads that say that women who use them will go blind or never marry. Muruganantham came up with an ingenious solution: “I became the man who wore a sanitary pad,” he says. He made an artificial uterus, filled it with goat’s blood, and wore it throughout the day. But his determination had severe consequences: his village concluded he was a pervert with a sexual disease, his mother left his household in shame and his wife left him. As he remarks in the documentary “Menstrual Man” about his experience, “So you see God’s sense of humour. I’d started the research for my wife and after 18 months she left me!”

After years of research, Muruganantham perfected his machine and now works with NGOs and women’s self-help groups to distribute it. Women can use it to make sanitary napkins for themselves, but he encourages them to make pads to sell as well to provide employment for women in poor communities. And, since 23% of girls drop out of school once they start menstruating, he also works with schools, teaching girls to make their own pads: “Why wait till they are women? Why not empower girls?” 

As communities accepted his machine, opinions of his “crazy” behavior changed. Five and a half years after she left, Shanthi contacted him, and they are now living together again. She says it was hard living with the ostracization that came from his project, but now, she helps spread the word about sanitary napkins to other women. “Initially I used to be very shy when talking to people about it, but after all this time, people have started to open up. Now they come and talk to me, they ask questions and they also get sanitary napkins to try them.”

In 2009, Muruganantham was honored with a national Innovation Award in 2009 by then President of India, Pratibha Patil, beating out nearly 1,000 other entries. Now, he’s looking at expanding to other countries and believes that 106 countries could benefit from his invention. 

Muruganantham is proud to have made such a difference: “from childhood I know no human being died because of poverty — everything happens because of ignorance… I have accumulated no money but I accumulate a lot of happiness.” His proudest moment? A year after he installed one of the machines in a village so poor that, for generations, no one had earned enough for their children to attend school. Then he received a call from one of the women selling sanitary pads who told him that, thanks to the income, her daughter was now able to go to school. 

To read more about Muruganantham’s story, the BBC featured a recent profile on him at http://bbc.in/1i8tebG or watch his TED talk at http://bit.ly/1n594l6. You can also view his company’s website at http://newinventions.in/

To learn more about the 2013 documentary Menstrual Man about Muruganantham, visit http://www.menstrualman.com/

For resources to help girls prepare for and understand their periods - including several first period kits - visit our post on: “That Time of the Month: Teaching Your Mighty Girl about Her Menstrual Cycle” at www.amightygirl.com/blog?p=3281

To help your tween understand the changes she’s experiencing both physically and emotionally during puberty, check out the books recommended in our post on “Talking with Tweens and Teens About Their Bodies” at http://www.amightygirl.com/blog?p=2229

And, if you’re looking for ways to encourage your children to become the next engineering and technology innovators, visit A Mighty Girl’s STEM toy section athttp://www.amightygirl.com/toys/toys-games/science-math

descomic
trials-n-tresses:

In LOVE!! #teamnatural #naturalhair #natural #naturalhairdoescare #trialsntresses #beauty #hair #girls #kinkycurly #naturalgirlsrock #nolye #bighair #texture #dreads #locs #pink #color #dreadlocs

trials-n-tresses:

In LOVE!! #teamnatural #naturalhair #natural #naturalhairdoescare #trialsntresses #beauty #hair #girls #kinkycurly #naturalgirlsrock #nolye #bighair #texture #dreads #locs #pink #color #dreadlocs

descomic
hisdarlinggirl:

