Sunday, July 24, 2016

Day 24: I'll give you these beads in exchange for ...

You want me to show you my what?

First, I want to say thank you to all of you who read and added to discussions of last night's post about misogynist language. And especially thank you to those who shared the link on Facebook. That's one of the highest honors for a blogger, and it lets me know I said something worthwhile.

Apparently nobody else knows what "wolf-titted" means, so I'm going to have to let go of that one. So far as I know, the one thing Hillary Clinton hasn't been accused of is making porn or even sexting naked photos of herself. In other words, I don't know of anybody who's seen her breasts and can judge their wolfiness. Bill's keeping mum on the issue, as well he should. He's probably still in time-out for his own sexcapades.

My tits? Seriously? Ha! Ha! Ha! No, really. Go on. Ask me again.
Come closer and ask me again.

Moving on.

Although I can't persuade Coraline that it's over, we have celebrated our birthday week to the fullest. And I'm done. Or maybe I've just run out of friends who want to buy me dinner. She still hasn't heard from one of her grandpas, so she's holding out for the full week (Thursday to Thursday), but I'm done. I will probably break my scale after tonight's final birthday dinner with my kids of genuine Mexican burritos, fresh sweet corn cooked in my new Instant Pot pressure cooker, and Dairy Queen ice cream cake.

When I went down to the basement freezer to put the ice cream away, I found part of my basement was flooded. Apparently when the furnace guy came last winter to repair the furnace, he unplugged the AC pump, and it's been hot enough here the past week even I have turned on the AC. Fortunately Drake was here to get his handi-penis next to it and now it's working just fine.

He's also going to help me rebuild my back porch, once I get permission from the historic somethingorother, because I can't make any exterior changes to my house without a special permit. That's his birthday present to me. My daughter Elvira gave me wine. My kids know what's important.

I've suffered through some pretty miserable birthdays in the past, mostly when I was married and had expectations. But some that were lonely because I didn't make anything happen when I could have. This year I decided to be more proactive, and as you might have predicted, it turns out I didn't have to be lonely or alone on my birthday. 

Lesson learned. Too many blessings to count this year. In fact, I stayed so busy I still haven't thanked people individually on Facebook for their birthday wishes. Happy birthday to me. Being happy is exhausting.

Saturday, July 23, 2016

Day 23: Just shut up

Do you want to see what misogyny looks like? I copied this from a friend's Facebook after he posted a hilarious comparison of Donald Trump with a lonely chimp playing with his own turd. One of his friends commented, "I'd vote for the turd before I voted for a cackling, sneaking, lying, duty neglecting, elitist, wolf-titted, she-bitch."

I don't think he meant Jill Stein.

He meant, of course, Hillary Clinton. I see shit like that every day on Facebook, especially in the comments of posts where people dare to say they support Clinton, like my friend did. It's like a slap in the face every single fucking time I see something like it. My stomach clenches. My skin crawls. My temper flares. It's verbal violence, and verbal violence is often followed by the threat of physical violence. Especially when that verbal violence is toward a woman who has stepped out of her place in the world and dared to climb too high. It's not just Hillary Clinton. It's any woman who takes a place in the world that belongs to men. But right now it's open season on her, and anything goes.

Don't believe me? Ted Cruz said this about Hillary Clinton: “I’ll tell you in my house, if my daughter Catherine, the 5-year old, says something that she knows to be false, she gets a spanking. Well in America the voters have a way of administering a spanking.” Bad enough the image of him hitting his 5-year-old daughter, who will simply learn to lie better, but he's also insinuating that Hillary Clinton deserves a spanking like an unruly child. Hillary Clinton, who has been shown by a respected journalist to be the most honest of the candidates, including fucking Ted Cruz. Bend over, Ted.

New Jersey governor Chris Christie said, “I’ll beat her rear end on that stage and afterward she’ll be relieved that I didn’t serve her with a subpoena.” Not "I'll kick her butt," which I could have tolerated, but "I'll beat her rear end." Where is our national safe word?

These are men who wanted to become the president of the most powerful nation in the world, and this is how they talk about their female opponent, a former US senator and Secretary of State? I haven't been able to find any examples of infantalized violent talk toward any of the male candidates, because it doesn't exist. Although this does.

