Tag Archives: women

What The Fuck Is Wrong With Americans?

Straight off the jump: I am American, born & raised in Baltimore, Maryland. That’s irrelevant to my rant, but just in case some genius takes offense to my title, and gets his panties in a twist, it’s there. I can, and intend to rant about my fellow citizens.

Ray Rice. Number 27. Running Back. Ranked as the Ravens’ second all-time leading rusher behind Jamal Lewis (7,801) with 5,940 yards, and also second in attempts (1,273). He is ranked second all-time for rushing touchdowns (37) and third for combined touchdowns (43) in Ravens history. Woman beater. Suspended for the first two games of the 2014 season. Convicted of 3rd degree assault. Possible jail term of 3-5 years, and a fine of up to $15,000.

Public outcry, and backlash? Nil.

Michael Vick. Number 7. Quarter Back. In 2006, Vick became the first quarterback to ever rush for over 1,000 yards in a single season.[25] He also set a record by rushing for 8.4 yards per carry. Vick and teammate running back Warrick Dunn became the first quarterback-running back duo to each surpass 1,000 rushing yards in a single season. Dog fighting ring operator. Sentenced to serve 23 months in federal prison, transported to Virginia in November 2008 to face state charges. Received a 3-year prison sentence suspended on condition of good behavior, and a $2,500 fine.

Public outcry and backlash? Protests outside of the courthouse, and his home. Nationwide rants about how he was a horrible person, and should be buried under the jail. Loss of endorsement deals. Threats against his life. Just to name a few.

So, the media, the courts and the rest of the nation thinks that dogs are more important than women. Let that sink in, and percolate for a moment.

But, is that really a surprise? Look at the recent Supreme Court Hobby Lobby ruling. A business was deemed more important than women. Hell, a scary thing about that? There were some women cheering that ruling, too. Seriously.

I really don’t get this. I’m going to wax poetic a bit here: As a straight male, I love women. They are wonderfully fascinating. They are endlessly inventive, intelligent as hell. They are wise, kind, loving, warm and caring. They are also strong as hell. And, then there’s the other appealing aspects of them: They’re beautiful with soft skin, curvy bodies, and delightful… well, never mind. I’m a huge fan of women, is what I’m getting at.

I honestly am confused by how our nation insists on marginalizing, and oppressing them. I get that they do, I see it everywhere. But, I want to know why? Why insist that half of our species is unimportant, and lower than animals?! Why say to them (and brainwash some of them into saying), “Bronze Age superstition is more important than you?”

Does anyone even know? If not, why do it? Oh, and before commenters jump in with other countries, or “not all of us,” let me put it like this: Where is your protest about how lightly Ray Rice got off? Where is your on-air rant about Hobby Lobby? Where’s your service in a domestic violence shelter? Or anything of that nature?

Flashback

Last night, I had a conversation with a friend of mine who is in an abusive relationship. I, too, was in one. This friend – my best friend, by the way – mentioned something their abuser did that caused me to flashback to some events from my relationship with my abuser.  You may remember the name Christine if you’re a long time reader. If not, here is something I shared on another website, in the comments section.

During the 1999 to 2002, I was in a bad relationship. Domestic violence kind of bad. If you were to look at the two of us, and heard ours was a dv relationship, you’d swear I was the victimizer: I was a Navy man, she was a bartender. I was 6′, 220 lbs of solid muscle. She was 5′, 95 lbs of waif. I didn’t stand a feckin’ chance. I’m going to tell you about the first – and only – time I heard that I was a victim, and needed to get out.

Christine and I had a little game we’d play every weekend where I’d ask what she wanted for breakfast, she’d say eggs Benedict, and I’d give her scrambled. We both knew from the early days of the relationship I had no idea what eggs Benedict were, much less how to make them. This particular sunny Saturday afternoon, the radio was on KOGO AM, and the Padres were warming up.

She came into the kitchen wearing one of my work black shirts, and a smile. I wore jeans and a white t-shirt. I kissed her in greeting (I was up about 30 minutes prior to her), and pulled the eggs from the fridge. We did our little routine, and I served her her hot scrambled eggs and bacon. I slapped bacon into the skillet for myself, and started to whip up an omelet for myself. I heard a skillet scraping across the counter top – if you’ve ever owned a cast iron skillet, you know the sound I’m referring to – and, I think I started to turn to see what she was up to. I still don’t know. What I do know is I was suddenly looking under the stove at some dust bunnies. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I was on the floor.

