The culture of womanhood and silence

I’ve been thinking a lot about rude assholes on the train.

Hear me out.

The other week I was riding home and the train was packed in that way that lets you know just how much junk is in the trunk of everyone around you. It was so packed I couldn’t even look at the book I was reading, so I gave up and stowed it for the 15 minute ride to work.

Next to me was an impossibly tiny woman. She had to way 100 pounds and she was shorter than me at 5’4″. Standing in front of her was a guy wearing an enormous backpack. The backpack was so big that she was physically bending her body backward to avoid being punched in the face with it.

After I stop or two I couldn’t stand it anymore. I tapped the guy on the shoulder.

“You’re punching her in the face.” I said.

“What?” he said, taking his headphones out.

“Your backpack, it’s punching her in the face. Could you take it off or something?”

He turned to look at the woman next to me. The words that came out of her mouth flabbargasted me.

“No no. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

I gaped at her while she and the guy went back and forth for a second. He said something maybe taking the backpack off. She came back with more “don’t worry about it”s and “I’m fine, really”s. Until eventually he just turned away again and put his headphones on. She went back to doing backbends.

The whole time I just wanted to shout: “How is this FINE? It’s not fine. He’s ACTUALLY HITTING YOU IN THE FACE WITH HIS BACKPACK! He offered to take it off and you just polited him into continuing to PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE. Do you like doing backbends? Is this your fucking YOGA STUDIO in the morning? Jesus tapdancing Christ in a clowncar, what the actual Hell is going on here?”

Ahem.

But I didn’t say any of those things. Instead I nodded tersely, smiling like a cadaver when she thanked me for interceding. Fuming, I watched her limbo her face away from the looming black mass of his backpack for three or four more stops. When my stop arrived I stomped off the subway and stewed about the interaction for a good hour. Because I am the Empress of the Land of Not Letting Things Slide.

For those of you who don’t know me in person, who I am on the internet is much akin to who I am in “real life.” I’m loud. I’m direct as all hell. And I speak my mind pretty much unfiltered all the time. I get that from a combination of my mom and my dad. My mom is not a woman with whom to fuck. My dad’s contribution is mostly the swearing.*

So I’ve been stewing about this lady for about two weeks now (don’t judge me). Every once in a while the memory of her face, twisted away from the encroaching backpack, will rise up in my mind. And I keep wondering why it makes me so angry.

I think that women are generally socialized to be quiet and to adjust our behavior in accordance with the expectations and environment around us. I have seen so many women be silent rather than offend the people around them.

On the other end of the spectrum, I have seen so many men vomit words at me as if my ears and attention are things to which they are somehow entitled.  The good guys of the world seem to have some kind of filter (either in-born or trained) that keeps them from saying dumb things. Or they just genuinely do not have horrible thoughts to articulate. But in the case of the rest of the male population, they seem to believe that everything they have to say is important. That they must produce and enliven the space around them with the things inside their heads. Which is why manspreading is such a huge fucking deal. It’s also why I have so many conversations on a daily basis that involve men telling me shit I never needed to hear.

“I don’t like that lipstick you wore a week ago.”

“Women don’t really want to make money, that’s why the wage gap exists.”

“I’d like to fuck you blue.”

“You’re probably a dumb ass fucking whore anyway.”

The generally accepted socialized female response to the above comments is something along the lines of smiling, laughing, and letting it slide. We have all done it. It’s just easier, most of the time, to let that be what we do, rather than having a fight. Because when we do speak back, when we speak up, the general response is shock and anger.

And sometimes we do fight back. But sometimes it is easier, as a woman, to do what is expected. To shrink into the background. To let them have the space. Because sometimes you just want to make it through your day without having to justify your existence to some asshole strutting his stuff in a shitty suit.

The fact that the decision to be silent is the more convenient and safe option in a lot of cases depresses me. Here, have a poem about shrinking women and the impact of silence and smallness.


*I love it when my dad tries to call me out for cursing so much. He’s always like “Do you have fuckin’ curse so much?” And then I just give him the shade that is my “are you fucking kidding me?” face.