I'm constantly telling myself I need to get off Facebook. I feel like I have sand under my skin from the open hatred, the derision, the perpetuation of lies, the total lack of rhetoric skills. Somehow people like that guy up there in the first paragraph have forgotten they're talking to friends in a public space with a megaphone. We can hear you. All of you. We hear you, and it's a cacophony of woman-hatred that reminds me, as a woman, that I'm fair game any time I stick my head out of my shell and piss off the guys. As if that hasn't been pounded into me all my life.

Not that Facebook has a lock on it. The misogyny is even worse on Twitter, Reddit (dare to find a Red Pill thread), and the addictive Straight White Boys Texting. But I can avoid those sites. I can't avoid it when it's coming at me on Facebook from my friends' friends, or even worse, from my friends. What used to be a place to keep up with people's lives and send out invitations has become a place where people feel anonymous enough to flaunt their true colors .... and often their color is that ugly shade of greenish brown that is nobody's favorite color.

I'm sick of it. I tell myself I need to ween off Facebook, because it's only going to get worse. And yet then I would miss the rare intelligent discourse that happens there. And I'd miss the personal posts, about pets dying, babies being born, about dealing with a parent with Alzheimer's or about a friend's adventure on the bike trail. I resent that social media has become one more place where men can spank women who get out of line. Like we need more of that shit.

Here's my suggestion. Start deleting. Send a message to guys like that one up there that we don't want to see that shit. If he can come up with a reasonable, well supported argument for whatever he's trying to say, let him talk. If he's only interested in spouting his woman-hating mouth-shit, then take away his forum, because you damn sure aren't going to change someone like him. You could keep that shit away from my eyes though.

And what the hell does "wolf-titted" mean anyway? Was that supposed to be clever?

Note: When I googled images for "shut up," more than 80% of the images were of men saying some version of "shut up," often with the word "bitch" attached. Shut up, bitch. Google also offers options for narrowing the search to "shut up woman," some of which were pretty vile, or "shut up mom," but not "shut up man" or "shut up dad." Just noting a fact.

Note: If you prefer videos, watch this video from Blue Nation Review, which of course comes with an agenda. It's propaganda. Don't think I don't know it. But it's still scary. 

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Day 21: Coralineisms #5

July 21, 2011
Today, in honor of my granddaughter Coraline's 5th birthday, I offer another episode of Coralineisms, words of wisdom from a --drum roll, please --- 5-year-old.

First though, I'll say that she had a pretty good birthday. We ate lunch at the market where I work sometimes, and she had a surprise play-date with her best friend Carlie. The most magical thing happened though when we stopped at a cupcake shop for cupcakes.

We've watched every episode of Cupcake Wars on Netflix. Which is to say, we got a little bit addicted for a few weeks. So for her birthday I wanted to take her to a real cupcake shop. She did get distracted by the cupcakes at Kroger, and we almost bought her special birthday cupcake there, but I persuaded her to wait and get one from a real cupcake store. 

Turns out it was the right decision. We got there and a photographer was doing a photo shoot. I never did ask why. But when they found out it was Coraline's birthday, and probably because she was dressed like a regular princess in a princess dress and cardboard tiara, they asked if the photographer could take some photos of her choosing a cupcake from the case. I was even asked to get in some of those, which I'm sure the photographer regretted. As photogenic as Coraline is, I'm the opposite. Thus the absence of photos of me on this here blog. I digress ...

So then the owner asked if she'd like to actually decorate some cupcakes herself! She brought out a plate of 3 cupcakes (just like round 2 of Cupcake Wars), a bag of frosting, 4 colors of sugar, sprinkle dots, and gummy bears, and she showed Coraline how to make a big frosting flower on the top of the cupcakes like a real professional cupcake baker. All the time the photographer was snapping photos and Coraline was posing her little princess butt off. 

Thank you, Miss Serendipity, for taking time out of your busy schedule to drop some magic right onto Coraline's birth day! It was so much fun! The owner of the shop even boxed up Coraline's cupcakes, plus all the extra colored sugar and the rest of the bag of icing, and sent them home with us. We still bought the 2 cupcakes we'd gone in there for, of course. I ate one of the cakes Coraline decorated, and it was one of the best cupcakes I've ever eaten. You all know I prefer the cookie, but the cupcakes at Twist Cupcakery are almost as good as a cookie. I will definitely be giving them more of my business.