Christine ordered me to get up in this scary flat way she had that informed me I had screwed up again. I tried for several minutes to do so, but it was like my body wasn’t connected to me anymore. After a few sharp kicks in the ribs, which I barely noticed, I was able to pull myself to my feet by holding onto the oven door. I looked at the red-haired beauty in front of me, and did not know her name. Before I could say anything, I felt wetness rolling down the back of my neck. “Oh, I must have just gotten out of the shower and forgot to dry my hair,” I remember thinking, and I went to push some of the water out with my hand. Instead, I found a spongy mass on the back of my skull, and a handful of blood. I woke in the hospital a few hours later. Cracked the back of my skull.

The doc said it was a wonder I was still alive. That part of my cranium was fractured like an eggshell. Funny, huh? He asked me what happened, and I said to ask Christine. She said I fell. He asked her to step outside, and repeated his question. I said what she did. I knew better than to contradict her. Doc said it was bs because I had a mark on the side of my face from a maybe fall, but this was the back of my skull. He then told me I should contact a shelter and leave her. He said that she was abusing me. I got mad at him, then myself, then Christine, and then I cried. I did not, however, veer from the story of me falling.

 

Past & Present

I walked into Peace & A Cup of Joe with my lady. I was a regular here, but this was her first time in the state, much less the café. The owner, a tall, black man in a Baltimore Ravens jersey and tan khaki shorts waved me over.
“I just wanted to give you a heads up, Sean,” he said softly.
Before he could continue, my lady finished looking at the menu and went to the counter to order. I shrugged at him, then went to her side. She ordered a veggie burger with mushrooms, avocado spread, red onions, bell peppers, dried tomatoes and Field greens. It was called “The Power Plant”. As for me, I’m an omnivore, so I ordered “The MLK”, a grilled sirloin steak sandwich with sautéed red onions, pepper jack cheese, assorted peppers and topped with a chiplotle aiola sauce. We headed upstairs where it would be quieter. My lady was ahead of me, and headed to one of the couches with tables before it.
When I stepped through the door, I stopped. Directly across the door, in my usual spot at a long counter type table in front of a window, was my ex. My sudden stop at the door drew her attention. She flashed a brilliant smile at me, looking for all the world as if we’d just seen each other yesterday, and not over 2 years ago.
My lady was a gorgeous red-head, 5’6″ with a runner’s physique. My ex, could have passed for her physical twin. My lady was a cup size larger, while my ex had a sprinkling of light freckles across her nose and cheeks. These minor differences seemed to make them look even more alike.
My ex sauntered over to me, and gave me a tight hug. “Hi, Sean.” Her smoky voice made love to my ears as it always had.
“Sean?” My lady’s voice cut through my mental fog. “Who’s this?”
“Um,” I paused, swallowed. “Catherine, meet my ex: Catherine.”
The two women stared at each other. Seeing two women that looked like twins, yet were not related, one had dated me, while the other was my girlfriend giving each other dirty looks was too surreal for me. I started laughing. Both turned to look at me.

