Monthly Archives: April 2016



I saw this on the internet today at Needless to say it destroyed my faith in humanity for a moment.  This is insanity and a strong wind is blowing in. You know I’ll be riding it like a kite with a key attached, ready to Ben Franklin those who catch my tail into a revolutionary idea that isn’t revolutionary at all. 
I thought we had gotten past this nonsense decades ago and the people who agree with this train of thought should be ashamed of themselves. The implications of such idiocy are damaging to both genders and, in my humble opinion, these ideas are a result of lethargy and laziness. To call them lackadaisical would be a great kindness as these authority figures and institutions have obviously quit on our kids. It’s much easier to put a sweater atop temptation than to teach a boy to become a gentleman but, that doesn’t make it right now does it?
These policies that are plaguing campuses and institutions across America only solidify the outdated and archaic ideas we’ve been fighting to be free from for a century, and the fact that girls are being punished with these rules while boys everywhere are free to enjoy their educations, being made a priority above females once again, makes me so *explitive* angry I could *explitive* vomit. 
These rules don’t just apply on educational campuses.  I was told I couldn’t bare my shoulders in a rehab facility a few years ago because it would distract the “men” there, depriving them of the opportunity to focus on their recovery. What the hell did you say?! 

We were all adults for God’s sake. I had no idea my body turned men into helpless, mindless jellyfish who are incapable of processing and supressing their physical urges and prioritizing their own thought processes when I walk into the room.  Go me! Apparently there is some sort of magical power, some type of witchcraft in this collarbone that I don’t dare uncover for fear of upsetting these delicate creatures.  Under this logic I could rule the world, amirite?  I could walk into the U.N. naked and take ownership of a country. I’d melt their faces off like they had just opened the Arc in that awesome Indiana Jones movie or some such ridiculousness.  I don’t want a country, you’re all safe.  For now. 
This train of thought follows far too closely to the one that tells a chick she deserved to be raped because she had asked for it by wearing a short skirt, and I won’t accept it. I will NOT accept that nonsense.  Not ever.
I wouldn’t say I’m a feminist. Or a democrat. Or a republican. Or a kitty cat.  I try to avoid affiliations of any sort as my mind changes so frequently but, when it comes to insight and foresight, feminists and the other brave women and men who’ve chosen to speak up about this issue seem to have far more sense than anyone imposing these rules and I hope they keep screaming that sense at these idiots until they’re forced to see the truth.  Let’s face it. Sometimes we have to get loud and act crazy before the children pay attention and anyone who believes that these rules are righteous has the brain capacity and intelligence of a toddler and shouldn’t even be allowed to babysit, let alone control masses of blossoming intellectuals and future world leaders.
I have a daughter and two sons, all under the age of ten.  WAY under.  My boys already know that no means no, stops means stop NOW, and that if they can’t focus when a pretty girl enters the room, well, they’re just plain screwed.  I PROMISE you, and I mean PROMISE, that if my daughter comes home from school, sweating under a borrowed t-shirt, MAMA will be stomping into school in her highest heels and leggings with a photo of Audrey Hepburn wearing short shorts on my skin tight t-shirt.  That gorgeous woman is the epitimy of class.  Jackie friggin’ O wore tight pants under that pillbox hat. 



These styles aren’t some new hyper-sexual attack on the “delicate male psyche”.  Seriously dudes, you’re better than this.  As always, we find ourselves spinning in the revolving doors of fashion, returning to the styles of the 50’s and 60’s.  No one told the pink ladies to cover their asses in Grease.  I realize it was only a movie set in that time period, but you catch my meaning I’m sure.



Women learned to own their own bodies with the clothing they chose sometime in the 60’s and, I for one, will not let anyone take that from me, or my daughter. And here we have a timeline. 