Trans Lives Matter: Caitlyn Jenner & Representation in Media

Ever since the announcement of their womanhood, there has been speculation as to when “Bruce” Jenner would change their pronoun and name to feminine ones. We all knew it was coming, but we had no way of predicting when.

Well! It finally happened. On June 1st, Caitlyn Jenner tweeted for the first time. And then Jenner set a world record for the fastest time to 1 million followers in just 4 hours.

Caitlyn’s announcement was accompanied by photos of her on the cover of Vanity Fair. Fittingly, the announcement coincided with the year anniversary of Laverne Cox’s featured position on the cover of TIME magazine alongside the headline “The Transgender Tipping Point.”

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More than anything else, I am thrilled to see Caitlyn living her life as her genuine, authentic self. There is nothing more freeing than living your life without shame. I am also delighted to see yet another glamorous woman kicking ass and taking names in her 60s. I cannot get enough of gorgeous older ladies being fabulous. Between Jessica Lange, Caitlyn, and shows like Grace & Frankie, I really hope this is getting to be a trend.

In the brief time since revealing herself in her new identity, Caitlyn has caught some serious criticism as a trans person for a couple of reasons. The first has been her position as a fairly prominent and wealthy person undergoing transition. She is in a very privileged spot in that she has access to stylists, personal trainers, and medical treatments that have undoubtedly made her movement into the sphere of womanhood comparatively easier than the journeys taken by many other trans people.

On the issue of her privilege I am not prepared to judge Caitlyn. Yet. And I say “yet” because I am waiting to see what she decides to do with her new position as a visible and wealthy trans woman. There is so much work that needs to be done in the trans community. In her open letter to Caitlyn Jenner, Kai Cheng Thom says:

I want to know how you feel about all of these things: the ties that bind and the differences between us. And most of all, I want to know what you plan to do about them. You’ve said that you want to hear the stories of other trans women and use your platform to “make things better.” I want so badly for this to mean more than just “raising awareness” through glamour photos and reality television – it’s true that trans people have been experiencing unprecedented visibility in recent years, but visibility alone will not save us. My community organizer’s mind goes wild just imagining all of the social programs I could run with a fraction of the money at your disposal.

With that said, if Caitlyn takes her considerable money and influence and applies it to working in communities and making a difference in trans lives, I will applaud her unreservedly. If, however, Caitlyn takes her new, privileged self out into the world of tawdry reality television and thinks that the mere presence of her in the public eye is going to stop the considerable violence and hardship that trans women (and particularly trans women of color) face every day? That will be a different story altogether. And I admit to being unsure as to which way she will go.

Aside from being privileged in the means by which she has transitioned, Jenner has also been criticized for her connection to the dreaded Kardashians and their publicity stunt mentality. Let me say two things on that score. First of all, you have to be seriously out of touch with reality if you even thought for a second that Caitlyn’s transition was some kind of publicity stunt. And secondly, I think that her use of the letter “C” in a name that could easily be spelled with a “K” was rather telling, don’t you?

It is true that what is surrounding Jenner at this point could not be called anything less than a media circus. But I don’t think that is a bad thing at all. I think that her transition as a person living a prominent and public life was going to generate a lot of buzz to begin with. And I think that having someone so prominently transition is going to make a difference in the lives of trans youth, because representation matters.

On that note I want to get a little personal. I lived a large portion of my life confused and uncomfortable with who I was as a person. I thought I was straight… Or maybe bisexual? I had no one in my life upon whose example I could model myself as a gay woman. I cannot begin to express how valuable it would have been for me to see alternative sexualities and genders represented in the media. Caitlyn would have been a huge deal to me. Just seeing that there were other ways to live your life might have meant that I found my way to myself far earlier and spared myself a lot of pain.

More than just allowing young people to see that there are other ways to live than as cisgendered heterosexuals, I believe the prominent representation of LGBTQ people can save lives. Suicide rates among LGBTQ youth are notably higher than those of the general population. According to The Trevor Project, “nearly half of young transgender people have seriously thought about taking their lives, and one quarter report having made a suicide attempt.” Having people like Jenner out there in the world for trans youth to look up to means a lot. And I think that, as the years roll on and we as a community gain more and more trans role models, The Trevor Project and groups like them will have better and better news for us.