Christine

In 1999, I was in the US Navy. I was in the best shape of my life. I was 220 lbs of well-developed muscle, full of piss & vinegar. I was in San Diego, on shore leave. I stumbled into a bar around 2230 (10:30PM) with a couple shipmates. We had spent most of the afternoon drinking our asses off. For some reason, I decided it was time to sober up, so I switched to drinking water. We sat at the bar and when I ordered booze for them and water for me, my companions decided to start razzing me. The bartender was a gorgeous redhead, 5 foot nothing, ninety pounds, took pity on me. She handed me a tall glass of water and told them to lay off as she’d given me the biggest drink. They laughed it off, calling bullshit. She said I had pure vodka, swear on her honor. They said that I should chug with them (the fuckers had Mai tais). I was still buzzed, so I said, “Sure.” and took a huge gulp. The shock of the ice-cold water caused me to gasp and choke. The idiots with me cheered. The rest of the night, I sobered up while they got more hammered. I ended up chatting with the bartender and asked her name. She said it was Christine.
We really hit it off and after the Garage (the bar’s name) closed at 0300, she invited me over to her place. Being a guy, 19 and her being an attractive woman who was interested in me, lead me to agreeing. I spent the night, and fell for her. The next morning, she woke me with breakfast in bed and we ended up staying in bed until 1500 when she had to get ready for work. She drove me back to the Navy Yard and I kissed her goodbye, promising to see her again during my next leave which was in six months. That shore leave turned into the end of my first deployment and I ended up living with her for the next six months.
Around the second month, while we were at a club, she started dancing with another guy. I got a bit pissed because he wouldn’t back off after that. Finally, I got pissed off, took the guy outside and kicked his ass. Christine got pissed off with me, telling me she wasn’t my property, slapping me and eventually took off with him. I went back to her place, packed my stuff and punched a hole in the wall when I realized that she had my wallet.
When she got back the next day, we had a huge fight. She told me she hadn’t done anything with the guy, just went to a couple other bars and went to her sister’s and passed out, and what was wrong with me, why didn’t I trust her, ect. After nearly an hour, she brought me around, I forgave her and we had make up sex. Two weeks later, the same thing happened with a different guy. The same thing happened when she came back the next day: an hour and a half of fighting, followed by make up sex and another promise to never do it again.
After the fourth time, I was really heated and called her a fucking whore. She abruptly went calm, and walked into the dining room. I dropped on the couch and held my head in my hands. I was feeling like shit for that because her mother actually had been one. She didn’t know who her father was. I learned Christine had come back into the room when she smashed a ceramic serving platter over the back of my head. I fell to the floor, pretty fucking dazed. She proceeded to kick my ass all over that house. I wound up with thirteen stitches in my head and two black eyes. After she stopped and saw how fucked up I was, she promptly became apologetic, saying she didn’t mean to do it, but I just made her so mad. She drove me to the hospital and I got fixed up, telling the ER staff I had gotten mugged.
She cried the way home, begging me not to leave her, she was sorry, it would never happen again, ect. I agreed to stay with her. That was the first time she beat my ass, but not the last. I was with her for three years. The only reason I left her was because I caught her in the act of cheating on me. But, that’s a story for another time.

Sessions

“I don’t know what to do, Doc.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m stuck. Let me go back to the beginning.”

“That would be helpful.”

“Remember me telling you about Stacy?”

“The young woman in the abusive marriage that you’ve fallen in love with.”

“Right. Well, she’s recently told me that she’s not going to look for a way out right now.”

“Did she say why?”

“She says she’s not strong enough to leave. She has small kids, remember.”

“I’m not following. Wouldn’t that give her more cause to leave, not less?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you, Doc. She thinks if she were to check into a shelter, all she’d be able to do is sit on the bed and cry. She says she wouldn’t be able to take care of her babies.”

“Alright. She seems to have made her decision. There’s not more you can do.”

“I’m afraid that’s not the issue.”

“What is the issue, then?”

“You know I told you she always says she wants to make sure no one gets hurt?”

“I do. You said that Stacy doesn’t want to leave her abuser because she doesn’t want to take a chance on her being wrong about the abuse, and she doesn’t want to hurt you because she loves you.”

“Right. Well, last night, I pointed out the corner she’s painted herself into…”

“Go on.”

“Doc, I told her she’s going to have to choose sooner, or later, how is more important to her: The guy that she’s terrified of, or the guy that she says makes her happier than she’s ever been.”

“…”

“And then, I said, ‘I’m not sure I want to wait much longer.'”

“Oh, no. You gave her an ultimatum.”

“Yeah.”

“Take one of these tissues, and wipe your eyes.”

“Thanks. What do I do, Doc?”

“What do you think you should do?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, the way I see it, you have only one option.”

“Just one? What is it?”

“You love her, right?”

“Of course I do. She’s the most important person in the world to me.”

“Then decide if you really meant your words, or if they were a misguided attempt to spur Stacy to action.”

“And if I did mean them, Doc?”

“Then you have to walk away.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not making things easier for this poor woman. You’re making them worse.”

