Calling Out Cat Callers

Summer. Cat calling. Oh don't those two fit hand in hand.

Last week I was lucky enough to be informed, through the act of cat calling, that men found me attractive. Oh what a privilege that was. Finally I could believe that I was beautiful. Thank god I could finally see my own beauty, my own worth...oh wait I've known that for years and it didn't come about because a few twenty something guys told me.

No, I don't like cat calling. No it's not complimentary; it's just plain rude.

It isn't because I'm a feminist.

It's because I'm a self respecting female who doesn't wish to be treated as an object.

Why, why, why. Why do people find it necessary to voice their opinions in a gross and degrading way.

Yes I often aim to look good but, if you're going to be distasteful about it then please just keep your opinions to yourself. I do not need your approval to feel good about myself. I do not base how I look on how many men I can catch the attention of.

Do people really still believe that is a nice and considerate thing to do? Have people ever believed that or has cat calling always been a way to show dominance and power?

Don't cat call me. Don't cat call me. Don't fucking cat call me.

I am a 17 year old girl. I am not an object who exists for your pleasure. I am going to go far in this world and no, it's not because of how I look.

Don't objectify me. I am a human being and I deserve to be treated like one.

I shouldn't have to think twice about what I'm wearing because I may get made to feel uncomfortable by men who seem to be unable to keep their opinions to themselves.

Am I being naïve about this whole thing? Am I missing something? Was the educating on how to be a moron something I missed out on because of my sex?

Cat calling is not appropriate, not in summer, not ever.

What do people gain from making others feel uncomfortable?

There is nothing and I mean nothing pleasant about being cat called. All it does is make that person feel like nothing more than an object who isn't even worthy enough to be respected as a human being.

So next time you open your foul mouth to shout some form of sexist remark, don't. Instead to something much nicer, be a decent human being and keep your mouth shut.

--- Aimee ---

Confessions of an Uninspired Writer

It's currently 21:11 and I have some time to spare so I figured I would blog.

I'm frantically looking round my room trying to find an object which will spark off a genius idea for a post but so far I have had no luck.

I guess that it would help matters if my room wasn't so full of uninteresting 'organised' crap.

Oh I could talk about my DVD collection and how I have only watched half of them. Or maybe talk about my Dr Who box sets and how, despite love for it I haven't actually watched an episode since last summer. It's not that I haven't wanted to but I just know once I start the first episode I won't stop there and I have more important things to do than binge watch four series of Dr Who. (No I do not see how you could watch any series since David Tennant left.)

Maybe I could write something about the books hidden in my wardrobe and how they have shaped my life in the most magical way. I mean sure, I could do that but there is that fact I have only read less than a quarter of the books I own. There are well over 50 book sat lonely on my shelf that I haven't even considered to read since I brought it.

One day I will get round to it and have the time and the effort to read them, I don't want to not experience the wonders that lie between the pages, what a waste that would be. Sure I haven't got round to it yet but at least they look pretty.

Is there perhaps something to say in the jars of artsy crap I brought last summer when I was certain that I would really get into sewing and being creative. I'm still holding on to the hope that one day I will put all those materials to good use.

What about the keyboard hidden out of sight in my wardrobe, purchased second hand four years ago and the most I've used it was for about a week last summer. Sure, I learnt a few songs but only the notes, I didn't have the patience or skill to start learning chords too.

Maybe I could write about the clutter that is currently sat in the top of my wadrobe but what's the point, if it's not worthy enough to have on display in my room then it's probably not worthy enough of me writing about it.

Is it worthwhile me mentioning my collection of Me to You bears in my window which are just sitting there and getting dusty as the days pass? Maybe I should shamefully mention that I just had to move and check what they were actually called because it's been at least three years since my collection has been added to so now they are just a piece of who I was which have far too many memories attached to for me to get rid of.

Could I write to admit that I am wearing aged 8-10 Disney pyjama bottoms which make me feel like Jennifer Aniston in that episode of Friends where she looked super cute...who am I kidding, that is literally every episode. I'm just as shocked as you that these bottoms still fit me, have I not grown at all in 7 years? Oh well, it would be a lie to say this is the only piece of clothing which I should have outgrown long ago.

If I glance left I can see masses of CD albums, most of which have been neglect. Not neglected in an awful way, just in the sense they haven't been listened to since purchase. Do I admit that my music varies from Steps and Westlife to My Chemical Romance and Slaves?

In all honesty my eyes keep wandering back to my elephant duvet and how I have a supposed 'elephant obsession'. I didn't think I did or maybe it just never considered it. It's only a duvet, ornament, canvas, necklace, dress and teddy (and phone case as I have just been reminded.) Alright maybe I see where this rumour came from.

In the most basic form, all that makes up my room belong to three groups; who I am, who I was and who I one day hope to be. Hmm, I've never of thought of it in that way until now. Maybe I don't need half this stuff. Maybe I should move on from some of the things which, unpleasantly, remind me of who I was. Maybe I should give in and accept I may never use my artsy stuff, perhaps it has always been a lost cause that I just haven't accepted.

Do I now confess that I had meant to write a really deep post but in reality have just written about what I can see in my room? Not that it's all bad, my room is pretty damn cool and, for once, pretty flipping tidy too.


--- Aimee ---