Another one of my very own #YesAllWomen moments


Today I received a phone call from a guy.

I was weary to answer the call because my last encounter with him ended with him yelling at me that I’m a bitch because I had been avoiding hanging out with him, and him hitting me with a glow stick so hard that I had a welt for two days.

He had been calling me incessantly—15 times in one day. I kept ignoring the call, or having my friends answer because I was so sick of telling him that I didn’t want to hang out. One of my friends ended up pitying him and telling him where I was.

When he found me, I was cuddling with someone else on a couch, which made him very, very angry. I knew he was jealous, and I get it. The kid liked me, but we had no actual relationship other than the fact that a month prior we had hooked up once or twice (be it the intoxicants or the quality of the company, it wasn’t particularly memorable).

He not only tried to get violent with me, but also the person I was cuddling with. It was at that point when I decided to leave for my own safety—even though my friend’s house was where I was planning on staying the night because I was in town visiting.

He then texted me accusing me of getting him involved in drama that he didn’t want to be “dragged into.” All this after I tried desperately to avoid him for 10 hours while he did everything he could to hunt me down.

Fast forward to today when he called me. He said he was calling to apologize. I was glad that he was taking a step in recognizing that he fucked up—but it devolved into him saying that he was pissed that I was with someone who was “not as cool as him.”

It was at this point where I (literally) said “I am not your property and I can have sex with whomever I want.”

His response was “I know, but…” whereupon he continued to man-splain to me that he did have rights to my body over other men because he was cooler than them.

If that’s not male entitlement and rape culture than I don’t know what is.



If you’re day as been anything like mine, it’s gone a little like this: A gifset

When you wake up late and jump out of the shower like


You walk into your first power lecture of the day like


When your professor brings donuts as an apology for assigning too much homework


When she says something offensive in the first five minutes


Watching a movie for the rest of the class like


When she calls on you when you’re not paying attention


But she’s actually calling on another person with the same name as you


The class finally ends, but you have another power lecture in the same exact room


Writing inspiration from Tim Ferriss and Neil Strauss

In my writing adventures I’ve had many ups and downs and drop offs (obviously). But one day I hope to be like these guys–living the dream by writing and thinking everyday and making money off of it. It’s a long video (over an hour), but it’s totally worth it and super interesting.

Gotta thank my buddy iamalexbirkett for forwarding this video to me.


10 Songs That Will Fuel Your Inner Vengeful Goddess

So you’ve just been through a shitty break-up, and it’s time to brew those tears into a potion to curse your enemies. What better than a couple voodoo enhancing songs to help your poison along?

1. This Is Gospel—Panic! At The Disco

Because truth be told, I never was yours. Time to rock your way out of that relationship and to the nearest bar to show off that hot ass bod where someone will appreciate it.

2. 365 Days—ZZ Ward

Who doesn’t want to break all their exes shit?? Plus, dude she fuckin’ told ya not to fuck with her MONTHS AGO.

3. Cheated—Mike Posner

You always suspected you could do better, now you know for a fact you coulda done better. Bonus points if your ex is named Caroline Stevens.

4. Cannibal—Ke$ha

There’s nothing more satisfying than the liver of a douchey ex on a platter. Eat your heart out, honey.

5. Cold Hard Bitch—JET

Hell no, I ain’t gonna be your girl, I’m a boss ass bitch and you’re a nobody.

6. Dark Horse—Katy Perry Feat. Juice J

Because the last dude who fucked with Aphrodite ended up permanently disabled for the rest of his life.

7. My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light ‘Em Up)—Fall Out Boy

Burn everything he loves. Then burn the ashes. Need I say more?

8. Men Are All The Same—The Used

He’ll never make it alone, which is exactly what you want.

9. I Love It—Icona Pop

Kill that switch and kick his shit down the stairs. Don’t forget to fist bump-jump a little while doing it.

10. Roar—Katy Perry (Again I know)

Sweetheart, it’s time to get up and Roar. Do you, and remember that you’re fucking awesome.

A Day Without Inspiration

Well, hello there everyone. I’m having a little bit of writer’s block today. There isn’t really one topic that I’d like to write about. But since I’m doing a 30 day challenge, I’m going to sit here and write at least 500 words and you’re all going to have to suffer through it.

So how has my day been? Great, thanks. I returned a christmas present that didn’t fit my boyfriend, and was rewarded with $20. Instead of putting that money towards my past due impending bills, I went out and bought myself this totally freaking awesome Doctor Who poster:

Screen Shot 2014-01-14 at 4.44.03 PM

I was debating as to whether I should get the Day of the Doctor one (which was an episode that I didn’t really like, because personally I’m not a fan of direction the series is headed, or the almost entire lack of character development of Clara) or one with 1st-11th Doctors on it (I’ve only watched the current series, and know almost nothing about doctors 1-8), but then the dude working at the poster shop showed me this one and I shit my ass (not literally, I’m potty trained) and I just had to have it.

Also I stopped by the pizza place that I used to work at, because I hadn’t had a slice of mac n’ cheese pizza in over a month (for shame!), which if you haven’t had a slice I recommend you seek out the closest Ian’s Pizza and buy a whole pie. My old boss was working and because he loves me he gave me a free slice (what whaaaaaat). I also took the opportunity to use their wifi because I still know the employee password. Neener-neener.