Despite the jury being out on whether Caitlyn will utilize her privileged position as a trans person in a positive way, having her transition in the public eye is, as Rachel Maddow put it, “absolutely history in the finest, living sense.” I think considering Caitlyn’s journey as “living history” is an important distinction. Because this is not the end of the story of trans rights. This isn’t the beginning, either, it is just a very important moment. A chapter that will stand out when we look back at it. But there is still so much work to be done.

On being an angry feminist, tone policing, and allyship.

When I was at West Chester, I performed in the Vagina Monologues as part of my initiation into left wing feminist lesbianism. Appropriately, I was cast in the role of the “angry” vagina. That particular monologue began with me marching down the center aisle of the theater as intermission wound down and shouting, at the top of my lungs:

“My vagina is ANGRY!”

I went on to explain.

“It is. It’s pissed off. My vagina’s furious and it needs to talk. It needs to talk about all this shit. It needs to talk to you. I mean what’s the deal – an army of people out there thinking up ways to torture my poor-ass, gentle, loving vagina. Spending their days constructing psycho products, and nasty ideas to undermine my pussy. Vagina Motherfuckers.”

I still feel guilty for the woman who was sitting in the front row the first evening who jumped up when I shouted while walking past her. She actually squeaked out the words “Oh dear! I’m sorry!” and then flopped down in her chair.

I’m still angry. I see shit all the time that pisses me off. Even my article from earlier this week was a reaction to things that I was reading that just made me go all Mrs. White in reaction.

Flames... on the side of my face. Heaving... breathless... heaving breaths.
Flames… on the side of my face. Heaving… breathless… heaving breaths.

Here’s the thing, though. I don’t think there is anything wrong with getting mad. I’m pretty sure that getting mad is a prerequisite for getting any kind of change started. And I also think that it’s a pretty natural and acceptable reaction to having someone tell you that your cares or concerns are not valid ones.

But a lot of people seem to think that anger is a bad thing. There’s the trope about the angry feminist or the angry black guy. It’s super damaging to think of anger in that way. Anger is a necessary human emotion. Especially when you spend a lot of time advocating for social justice. But the idea of anger as a bad guy in any given situation gets used maliciously a lot.

For example, here is an argument that I see very often on the internet:

Person 1: *posts a very heartfelt comment about an article relating to an area of social justice that they feel passionately about* Very frequently this person is posting about a group to which they are closely tied (i.e. a woman posting on feminism or a person of color posting on issues having to do with race).
Person 2: *calls into question the relevance of that article* Very frequently this person is someone with  no skin in the game (i.e. a man commenting on feminism or a white person commenting on issues of systemic racism).
Person 1: *responds calmly, explaining the relevance as thoroughly as possible*
Person 2: *calls into question the relevance of the article*
Person 1: *continues calmly explaining, despite rising frustration and anger at being willfully misunderstood*

Persons number 1 & 2 will repeat the last two steps until this happens:

Person 2: *continues to calmly call out the issues raised by the article and/or the relevance of it existing at all*
Person 1: *gets pissed off and starts being snarky or mean or swearing because they have had enough*

Person 2 at this point will say some variation of “why are you so angry?” or “I never called you any names” or “let’s keep it civil.” And at that point, Person 1 might as well just throw in the towel as far as the second person is concerned. Because the second you get visibly angry, you have lost the argument. I don’t necessarily think that is true, but the person who started the whole controversy tends to flounce off at that point, assured in their innocence and suffering at the hands of the big mean social justice warrior or whatever.

Epic eye roll: activate!
Epic eye roll: activate!

The exchange above is an example of tone policing, the whole concept and execution of which makes me super angry, and here’s why. It’s super easy for Person 2 to remain calm. They have no stake in the discussion. Except maybe their own perception that they are somehow losing rights to women or people of color as those groups gain rights. But that’s not how rights work, so we will just ignore that nonsense. But for people whose lived experiences are tied closely to the things they talk about and share with the world, these are not objective issues. They are the solid facts of their everyday world. And having them dismissed out of hand would be enough to make anybody angry.