“But she says I’m not.”

“Tell me something: If this young woman is in an abusive relationship with a controlling man-”

Boy. A man wouldn’t abuse a woman.”

“Boy, then. If she’s in a controlling relationship, then do you really think that giving her an ultimatum is helpful?”

“No.”

“Lift your head, and take some time to think things over. Choose which path you’re going to do down. Remember, if you really love Stacy, you’ll choose the path that makes things easier on her.”

“Alright, Doc. Thanks.”

“Same time next week?”

“…Yeah…sure.”

“Good. See you next Tuesday at 3.”

“Right. Goodbye.”

The Women Who Shaped Me

I’m only gonna name the ones I met in person, and not all the women I’ve had contact with. I’d be here forever otherwise. This was inspired by Sweet Mother’s post.

My Mom: Of course I’d start with her. She’s a big influence on my life. From the first six years, it was just she, and me. Mom taught me to love and cherish women. Also, never to hit them, no matter what. This is important for later on.

Becky: She was my baby sitter for a while. She was also my first sexual partner. Before you cry bullshit, let me finish: It wasn’t like any Penthouse forum letter, nor a porno: I was 9 and she was 18. Yeah.

Christine: Wow. Where do I start with this one. She was the single biggest female influence in my life. From her, I learned how much pain I could take, what kind of ass kicking, too. I also learned that women were terrible, terrifying creatures that cracked your skull for serving the eggs prepared incorrectly, or back-handed you in the jewels for looking at another woman, or break your arm for giving her gay sister a back rub when her girlfriend left her. Oh, and let’s not forget the joys of being smacked in the mouth with a glass Pepsi bottle for telling her there’s no way for you to be cheating with her sister because her sister wasn’t into men. Let me tell you: A 5′ redhead is a scary sight when she is pissed. It doesn’t matter if you are a foot taller and 120 lbs heavier.

Victoria: This wonderful woman was the second biggest influence on my life. She helped me begin the process of healing after I got the courage to leave Christine. She taught me that all women were not like Christine. Some were like me: Scarred. I learned it was okay to begin loving women again, not all were out to inflict “punishment” on me if I stepped “out of line.” She also encouraged me to volunteer in women’s shelters.

Elise: This poor woman taught me that I can’t save everyone. Sometimes, there really is nothing that you can do. I wish I could have done more for her nonetheless. Rest in Peace, dear one.

Fabiola: This amazing lady has taught me that my words can be inspiring. That sometimes, what I’m going through isn’t as bad as I think. She’s reminded me that all isn’t lost no matter how low I get. If she can get through her day with a smile, there is no reason I can’t.

Which brings us to

Jen: A truly inspiring young woman. She gives me hope for the future. The short time I got to spend in her presence was like being in warm sunshine after weeks of cold, dreary wet days. With what she goes through on a near daily basis, and is still able to smile & laugh, humbles me. All I can really off to try to explain how she is, is “Outstanding.”

A Little About Sweet Mother

Herself
Herself
There is an epic comedian named Rebecca Donohue. She’s feckin’ hilarious, and a good friend. I discovered her through her blog Sweet Mother. When I found out she had some videos of her stand up, well, I had to hunt them up. I’m including links to some of my favorites. I’ll also why I like them. They will take you to youtube.

Let’s get to them:

From “Solo Night”. “I married your father for the green card. It’s time you know.” When ever I’m feeling like crap, that line right there makes it all seem like it’s not as bad as I thought. The way she delivers it is exquisite.

From a show in NYC. “I would get an STD in the woods.” That one had me laughing my ass off. It gets me going every time. I actually had to stop writing this post for 20 minutes so I could laugh. My jaw aches, and my ribs hurt, I was laughing so hard.

This one isn’t a video, but I think you’ll like it anyway, it’s where you can buy her CD. Holy crap, a CD? How do I even know what that is? Oh, yeah. #oldasfeck

Hailing a water taxi
Hailing a water taxi
Rebecca is an awesome lady, funny as hell, and a great friend. Go check her out. You can connect with her on Twitter, her blog and on youtube.

I hope to get her over her for an interview soon. Maybe she’ll bring more of her clips. I’ll keep you updated.