Now I’m sitting at one of my favorite coffee shops in Madison, ERC. I have to say that I feel a little bad because while I was in LA with my family for the past three weeks I drank Starfucks Starbucks almost every day. Also I’ve found another little coffee shop that is a little closer to my apartment, and has bottomless cups of coffee for $3.

*Exhales loudly* Ok, almost there!

Oh! Oh! I know, I found THE BEST vine. It combines three of my favorite things: Macklemore, Jennifer Lawrence and PIZZA:

Speaking of Macklemore, and Thrift Shop which always plays at one of the bars I used to frequent, IT’S FACKING BACON NIGHT. That’s right, friends, $1 PBRs and FREE FUCKING BACON. I’m definitely going to be doing that tonight—well, if I can find some homies to join me. I’ve got a bad habit of hiberdating,* which I am working very hard on not doing anymore. If I can’t find anyone to indulge with me, I suppose I’m going to be rearrange my living room and then probably watch House of Cards.

*hiberdating: verb—when someone ignores all of their friends because they are in a relationship.

Well, I’m approaching my 500 words, and running out of interesting things to blab about. If you found anything in this word vomit post actually interesting,  let me know in the comments! I can always write more on hotspots in Madison, or silly slang.

And as always, thanks for reading!

Self-Respect: What you think it means, and what it really means.


If they don’t have self-respect, then why should I respect them?

This is one of the many phrases I encounter frequently in my work as a sexual health educator regarding the concept of self-respect, and it’s usually used as a justification for slut-shaming and victim-blaming.  And after having a particularly enlightening conversation with my step mom, I realized why the idea of telling someone to have some self-respect felt so squicky to me—how the hell do I know how someone feels about themselves? Somewhere along the way, we lost the whole “self” part of self-respect.

The things that we might cite as “indicators” of self-respect, such as clothing, weight, body modifications, demeanor, or general life choices aren’t going to give us pure and unbiased insight into how someone feels about themselves. But they will tell us whether we have respect for them. We use our own criteria for how we evaluate ourselves, and then import those ideas directly into the other person’s mouth.

Telling someone to have self-respect is a thinly veiled way of telling them that you do not have respect for the way that they are living their life. 

And as someone who has been the recipient of such remarks, it was confusing. I do respect myself. I think I’m pretty great, actually. I mean, I’m a self-proclaimed (and friend-certified) narcissist. And the things I was doing didn’t negate or depreciate the respect that I have for myself.

Now, I’m not saying that we’re always going to approve of or enjoy everyone’s lifestyle or choices. We aren’t. But the vast majority of the time, our opinion about how someone else is living their life is irrelevant. So the whole have some blah blah blah argument really loses traction.

When we tell people to respect themselves, we are not only being super über passive aggressive, but we are also shaming them for things that they might really enjoy. And shaming people for things they like or can’t change is on my list of top 10 worst things a person can possible do to another.

So next time you feel that phrase rolling around on the tip of your tongue, pull up your big girl panties and remember that A) it’s you who doesn’t have respect for them, and that B) whether you respect them or not really doesn’t matter, because it does not determine if they have respect for themselves.

My Grandma Made Me Do It


This is my grandma, but I call her Nanny. Wine drinker, iPad user, and founder of our local Knitter’s Guide (no, really), Nanny is quite talented. But one talent that she doesn’t often share with people outside the family is the fact that she believes that she’s a witch. Not like a wiccan, or an evil old wench, but sort of a good, sorta psychic, sorta I don’t even really know. It’s just something she’s told me all my life, and when she cured my tummyaches with a magical mixture of sprite and orange juice, you bet your butt I believed her. To prove to the family, or maybe just to spite them, when each of her grandchildren were born she had everyone in our immediate family write down a profession on a piece of paper and sealed them up and took bets.

I just found out about this practice recently when my oldest cousin graduated from college and my aunt and grandpa reminded my Nanny that it was time to bust out the predictions. With my cousin having picked a career path that none of us would have guessed  (interior design, not to be confused with interior decoration), Nanny claims to have “misplaced” my cousin’s envelope.

Of course, all of the grandkids wanted to know what our family had predicted for us, and especially what Nanny thought. While she doesn’t seem to remember what she thought my cousin was meant to be, she looked me in the eye and told me what she had been telling me since I can remember:

“Hailey, you’re a writer.”

So when I told her that I was doing a 30 day blogging challenge, she chided me for not already being an internationally published author. After showering me with her crippling grandmotherly overestimation of my talent, she asked me what it was called. I kind of balked.

“I don’t know, Nanny. It’s just my blog.”

“You should call it My Grandma Made Me Do It.

While I doubt that the little 21 year old piece of paper really holds any valuable information about what my profession will be (I’m actually excited about pursuing a career as a sexual health educator), I know that my Nanny, like many other wonderful people around me, for some reason find my writing enjoyable. And you know what? I really fucking love writing. Maybe Nanny can’t really tell the future, but she sure as hell can hone in on what makes her grandkids happy.

And here I am, three glasses of red wine, a mug of tea and many, many spritz cookies later writing, well, because my grandma made me do it.