As a person who frequently plays the role of Person 1 in discussions like this one, I can say that conversations like these are also exhausting. And when the other person persists in putting forth their idea that the very real bullshit you are dealing with in your life does not exist or is not valid for some reason, it’s really hard not to fly off the handle. I’ve gotten better at in recent years, but even now I will admit to having a pretty short fuse when it comes to this kind of obnoxious behavior.

So let me close by saying this: If you see someone somewhere being tone policed, call the person out who is doing the policing. And stand up for the person who is being told that their feelings are somehow invalid because they are frustrated and upset. Having those conversations is exhausting. Defending yourself and your group of humans against relentless attacks on the validity of their concerns is a battle that never seems to end for some segments of our communities.

If you want to be an ally, stand up for the people around you and help lift the burden that they are carrying when you can. Remember that you can safely walk away from conversations that they will spend their entire lives fighting about. So take some of your energy and give it to them if you are able.

Spread the love and support around when you can, kids. It never goes amiss.

So, rape culture sucks.

But I’m pretty sure you already knew that.

The other thing about rape culture? It doesn’t even make any sense at the best of times. At the worst of times, it is nigh-on indecipherable.

Saturday night. It had been a while since Frankie and I had gone out on the town together, so we made plans to do just that! Little did we know that the weather was going to serve us a big, wintry wake up call with a low of 50 that night.

So, what to do? Well, the obvious answer was to first drink some bourbon and warm up. And since the Twisted Tail is 1) two blocks away and 2) my favorite bar, this was a no-brainer.

Bellies warm with Bourbon, we set off to find a place where dancing might be had. We walked all the way up to Rittenhouse and tried a few places, finally settling on the Raven Lounge and it’s tiny, hot dance floor and decent club music.

Although why they only play 15 seconds of any given song, I will never understand.
Although why they only play 15 seconds of any given song, I will never understand.

We get to the bar and settle in. I wind up laughing at the group of girls who seem intent on creating some kind of dance circle show off group. Ladies, there is no space for that. Please stop. But it’s all in good fun and I’m having a beer and dancing with my lady and all is right with the world.

At one point I feel a hand grasp my elbow, then release it. After a moment, a man’s voice says “I can’t even say hello?” I ignore it, assuming that it was meant for me, but not giving any particular craps about talking to some dude in a club. I glance back and see a dark-skinned, short, white-shirted guy walking back to his friends. I tag him mentally and go back to dancing.

A few more segments of song flash by. My beer is half-gone. I’m laughing at the silly happy people standing on the benches along the walls and shouting to their friends. Everyone is having a good time.

Then the man in the white shirt is standing very close to me. He tells me that he “had to come over and talk to me.” I ask him why, moving myself away from him so that he isn’t touching me. He is clearly drunk. I can barely hear him above the music and shouted song lyrics and my own blood pumping in my ears.

I do not like being approached by drunk strangers. They frighten me. Especially when they are male. Especially when they keep moving closer to me as I inch away from them.

He tells me that Sarah and her friends told him to come over to me. I ask him who Sarah is and what this is about. He tells me that Sarah is the “wife of the night” and gestures behind him, where a group of four guys and one woman (standing on a platform above the men) are watching the exchange with interest.

I ask him what a “wife of the night is” and inform him that I really don’t have any interest in whatever is going on. He starts to get frustrated and tells me that I’m not letting him explain himself. At this point, I inform him that I don’t really care what he wants, but that I don’t want to talk to him and he should leave us alone. Of course, because my feelings on whether or not I should talk to him are totally irrelevant, he gets more insistent.  I tell him that I don’t want to talk to him. I tell him that I’m there with my girlfriend and that we just want to dance and be left alone. He continues to insist that he needs to talk to me and, when Frankie tries to talk to him, brushes her off and says he’s talking to me.

Frankie kicks into another gear at this point and rushes over to his friends and asks them what’s going on and what he wants. They don’t respond. They just stare at her and smile. So she informs them that this whole thing isn’t fucking funny they need to get their friend to leave us alone or she will be getting security because this is harassment and it’s weird and we just want to be left alone.

While she’s doing this, he is still standing near me and tells her really loudly that she’s “getting aggressive” and that there’s “no need for that” and that he just “wants to talk” to me. I tell him, yet again, that I don’t want to talk to him.