It seems that these folks may actually be trying to force us back into the 50’s.  I for one have not heard great things about women’s rights in that decade, so, no. No thanks, pal. I’m staying right here in the 21st cenury where I live free thanks to the women who fought tooth and nail to change the rules for my sisters and I.  These rules are the things that are alive in the wrong century.  Kill them and take them out of their confused and misguided misery, please.  They are as out of place as the male enhancement ads in my email inbox.  Seriously, I don’t need help getting an erection. 
I live in the sweltering south currently.  I WILL be scantily dressed from time to time because it’s HOT.  And holy hell is it HUMID.  I will wear what I’m comfortable in, tastefully, because I’m a lady.  A classy broad who knows her worth, her rights, and is proud of her body and it’s capabilities and true purpose.  Everything under my clothes belongs to ME and I’ll cover it in whatever I please. I refuse to teach my daughter that she should cover up because the boys can’t handle it. I WILL teach my boys to be respectful and well disciplined, though. And I’ll teach them all to love and respect themselves enough not to have all of their bits and pieces waving about in the wind for everyone to see because, honestly,  a gift that has no mystery and needs no unwrapping just isn’t as special as one that has been kept a surprise. That is my Minnesota modesty. I understand some may view it differently and I will defend their rights, even if they oppose mine. Women and men, mostly women, suffered and fought to give me the right to choose. I won’t waste their sacrafice. Seems the sensible thing to do, to me. 
When I was young I didn’t wear short shorts. Hell, I didn’t own a short skirt until I was married because I always thought of my body as being very personal. I viewed it as a great gift for someone to be able to see it in it’s entirety.  I wanted to keep it to myself like some dark and sacred secret that I would only reveal to someone who proved they really deserved it.  My body is treasure.  Everything it contains is pure gold. It’s special and unique and it belongs to me until I allow someone that has earned my trust to see it all in it’s most vulnerable and raw state.  Also, it’s as cold as the Antarctic tundra in Minnesota so pants were a safe choice. 
My parents didn’t leave it up to a school or even a preacher to tell me how to dress.  THEY didn’t even tell me how to dress. They taught me to wear what I was comfortable in so I’d have the confidence to succeed.  As the years have passed my tastes have changed. So have my clothes because my attire is MY choice. That’s just my experience and I understand many disagree.
And the notion that the media and new generation are to blame is ridiculous.  When I was in school, almost 20 years ago, boys fully expected me to throw sex at them like parade candy WHILE I was wearing the long pants and sweatshirts every day. Do we really think it takes a bare shoulder to get a teenage boy horny?  They rub against a desk in the right way and have to walk out of class hiding their groins behind books. We can’t blame girls for these pubescent anatomical malfunctions. Even grown men, if deprived of female company for more than a few weeks seem to struggle to contain themselves when estrogen presents itself.  The good ones have no difficulty being respectful and concentrating on what’s important, though.  Where do you think they learned that skill? 
The systems of authority have gotten lazy.  The focus, the emphasis, the blame, it’s in the wrong place because ADULTS are either overwhelmed, ignorant, or simply giving up.  I refuse to give up on my children.  Yours either.  It takes a village.  But the idiots are in charge and we’re all in trouble if we don’t sit them down and silence them because children are impressionable and the messages that are being sent are dangerous, cruel, and represent misogynistic attitudes as acceptable for humans with penises and the widespread oppression of anyone without one. Nonsense, shenanigans, tomfoolery. Hot steaming bulls***.  Stop it.

Dream land release

I release all of my anger in dreams now. Just as I was beginning to boil over, my subconscious found a hidden outlet.  Containing it all in this body would be impossible, and stuffing it inside to hide has always ended poorly.  But, in my dreams I’ve found myself free to say what I feel and unleash hellfire on those who truly deserve it.  Dreams.  They have always felt real to me so in my second reality, this slumber land in which it is safe to be reactionary without denting my moral compass, I’ve found a suitable and nearly tangible realm to let loose the fervent and fiery pieces of myself that don’t agree with my character in consciousness.
I see the ones who’ve wronged me, old and new, in front of me.  I see the ones I’ve wronged, alive or dead.  In this place I’m able to touch, feel, and confabulate with the ghosts, angels, and demons that steal away slices of my solace.  I wake satisfied and stronger than I was when I lay my head to rest. 
This substitute solidifies the ideas I’ve always had about the mind and personalized reality.  Inside my skull the world becomes real.  Inside this brain my own world exists.  It’s complicated, complex, and nearly impossible to understand what your world looks like in comparison to mine.  The colors I see are different than yours.  Sensations of every sort vary.
If my mind needs release, an outlet will be found, and I have found the intense and appropriate channel to isolate my indignation and remain true to my belief in a peaceful and tolerant, decent and dignified, reaction to the hostile and cruel existence that I have so often been forced to face.