HELP THE ELF: I Found Santa’s Missing Nice List!

Hi everyone! As you may remember, a few weeks ago PETE the Elf had a touch too much Eggnog at the Holiday Christmas Party and as he stumbled home, he lost Santa's NICE LIST.

The North Wind scattered the papers to all four corners of the world, and The Bookshelf Muse put out a call to help find them in order to SAVE CHRISTMAS.

Ever since I read about it, I've been on the lookout. And then today, EUREKA!

Yes that's right...I found part of Santa's missing NICE LIST. There it was, fluttering in the wind, half caught under the corner of my welcome mat. And shock of all shocks, I recognized the name, and I bet you will too.

Here it is below:

ImageChef.com

NAME: Jennifer Boyce & Fabiola Surya

LOCATION: North America

NICE LEVEL: Jen, 95%; Fab, 94%

NAUGHTY LEVEL: Jen, 5%; Fab 6%

OBSERVATIONS: Jen and Fab are great friends, awesome beta readers, are generous with their time and all around fantastic women. They could, however do with more pineapple! The amounts they eat is terrible.

RECOMMENDATION:     a) Coal                   b) Gift

~ ~ * ~ ~

Because poor Pete is dashing all over the place trying to hunt down the rest of Santa's missing Nice List, I decided to take care of this one myself. Ladies, I feel so blessed to know you! Though it isn't much, I hope you enjoy the gift I sent to your inbox and have a wonderful Christmas!

How about you, Readers? Is there someone you'd like to say Happy Holidays to, or tell them how much they mean to you? JOIN US! There's plenty of days left until Christmas, and sometimes a kind word can lift people up in a way that they really need. It's as easy as sending a free ecard or email note, posting on a Facebook wall or sending out a tweet. So go ahead and spread some kindness and cheer!

Photo credit:

assorted gold baubles (christmasstockimages.com) / CC BY 3.0

Perils of Being Old…

This could be me... if I had someone to make a list for me.
This could be me… if I had someone to make a list for me.
…Or is it senility? I can’t remember. Speaking of forgetting stuff, I forgot that Last week, I was supposed to be updating my blog. According to the schedule I had set for myself, last week was supposed to see a Raw update of Jennifer Steel, A contest on Wednesday and a guest post by R.S.Guthrie. I think I accomplished one of those things. And that’s only because it wasn’t in my hands.

I have to look into setting up a calendar and schedule these things. I hope I don’t forget to look at the calendar…

Also, I have been forgetting my writing. I have been wrapped up in informal counseling of two friends. They’re going through some rough stuff at the moment. As I have gone through similar things a decade ago, and fought through it, they tell me I have a unique way of viewing things. I think they’re the most magnificent people I know.

Eh, before I get too lost in my ramblings, I’m gonna go look for those calendars. I just hope I don’t forget why I’m looking for them…

Image credit: Scott Hilburton

Women

What the hell goes on in their minds? I’ve had two women now, that I was interested in, say to me (without using these exact words) that I wasn’t good enough for them because I don’t have a standard J-O-B at the moment. Fine. I can deal with that. But the crazy part is, they have both said that maybe when I get a job, we could get together. What the Hell?

Ladies, listen up: If I’m not good enough for you when I have nothing, you’re not good enough for me when I do.

Another thing I don’t understand: One of the two women I mentioned above thought I had lied to her and asked me about it. I came clean. It was a small lie: I’d said that a female from my first relationship took a couple of days to go to bed with me when, in reality, she went to bed with me the same day I ment her. No, I’m not saying I’m a PUA, this broad was nuts (I’m not going into it here). She was a flippin’ piranha and I was her next meal (not in the good way). Anyway, new girl, said she forgave me and was willing to let it go. Guess what didn’t happen? That’s right, she did not. Why would she say it was forgotten if it wasn’t? That’s really irritating, especially as she’d beat me with it every time she got pissed off.

So, in addition to me not having a job, I get labeled a BS artist and that’s another reason she’d never be with me. I inwardly shrugged and said, “Your loss.”

I think I’m a decent guy. I try to be anyway. Oh well. Maybe the next woman will be less crazy. 🙂

What do y’all think? Let me know in the comments below.