Testing. 1,2,3.  Is this thing on?
I was taking a break from writing a post about introducing D/s to a vanilla relationship when I came across this image. I sat and looked at it for a moment trying to sort out exactly what it evoked within me. Then I looked at the notes.
At the time of this post 13,491.
So, I clicked on the notes expecting that there would be outrage, someone crying foul, a bit of righteous indignation and the like. Nope. Like, after like. Reblog after reblog. I gave up after scrolling through four pages of notes and not finding even one comment saying “What the fuck is this?”
I am not easily offended. I get off on the weirdest and kinkiest shit. I really don’t care what two consenting people do to each other, even when the squick factor makes me throw up in my mouth a bit. I’m all for expressing whatever you want to express, no matter how offensively stupid and thoughtless it is.
However, this post has struck a nerve. And yes, I’ve talked about some of this before but it bears repeating to make a point.
This week here in Melbourne, a young woman on her way home from the pub, walking a distance of less than 500 meters, disappeared from the street, only to be found a few days later buried in a shallow grave on a dirt road outside of the city. She had been raped and then murdered. 
What could she have done to have kept her assault simply a rape instead of her murder as well? Did she fail to remain calm? 
In 2008, after leaving my long term boyfriend and moving into my own apartment, I agreed to meet him one last time to talk. I made sure to be careful, as he’d been physically abusive in the past and I chose to meet him at a neutral location (a friend’s apartment). I knew better, but there were drugs involved, and at the time, I was in a bad place and risked common sense for a need. Bad choice? yes. Consent to horror? No.
He brought a friend to ‘teach me a lesson.’ My boyfriend sat on the sofa, doing the drugs I thought we were going to share over conversation, while his friend beat me unmercifully and raped me.  I did not fight. I did not struggle. I choked on my own blood, tried to keep breathing, focused on surviving, looked into my ex-boyfriend’s eyes and plead for help.
When M., the friend, was done with me, Colin took his turn.  He was high on coke and more violent than I’d ever seen him. I was barely conscious when the police kicked down the door. The two men went to jail, I was taken by ambulance to the hospital with a number of significant injuries. 
Colin had the audacity to say aloud to me as the gurney was being taken from the apartment, “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done here.”
His message was perfectly clear, his going to jail, his doing what he and his friend had done to me was my fault. I was to blame. 
I know that had a tactical team of cops with rifles and shotguns not broken down that door and stopped what was happening that my rape would have turned into a murder no matter how calm I had or hadn’t remained.
Oh, but you’re overreacting you say. The t-shirt in the picture is meant as a joke. Fuck, you can’t take a joke? 
Nah, I can take  joke. I can laugh at shit that is inappropriate, off color, at times I have a chuckle when I really really shouldn’t. I’m not really that much of a buzz kill.
So why am I getting torqued over a stupid t-shirt that isn’t really supposed to literally be taken as about real rape, real murder?
Well, who is to say that?
Rape isn’t a joke. Murder even less so. There have been times when I think I would have been better served to have died on the living room floor of a friend’s apartment with my face bashed in and my ribs bashed, bleeding from the inside as well as outside. The baggage after surviving something like this is so very weighty. The end of the assault is just the beginning of whole other kind of fresh hell.
I hadn’t even gotten to the place in my life at that time that would turn out to be the worst, most traumatic experience that would come my way. That came a year later after Colin had been dead at his own hand so that he wouldn’t have to go back to prison.
Yeah, I know life sucks. Get over it. I’m not naive.
What gets me about this post is the likes and reblogs. The number of them that appear to be women who are reblogging this. I am gobsmacked.
It is sexist, sure, but I expect this from men. Not all men, but a fair number who have no earthly idea about the experience of abject fear and terror, of hanging on to every moment not knowing if it is soon to be your last. Of that secret hope that it would just end, be over with, that the murder would free you of your fear and your pain and the horror of what was happening.
But women? I really don’t understand that in the least. Someone kindly explain what is ‘likeable’ about his image. Seriously. Please do.
If anyone thinks that in addition to it being a woman’s responsibility to not get herself raped in the first place, that it is also her responsibility to not get herself murdered, well, here’s a thought for you - go fuck yourself.
And no, I’m not going to sit down and shut up. No, I’m not going to lighten up. No, I won’t fucking take a joke.
I will speak up for myself, the woman I was lying on the floor, half beaten to death before I was raped and beaten more afterward. I will speak up for the young woman in this god forsaken metropolis found in a shallow grave on the side of the road and for all the other myriad women who have prayed, begged, plead their way through a rape, hoping against all odds that it wouldn’t turn into a murder or possibly that they wished the murder would come quickly to save them from the awful reality of what they were enduring.
13,491 likes and reblogs.
My faith in humanity is in question.
Cher

hisdarlinggirl:

Testing. 1,2,3.  Is this thing on?

I was taking a break from writing a post about introducing D/s to a vanilla relationship when I came across this image. I sat and looked at it for a moment trying to sort out exactly what it evoked within me. Then I looked at the notes.

At the time of this post 13,491.

So, I clicked on the notes expecting that there would be outrage, someone crying foul, a bit of righteous indignation and the like. Nope. Like, after like. Reblog after reblog. I gave up after scrolling through four pages of notes and not finding even one comment saying “What the fuck is this?”

