Help us make a baby!!!
Hello everyone,
To those that don't know our story, I'm amber and my Wife is haylee. We met in basic training for the Army 5 years ago. We were both medically discharged and have been together since. She lived in Texas and me here in Maryland. We did long distance for a little while, flying back and forth, but it became too expensive, and apparent that that the relationship was pretty serious, so she moved here. Now, 5 years later, we have a stable life, both have stable jobs, and a strong relationship that is built on respect, honesty, and most of all, love. Unfortunately, no matter how much we love each other, our love alone,can never make a baby, no matter how much we want it to. So i ask you, my friends, and maybe when this gets shared, some strangers, to help us to get to make our dream come true and start that family that we long to have. We believe that everything happens for a reason, so you're maybe reading this for a reason. So if you can find it in your heart to even give just $5, you'd be part of our journey.
Thank you for reading,
Amber And Haylee
#support #me #love #me #mystory #nonbdinary #lgbt #lgbtq #trans #transgender #lgbtqia #nonbinary #transgender #help #lgbtpride #fashion #lgbtcommunity #transgendercommunity #transgender #trans #community #love #family #friends #indiegogo #help #emilokan #kickstarter #lgbt #shopifystore #lgbtqiarights #lgbtrights #transrights #transrightsarehumanrights
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No Always Means No
I get the message late at night, far past any reasonable bedtime. I’m a modern girl, but these are quiet hours, a calm time for me to sort out what I’d experienced for the day and to make plans for tomorrow. Here I am, sorting through the beautiful pink lotus flowers I’d been taking shots of. I like to think of myself as an amateur horticulturist, and wistfully consider that in another life, had I had more opportunities and privilege available to me at the time, I’d be settled in as a botanist with my very own small backyard greenhouse to putter around in.
And Northern Laos, where I’m currently escaping the corporate power structures of America to connect with a pacifist, off-the-grid Buddhist retreat, gentle people here, of many different ethnicities, in Oudomxay where the Khmu people make up 60% of the population... Laos has so many beautiful flowers, too. I know they’re meagre things, cats and flowers, but they make me so happy! Why, you should just see them! From frangipani, the national flower of Laos, which is very strange indeed because it has an Italian name and originates from lovely Mexico and Central America, to passionfruit, which I’ve had in so many coconut-milk based shakes, lately. The opium poppy, hibiscus, and if only, if only I could come back in April to see Khun flowers at the Boun Pi Mai festival for Lao New Year. This anthophile, for one, was inhaling the scene of vanilla esthers in his incense and experiencing a small slice of heaven.
Then my phone buzzes. It’s America’s New Year. Land of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy, yay. Everything that comes out of there is stupid, harsh, accusative, aggressive and a thick slice of white and patriarchal privilege, not to mention incessant capitalist demand for more product, more content, more more more -- the sheer greed, the speed, the rancid Oompa Loompa that managed to swindle its way into power, probably because Russia orchestrated it, and so, you see, I expected the usual trolls.
I didn’t expect this. I know men are disgusting and cannot accept no for an answer or respect our boundaries, but I did not expect this.
I did not expect to be dealing with a mental rapist.
Now, I know that sounds big, so let me be very clear: I would never diminish or cheapen the significance of rape. There’s a huge difference between just dealing with men who you can clearly tell are rapists, and somebody who actually committed the crime like Brent Kavanaugh or Clarence Thomas, or Brock Turner, who is now quite literally a textbook case. This guy was a rapist in the same sense that Trump is a rapist. Full of sick locker room talk, perverted fucking shit nobody would ever want to, full of arrogance, entitlement, demanding to get his way with threats of shutting traffic flow to my own very small... but quite lovely, if she does say so herself, drawing room in her own very small corner of the web. Throwing his weight around at me, you see.
Politically woke content is a threat to his privilege, apparently, so he has the gall to tell me it’s inappropriate on my own web page on the web and that he will take his traffic elsewhere. My spiritual freedom he wants to shut down too, probably because he’s as averse to spiritual morality as Trump. “Get out!” I say. “Get. out.” and I think I swore at him too. I mean I think that’s a pretty clear message.
He keeps talking, pushing harder. He wants to mansplain it all to me, how he’s so rational and I’m such an emotionally fragile, out-of-control creature who’s ‘off the rails’, as he puts it, like his mind is the whole Comet and I’m just the small train hitch that’s loose in the Winston Tunnel, and if people die, well, there’s always a woman to blame, isn’t there? He think I’m his bitch to belittle and reprimand with the cold, harsh logic of his masculine superiority. I’m shaking, literally shaking, in fear and anger.
I don’t even know what to say. He’s babbling on and thinks he’s like clockwork logic the whole time, but all I can see is the anger. His angry face. His hate. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to plead, to try to reason back with him, to ask him why he thinks he can talk to a woman this way, or to even, inexplicably just to add levity, add ‘did you just assume my gender?” being how we’re all so clearly trapped in a meme in this horror show of a brave new world, this living nightmare of Trump’s America. I want to curse, but more than anything... I want to let him know a strong feminist like me isn’t going to take this shit. Not today, cowboy. Not today, bucko. I want him to stop. But I’m shaking. I’m frozen. And he won’t stop.