On to the Coralineisms.

Speaking of food

Coraline: Here. Eat some of this soup I made. Eat a big bite. (Offers air soup.)

Me: OK. That was a huge bite.

Coraline: Yeah, that soup is called the soup of sadness.

Me: Soup of sadness? That was kind of mean, feeding me that.

Coraline: No, that wasn’t mean. It hardly has any carbs in it.


Me: (raging about something that was probably stupid) I’m really quite at the end of my rope!

Coraline: And am I in the middle of my rope?

Nice Save

Me: I think these new blue glasses might make me look older. Do they?

Coraline: Yes. Yes, they do.

Me: Oh, no! I don’t want that. They really do? The last thing I need is a pair of glasses that make me look older.

Coraline: No. I mean … Oh, no. They just make you look smarter.

Me: A lot smarter?

Coraline: Oh, yes. A lot. A lot a lot.

Things I don't need to know

Coraline: Poops are brown and have little cracks in them, and they don’t taste good. That’s how you can tell it’s poop.

Me: How do you know they don’t taste good? Did you ever taste one? Wait. Just don’t ever taste one.

Coraline: No, but I can tell how they taste by the smell. The smell doesn’t taste good.

Me: Noted.

Oh, ye of little faith

Coraline: Did T Rexes really eat people?

Me: No, people didn’t exist when dinosaurs were alive. People came along something like 65 million years later, after they were long gone.

Coraline: Are you sure? How do you know?

Me: It’s a fact. I just know it’s true. Everybody knows. (Ok, that was a lie, but I simply can't explain those young earthers to her yet. Or maybe ever.)

Coraline: Does T Rex know it’s true?

Me: T Rex isn’t alive now. He can’t know.

Coraline: Then how can you be sure?

Me: Scientists.

Coraline: How do scientists know?

Me: Scientists have ways of telling how old bones are, and there are still some dinosaur bones left.

Coraline: Oh ….. Are scientists still alive?

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Day 20: Wordless Wednesday: A view from the stool at karaoke

Note 1: Tonight  went to karaoke for the first time since I was roofied there. I will admit to some trepidation. I only drank water, and I asked the server for a pitcher. It might take a minute before I feel safe there again.

Note 2: I didn't publish a post last night, because it was my birthday, and I was sitting on my porch until 5:00 am drinking bourbon. I hope you saw my full moon. It was gorgeous.

Note 3: These aren't really words.

Monday, July 18, 2016

Day 18: Full moons and clitori

I'm another year older tonight than I was last night. Yep. Just after midnight the number clicked over. I started to write something rather maudlin about what it's like to be inconvenient from conception, and how the night I was born wasn't a happy occasion, but that was a lifetime ago and who gives a shit now? As I was chewing my virtual pencil, a friend sent me birthday wishes and said he was glad I was born. And bam! I realized that's what's important. Not my birth, but my life. I mean, I'm important enough now that even Google knows it's my birthday. Or is that kinda creepy?

Also, the full moon, the Thunder Moon, falls on my birthday this year. At 8:00 on July 19. It's also called the Full Buck Moon, but what do I know about bucks? I know more about thunder.

I don't have much else to say tonight. It's been a long day. I can share a video if you'd like. It's informative. For example, I had no idea my clit would never stop growing. I guess it's like noses and men's ears. Oh, don't tell me you haven't noticed that you can tell how old the man in front of you is by the size of his ears. Even in a car. As for clits though, I hope it never grows so much that it becomes inconvenient. Like the size of a penis. Or bigger. An arm. If so, it's a well kept secret, and maybe I don't want to know. I do  want to know how they know that though. How do they measure? How often do they measure? Who's doing this measuring? Are they trustworthy, or do they have an agenda like every other fool? Have any of you ever noticed such a thing? Ladies? I'll go first. No, I have not. Anyway, here's "Ode to the Clitoris." May it never be forgotten.

If I have to tell you this is NSFW, you deserve whatever happens when you watch it at work. At least it's not as obscene as the Republican National Convention.