Apparently, my girlfriend is intimidating, because the males in the group slowly reach out and grab him and start to pull him back. As they do that, he is half turned and pulling away from them. He tells me loudly that I’m “being an asshole” as he pulls against his friends. I tell him to go fuck himself.

The friends take him back into the group and Frankie pulls me toward the bar. I’m shaking and angry and upset. I see white shirt explaining his side of things to his little circle of friends. They look up at us and smile. All of them. They seem to think it’s funny. I experience white hot rage and just want to go over there and take the “wife for a night” by the hair and fling her across the dance floor. I’m certain by the way she is smiling satisfactorily and what white shirt had said that she orchestrated the whole thing.

I’m uncomfortable being in the same room with them. And I’m upset at not having the guts to go and say something to them because white shirt seemed really ready to physically lash out both in his body language while talking to me and while being pulled away from us.

I tell Frankie that I want to go. She insists that we should talk to security or something. I tell her I just want to go. We get our coats from where they’re hanging and make our way back out into the night.

I’m torn between extreme rage and some kind of horrible fear reaction as we walk outside and catch a cab. When we get out of the cab and walk toward Tattooed Mom’s to calm down I’m so frustrated and upset that I start crying. Then I’m struggling to pull myself together before we hit crowded South Street.

The whole thing was so confusing and upsetting and frustrating. I don’t know what he wanted, and that’s bugging me. But I know that it centered around us being gay and female. And I know that his whole attitude of entitlement to our time and attention comes straight out of the rape culture handbook. I tell him that I’m not interested in talking to him and I’m an asshole. Frankie tells his friends to get him to leave us alone and she’s being unnecessarily aggressive.

And why not, right? We left the house, so obviously we want any attention that we get whilst going about our lives. How dare we just want to dance with each other! How dare we tell him that whatever drunken shenanigans he was trying to describe, we had no interest in participating in! How dare we, as people he wanted to interact with, rebuke that interaction directly and succinctly.

Situations like that are what make me want to give up on going out altogether sometimes. They also make me miss Sisters quite a bit, because I could always go there for a drink and some dancing and feel relatively safe.

All in all, the situation was resolved well, I guess. I still wish I knew what the hell he was talking about. He was obviously soliciting us for something, but I will never know what. But at least no one got hurt, which is the main thing.

Sigh. Stay classy, Philadelphia.

Go home, Leviticus. You’re drunk.

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”

Martin Luther King said that. It’s been getting a lot of play lately on TV and in articles and such. And it is definitely true. Because it has been a long road getting to a place where 19 states in this country acknowledge non-heterosexual marriage.

And it feels good. I have talked with a lot of my LGBTQ-etc friends in the last two days and we are universally thrilled to see this come to our home state. Some of us are even shocked that it made it this far, against so much opposition.

All in all, I’m thrilled. I’m nowhere near the place in my relationship where we’re picking out flower arrangements, but it’s good to know that, when I get there, I will be able to do everything a heterosexual couple does without any pushback from my state. Without special paperwork and legal documents and bureaucratic fidgy widgyness. It feels really, really good.

What’s interesting, too, is that I just read this article on Think Progress about how Rick Santorum really couldn’t be bothered to say anything about the rolling tide of same sex marriage across the country that culminated here in PA on Tuesday. It’s something I’ve long been aware of, but if the Republican party wants to, like, keep their jobs, they basically need to let go of things like gay marriage. Because a recent Gallup poll puts support for marriage equality at 55%.

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See those numbers, kids? The dark green line represents the right side of history.

 

So all those things are good. And seeing progress is good. And all good things are good.

Except.

A bunch of people have taken this as an opportunity to spill their homophobia out into the internet in a seemingly neverending stream.

Morgan Freeman didn't actually say this, but it's still as true as if he did.
Morgan Freeman didn’t actually say this, but it’s still as true as if he did.

What’s always bugged me about homophobia – aside from the obvious message above – has been how obviously hypocritical all of these people are. They cherry pick the things they want to believe and leave behind the things that would be super hard to do.