I am not easily offended. I get off on the weirdest and kinkiest shit. I really don’t care what two consenting people do to each other, even when the squick factor makes me throw up in my mouth a bit. I’m all for expressing whatever you want to express, no matter how offensively stupid and thoughtless it is.

However, this post has struck a nerve. And yes, I’ve talked about some of this before but it bears repeating to make a point.

This week here in Melbourne, a young woman on her way home from the pub, walking a distance of less than 500 meters, disappeared from the street, only to be found a few days later buried in a shallow grave on a dirt road outside of the city. She had been raped and then murdered. 

What could she have done to have kept her assault simply a rape instead of her murder as well? Did she fail to remain calm? 

In 2008, after leaving my long term boyfriend and moving into my own apartment, I agreed to meet him one last time to talk. I made sure to be careful, as he’d been physically abusive in the past and I chose to meet him at a neutral location (a friend’s apartment). I knew better, but there were drugs involved, and at the time, I was in a bad place and risked common sense for a need. Bad choice? yes. Consent to horror? No.

He brought a friend to ‘teach me a lesson.’ My boyfriend sat on the sofa, doing the drugs I thought we were going to share over conversation, while his friend beat me unmercifully and raped me.  I did not fight. I did not struggle. I choked on my own blood, tried to keep breathing, focused on surviving, looked into my ex-boyfriend’s eyes and plead for help.

When M., the friend, was done with me, Colin took his turn.  He was high on coke and more violent than I’d ever seen him. I was barely conscious when the police kicked down the door. The two men went to jail, I was taken by ambulance to the hospital with a number of significant injuries. 

Colin had the audacity to say aloud to me as the gurney was being taken from the apartment, “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done here.”

His message was perfectly clear, his going to jail, his doing what he and his friend had done to me was my fault. I was to blame. 

I know that had a tactical team of cops with rifles and shotguns not broken down that door and stopped what was happening that my rape would have turned into a murder no matter how calm I had or hadn’t remained.

Oh, but you’re overreacting you say. The t-shirt in the picture is meant as a joke. Fuck, you can’t take a joke? 

Nah, I can take  joke. I can laugh at shit that is inappropriate, off color, at times I have a chuckle when I really really shouldn’t. I’m not really that much of a buzz kill.

So why am I getting torqued over a stupid t-shirt that isn’t really supposed to literally be taken as about real rape, real murder?

Well, who is to say that?

Rape isn’t a joke. Murder even less so. There have been times when I think I would have been better served to have died on the living room floor of a friend’s apartment with my face bashed in and my ribs bashed, bleeding from the inside as well as outside. The baggage after surviving something like this is so very weighty. The end of the assault is just the beginning of whole other kind of fresh hell.

I hadn’t even gotten to the place in my life at that time that would turn out to be the worst, most traumatic experience that would come my way. That came a year later after Colin had been dead at his own hand so that he wouldn’t have to go back to prison.

Yeah, I know life sucks. Get over it. I’m not naive.

What gets me about this post is the likes and reblogs. The number of them that appear to be women who are reblogging this. I am gobsmacked.

It is sexist, sure, but I expect this from men. Not all men, but a fair number who have no earthly idea about the experience of abject fear and terror, of hanging on to every moment not knowing if it is soon to be your last. Of that secret hope that it would just end, be over with, that the murder would free you of your fear and your pain and the horror of what was happening.

But women? I really don’t understand that in the least. Someone kindly explain what is ‘likeable’ about his image. Seriously. Please do.

If anyone thinks that in addition to it being a woman’s responsibility to not get herself raped in the first place, that it is also her responsibility to not get herself murdered, well, here’s a thought for you - go fuck yourself.

And no, I’m not going to sit down and shut up. No, I’m not going to lighten up. No, I won’t fucking take a joke.

I will speak up for myself, the woman I was lying on the floor, half beaten to death before I was raped and beaten more afterward. I will speak up for the young woman in this god forsaken metropolis found in a shallow grave on the side of the road and for all the other myriad women who have prayed, begged, plead their way through a rape, hoping against all odds that it wouldn’t turn into a murder or possibly that they wished the murder would come quickly to save them from the awful reality of what they were enduring.

13,491 likes and reblogs.

My faith in humanity is in question.

Cher