I keep praying

I just keep praying.  I don’t know who is hearing the prayers,  i just know they keep answering.  I ask for more faith and less fear.  I ask to help keep my intentions in goodness and out of vengeance.  Sometimes,  though,  it’s just too hard.  I know no one is perfect.  Certainly not me,  but this battle is wearing on me today and I feel the anger rising.  So much of my life seems to be in the hands of others right now and that has always made me uneasy.  So many times people have proven that they just can’t do the right thing.  I have to force myself into the level of thinking I recently reached and not allow myself to go back to the old.  Nothing,  not one thing,  is in anyone else’s hands at all.  Everything belongs to my Creator now and I need to be reminded of that sometimes.  Sometimes it is just too scary to have faith in moments like this.   I’ve never felt so afraid. But,  this time,  I won’t let the fear send me spinning out of control or into the illusion that I have any at all.  This time,  I will let it drive me closer to the Man up in the cosmos who has kept me safe all along.  This time,  I can’t be beaten if I remember what i’ve learned and use it.  This time I will have peace WHILE I cry instead of afterward.  I just needed to write that down here to make it real.  My enemies have always been so much bigger and louder than I am. I know that it was never really me who won at all. I have to keep the faith, but today, it’s been difficult.

One of my children told me they didn’t like me today after I took a toy away.  I quickly replied with some sort of wisdom that I wasn’t aware I had.  I told the kiddo, “I’ts not my job to make you like me.  It’s my job to make sure you like yourself.” What did.. what.. who said that!?  Apparently I’m alright at this parenting thing. We may all live after all.


My heart has been hurting these last few days as I swing wildly from ecstatic freedom down to the depths of mourning frequently now.  None of it is debilitating but all of it is uncomfortable.  I loved him too much, because that’s the only way I know how to love, truthfully.  It’s become obvious that I loved him far more than he loved me.  S**t, I loved him more than I loved myself or I would’ve been gone long ago.  I’m stuck in the “why’s” again.  Like that’s any of my business.  Many opportunities were given to do the right thing.  None were accepted, so here we are.  Today I miss him.  We’ve all missed him for over a year.  We’ve grown used to the type of longing that feels strangely similar to the feelings I’ve had for the one’s I love that i left behind when we moved away.  There is hope in that loneliness.  We grew accustomed to it.  They still live in that illusion because I’ve padded the truth, as usual.  I’ve explained things, as I have always done, in a way they can accept and understand.  They don’t suffer.  Today that agony is mine.  I miss him.  I miss that stupid throat noise he made when he was over joyed as he grabbed one of us and held us closely to his chest.  I miss the warmth in that chest. I miss the soft heart held within it.  I miss the thoughtful acts.  Like the surprise trips to the bookstore before taking me to a movie.  I miss how he’d make me laugh while I tried hard to be angry.  I miss him dancing like an idiot just to make me smile.  If he’d always been my monster, I never would have loved him but now he’s the creature that only lives in my nightly nightmares. I miss him more when I wake up sweating and crying, looking for his arms to hold me.  I won the battles that caused the fear and am fairly certain I’ll win the war but damn do I hate doing it. I hate what has to be done but I’ll never hate him, or them.  The cold shoulders and silent stares are painful, true. I loved all of them too much.  I always will because that’s who I am.  I’ve only ever had the capacity to hate myself. I’ll continue to show them this love even as it goes unrequited because I know no other way.  In my opinion, the point of loving someone isn’t to gain anything, not one thing at all, but to show the one receiving that love how worthy they are of it all. I’ve finally come to a point in my life where I actually love myself.  I love myself enough to know I don’t need everyone else to.  But, some days it hurts to know that he probably never looked in through the window at me teary eyed because of the gratitude he felt for having me like I’ve done so many times. It hurts to know that he’s gone forever. Like Mom. Like Uncle Roger. Uncle Loran. Aunt Shannon. All gone within the last 4 years. I’ve become a professional griever. I’m going to make it through this.  I have to move forward though he stands still as stone.  Trapped in a tortured statue. Encased and suffocating, surrounded by thick and heavy concrete made up of all of the deadly sins. He’s gone forever and I’ll miss him everyday, but he’s not him anymore.