Leviticus is that book of the Bible that famously decries men lying with men. “You shall not lie with a man as with a woman,” the book says, “for that is an abomination.” (Lev 18:22)

Leviticus takes all of this stuff very seriously, by the way. If you take any of these laws and break them, the whole chapter is full of recommendations for punishment. Phrases like “and they shall be put to death” or “they shall be stoned by the people” abound. But, moreover, if I see you committing some of these crimes and I don’t stone you, I’m going to hell with you. That’s some heavy judgment “I AM” is handing down, right there. And you’re kinda already fucked if you live in a country that frowns on stoning. Like the U.S.

But anyway, aside from the compulsory stoning of one’s neighbors, if you want to tow the party line about homosexuality as laid down in Leviticus, that’s fine. But if you believe that, you have to believe all that other stuff that goes along with it. And, believe me, there are some gems up in that book. Here’s some of my favorites!

Let’s start at the beginning!

Do you like bacon? Well sucks to be you. Lev 3:17 forbids the eating of fat. So no bacon for you guys! Keep that in mind the next time you’re at the diner.

Lev 5:2 forbids the touching of an unclean animal. Do you have a cat? A dog? Have you patted a dog on the street? Touched a horse’s nose? Frolicked in a field with the myriad fauna that abound there, a-la Cinderella? Cause you are goin’ to hell if you have.

Lev 5:4 forbids “thoughtlessly taking an oath” for either good or bad. Have you ever said “I swear” before anything? Then you realized that swearing that the barista at the coffee shop will pay with her last breath the next time she makes you a latte three times because she’s no good at lattes and can’t get the foam right waaaaaaaaasn’t such a good idea? Too bad. Sin committed. Enjoy eternal damnation.

Lev 10:6 forbids the showing of grief by letting your hair become unkempt or tearing your clothes. The second thing should be pretty easy, but if your dad dies you had better keep that sick do going, or else what happens? You guessed it! Hellfire and damnation.

Lev 10:9 states that you cannot have a fermented beverage whenever you go into the “tent of meeting.” Now, properly this means whenever you go to church. Catholics, I’m looking at you. Of course, for most of us, “tent of meeting” translates to “bar,” which is also kind of a problem…

Lev 11:4-7 says that you cannot eat any animal that doesn’t both chew cud and have a divided hoof. That eliminates all KINDS of yummy foods. No seafood, for sure, cause those tasty bastards don’t even have feet.

Delicious. And, now, a thing of the past.
Delicious. And, now, a thing of the past.

You also can’t touch their dead bodies, according to Lev 11:8, which is really only a problem if you, like me, are morbidly fascinated with poking dead jellyfish or feeling up taxidermied anything. But if you play rugby or football, does the term pigskin ring a bell?

Basically, if you like taxidermy at all or are interested in moving roadkill from in front of your car or taking your kid’s dead lizard out to the trash, you are totally ruined by Lev 11:13-22 and Lev 11:29. Truly, the road to damnation is paved with dead animals.

Did you just kill that spider who has been stalking your bathroom? Better not pick it up. Ooh, you killed it with your hands? Truly, you are a champion hunter. Also, according to Lev 11:41-42, you are going to hell.

A very real fear for devout Leviticus followers...
A very real fear for devout Leviticus followers…

Remember when that bouncing ball of joy came into your life? How excited you were to have him or her baptized and show off your new squalling offspring to the members of your congregation? Well I hope you waited before you went, Lev 12:4-5 states the standard waiting period for a girl is 66 days, with 33 days being the standard wait for a boy. Better get all your sins handled before the little bastard crawls outta ya, because you have to be really good for the one or two months after it’s born.

Do you have your “red wings?” Because Lev 18:19 says you’re going to hell if you do.

Have you ever in your life purchased a crucifix or a little statue of St. Francis? Because idols are bad, says Lev 19:4.

You may think you're being a good Catholic, but this here is a one way ticket to Hell.
You may think you’re being a good Catholic, but this here is a one way ticket to Hell.

Remember all those little white lies? About Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and how many people you’ve really slept with? Well, the guy who wrote Lev 19:11 is watching you. And knows which circle of hell you’re going to end up spending eternity in.