“NO” I say, loudly but firmly. I’m sure not in California at the moment, but as a proud former Los Angelino, I can tell you in California, No Means No, which it really should worldwide. But we get it, you see. Pretty simple, boys. No is a no. What’s so hard about that? Your privilege is what makes it hard for you. We even took it a step father in 2014 when our governor “Moonbeam”, as the flyover hicks liked to call him, Jerry Brown, signed the Yes Means Yes affirmative consent law into action. I’m not asking for affirmative consent. I’m not asking him to be as progressive as me, or even meet me halfway there on my march towards the future. The future is female and we will win with or without him. No, I’m not asking for that. I’m simply saying no.
“So you can’t defend your position?” he goes, not listening to a word I’m saying. I’m not only being gaslighted, but I feel like he has me by the throat. I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m shaking so hard, and I don’t know why, as I’m not intimidated by this scrawny, evil excuse for a man, really, but he’s just. not. listening. to. me. I feel like I’m a wall that’s been breached. No, I want to cry, I can’t defend my position, not with you coming at me like this. I said no, why won’t you listen?
“NO” I practically scream, and swear that he get the fuck away from me, and he’s all on about I’m off the rails and how he’s just being so rational, that I just exist to fit HIS needs. Like I can really do that... “please,” I’m thinking, “just get tired of this and leave. leave now.”
I blurt something out, just mad and legitimately angry, about how I’m so sick of white men thinking they’re the boss of everyone and he’s not the boss of me. I say NO again. He still won’t stop. I feel like I’m gasping for air. My head is pounding with rage, hurt, anger, so many feelings at once...
“I’m confused where my race, or anybody’s race, comes into play here,” he goes, cold as a fish, hovering above his prey, just like Bret fucking Kavanaugh on the witness stand or just like Martin Shkreli, trying to not just gaslight me, but shove my head into the whole oven, apparently. I can see why a man with his level of privilege would think race is irrelevant, but here’s the thing. Race. Is. Always. Relevant. Just because you’re unaware of your privilege at certain hours of the day doesn’t mean it stops existing. It doesn’t mean you’re not morally accountable to those who have to suffer.
I literally don’t even know what to do when he won’t take no for an answer. If he sticks it in, I will scream. If he so much as touches me, I feel like I’m going to scream. I’m feeling all this. This man has the mind of a rapist, and I don’t doubt for one second that if circumstance were slightly different, if he weren’t kind of too uncomfortable around a woman and unsure of what to do -- although who knows if he’d even admit that -- some guys are really strange and sick -- there is no doubt he’d be using that privilege to rape somebody, somewhere, and try to get away with it. I can see it inside him, burning as bright as the cold light of day, the cold machine mind of a serial rapist. I have seen what evil looks like, and he sees none of it in himself, blind as he is to the sociopathic characteristics he has developed along the way as he determined he was a sharp razor who would be able to get what he wants. A razor, and I’m the trembling flesh he sees before him, and it excites him, this ability to inflict pain, this ability to feel like he is the logical man in command and that I am just some irrational, squealing, stupid bitch. This is how they think. This is the world we have to face every single day. As a woman, I can’t even begin to explain how terrifying that truly is. I hope this at least helps shed light on this type of behavior, and that someday we will all get to live in a world where this type of man no longer even exists.
It takes literally saying no dozens of times, over a hundred, until he finally smarts off one last time and slams the door with a smart-ass remark like “Byez” and some advice as if he could make a star out of me or something, if only I listened to him, as if I’m codependent, desperate trash who needs him. It’s a (toxic) relationship he has with me in his mind, but all I ever said was no, so he was clearly deranged and nuts. He sounds just like Joaquin Phoenix in Joker, to tell the truth. It is terrifying and my heart is pounding right out of my chest, practically, adrenaline through the roof, but he has left, and I am relieved.
I call my friends, insecure, panicked and crying about it, looking for reassurance, consolation, or really, what I think it is, is just a voice to listen. Just another soul to listen to and hear and understand, share what we women have to go through. That connection, that social network, is so important. Friends who can understand you and comfort you are everything, and we need them now more than ever in Trump’s America. So, for all you brave women out there who know what I’m talking about and know the future is still female, hats off to you. We will get through this. “Nevertheless, she persisted,” said one of the bravest women this country has ever seen, and there will be many, many more of us who do persist until this sort of man crawls back into the hole it came from. There is a war on women in this country, and I, for one, am nothing if not willing to fight back for my rights after last night. The thought of how he attacked me was so hurtful and disgusting that I don’t even want to revisit it, now that I’ve banished him from my thoughts and sent him back to his cave like the woman-hating Neanderthal he is. So let this be a warning to you, ladies, that you could be attacked by one of these next.
Best wishes and lots of love, today and beyond, to all the brave women out there, who stand tall against guys like him. While I wouldn’t hold my breath thinking men like him will surrender power any time soon, or that they will ever treat us with respect and truly understand that No means No, I do have hope. for the younger generation. Here he is, pictured below as I visualise him in my mind acting while he was watching me through his phone, probably stalking me for days like something out of Rear Window. That’s toxic masculinity for sure, fomenting his planned invasion of my own private, sacred space on the web. UGH:
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