Remember that swearing thing before? Well, have you ever said “I swear to God if you little bastards don’t get your shoes on and get in the car I will smack you so hard!” When they didn’t, did you smack them? Well, if you’re a good parent that doesn’t hit their kids, you just swore falsely on God’s name. And Lev 19:12 says that’s another no-no.

Here’s good news for everyone that hates waiting two weeks for a paycheck! Holding the wages of an employee overnight is a damnable sin! Don’t believe me, check out Lev 19:13. Are you an employer? You might want to go see a priest. Like, every day.

Pretty sure everyone in government is in violation of perverting justice by showing partiality to either the poor or the rich. Lev 19:15 takes a dim view of that kind of thing.

Remember that guy who cut you off two weeks ago? Or your ex wife? Still hate either of those people? Want revenge? Lev 19:18 specifically warns against seeking revenge or bearing grudges. Naughty, naughty!

To be fair, if she had given me that family of dead-eyed corn children, I'd cross her ass out, too.
To be fair, if she had given him that family of dead-eyed children of the corn, God would probably cross her ass out, too.

Turns out, God is, like, super against intermixing things. Lev 19:19 warns against three things:

  1. Cross-breeding animals. So if you love your purebread whateverthefuck dog, beware.
  2. Mixing fabric in clothing. Yea. Try to live in the modern world without mixing cotton and polyester. I dare you.
  3. Planting different seeds in the same field. Do window boxes count as “fields?” Because having a window box with just one kind of flower could be really, really boring.

This one really must stress out the true Bible adherents. Lev 19:23 forbids you from eating fruit from any tree that has been planted for less than four years. I can just see them, pulling out their hair out in the aisles of the Super Walmart.

Devout Walmart Shopper: Excuse me, how old was the tree these apples grew on?
Walmart Employee: … I don’t know.
Devout Walmart Shopper: Well, considering that my eternal souls’ well being is on the line, could you find out? I’m not interested in going to whatever circle of hell is reserved for eating the fruit of immature trees.
Walmart Employee: Right… I’ll get right on that. *goes to stock in another area*

Hey, are you a friend to facial hair in any way? Well if you are, you had better keep it long and sloppy, my friend, because Lev 19:27 specifically forbids trimming your beard. Also, in an act of serious micromanagement, the same verse prohibits you from cutting the sides of your hair.

All of those people with cross tattoos? Yea, I don’t care how much you love The Lord Your God, according to Lev 19:28, he hates tattoos.

Particularly, I would think, if you put it there...
Particularly, I would think, if you put it there…

Lev 19:32 says you had better give up that seat on the bus to the little old lady with her walker. No, we don’t care how much your feet hurt. Is your podiatric discomfort truly the reason you want to spend eternity rubbing shoulders with Beelzebub?

This is one of my favorites, because there are so many right wingers who are guilty of it all the time. Lev 19:33-34 states that “The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born.” So much for immigration law, folks! The world is just one big country, according to Leviticus. 

Have you ever muttered a swear at your parents under your breath? Cursing your mother and father is specifically addressed in Lev 20:9.

We all remember that rule about not working on the Sabbath? That’s Lev 23:3. That must be rough for Christians who work in restaurants. The Sabbath has some good money to be made. Too bad.

Blasphemy is another no-no, which I’m sure is no news to you. This is one of the sins that is outlined as specifically being punishable by stoning by Lev 24:14. I wonder if it’s blasphemy if you only take the Lord’s name in vain during sex? I would hope he would take that as a compliment.

Remember that “eye for an eye” rule? That’s Lev 24:17-22. I wonder how nitpicky that rule really is… like, if I give you a papercut, do you do it back?

This sort of insult would definitely have to be answered.
This sort of insult would definitely have to be answered.

And last, but certainly not least, did you know that you are not allowed to permanently sell off your land? Yea. Lev 25:23. The reasoning? Because all land belongs to God and you can’t sell his shit without permission. Which I guess makes sense. I would get seriously bent out of shape if someone sold my stuff when I wasn’t looking.

All in all, Leviticus as a book makes me think that we are all looking forward to this when we die:

Although, in fairness, I would welcome a Hell that had Rowan Atkinson playing the Devil.