But you’re a girl!
So, you guys know all about rape, right?
If a person is raped, he or she is forced to have sex against their will. Sometimes a person is drugged or passed out. Sometimes a person is made to feel worthless and is coerced into having sex. Rape happens to men and women, and boys and girls. Both men and women can rape.
Simple, right? Terrible, but simple.
Well, guess what? According to my computer, my definition of rape (and the widely accepted definition of rape) isn’t accurate.
Apparently, men are the only people who rape. Also: rape can only happen to a woman!
Take a look:
Only women are invited to this rape party. Oh, and countrysides.
Not accurate and grrrr inspiring.
A woman can rape a man, and woman can rape another woman. Anyone can pretty much rape, well, anyone. Rape is special like that! It’s a terrible crime that excludes no one.
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, pepper spray burning your face
Another holiday has come and gone, and I’m still here. This is no great accomplishment, though. My family’s holiday dinners are small and sleepy.
My grandfather typically critiques my clothing and appearance (why is that skirt so short? Why do you wear boots? Why is your hair so floppy?), my grandmother smiles, and my mom tries to corral the formerly mentioned grandparents + cook, clean, and entertain.
I’m not much help in this department. I can’t cook. I can clean, which is why I’m always the dish cleaner (yes. My mom doesn’t have a dish washer. Suck it.) As far as entertaining? I just tell snarky stories of work, my shitty apartment, and my search for the next big thing that will keep me entertained.
Current entertainment endeavors that make people laugh: continue writing a book, promoting my small business, and health shit <– (this is not a seasonal thing. I’m a weirdo health freak who always wants to be healthier. I assume this will lead to my early demise.)
So, now we’ve entered the big ass, brash holiday season where people (including myself) decorate, cook weird food, and eat a ton. So far, I’ve:
- Decorated (all my shitty holiday photos to come.)
- Cooked a bit (not with human meat, but yes. This is an American Psycho reference.)
- Tried to plan my gift buying plan (proving to be difficult considering my credit card account was hacked.)
- Set my computer desktop background to this guy:
I'm abominable, guys.
I’m currently preparing for my family’s holiday party. This year’s will be kind of sad because many family members are, like, ancient, and really sick. The party will still have a sliver of nice, though. My family is pretty chill, and no one gets all judge-y about my lack of wedding ring or child. They think I’m a “modern woman”. I assume this means “hardcore slut”, but I could be wrong.
…and the year’s almost over. I’m reminded of this fact because Paste just posted its Top 50 Albums of 2011 post (kinda early, guys.) This fact goes in the positive column because this year was pretty much ridiculous, filled with weird and disconcerting events. How will I make next year better? Not change a thing, most likely. Just be healthier, get more sleep, and listen more.
What are you thankful for?
Pretty deep question, right? It comes off as a shallow question this time of year.
While sitting at the dinner table, a family -arch of some kind will inevitably ask, “what do we have to be thankful for this year?”
Uncle Bo-Bo will mumble something about his wife and everyone will know he doesn’t mean it. Aunt Jean will slur some statement about how she’s soo thankful for her family. You’ll laugh, choke on your green bean casserole, and gulp down the remaining wine left in your Thanksgiving sized (aka huge-fucking-ass) glass of wine.
So, I ask again — really, what are you thankful for? Here’s my depressing and somewhat stereotypical list:
– My parents. My mom takes care of the family. All the time. She cares for her parents by: doing their laundry, buying them groceries, and taking them out. My dad muddles through my grandparents’ finances, counts my grandfather’s pills, and supports my mom. All this while having a crazy daughter (that’s me, by the way) who still needs a hand up every so often. We come from different eras, and they don’t always understand what I do or why I do it, but they support me nonetheless.
– Beagle and Basset Rescue of the Heartland. This organization provided me with the best damn Beagle money could offer. Sure, Daphne (my very sophisticated beagle) is a real bitch (literal and, well, you know). She wants a soft pillow below her and a warm blanket above her at all times. But she’s a cuddle bug. And hell. She’s always happy to see me, like, all the time even though I’m a bitch, too. This year I found out she had puppy lupus (this is not a technical term.) She’s on a boatload of pills and let me say — these pills ain’t cheap. But heck. She’s worth it.
– Planned Parenthood. This organization has had a hell of a year. While some assholes try to take away funding, I (I’m an asshole, too, really) keep on giving. Planned Parenthood was there for me when I needed help. The nurses were kind and compassionate, and I never felt judged. I would go back if I needed to and, will continue to advocate for the org. forever and ever.
Why I don’t watch TV (normally)
I channel surfed yesterday. I feel dirty typing that, but I have an excuse — I had, like, 20 mins of extra time. That never happens. Really. Please believe me. I would have picked up the book I’m reading, but it was in the other room and I was too hot to move.
Excuses, excuses.
Anyway. I spotted a broadcast of a food eating contest.
*ugggh*
Sorry. I had a flashback and got nauseous. It’s just too hot to eat.
The competitors were chompin’ on meat and bread, and were doing that creepy snake-like gulping thing. I guess that “special move” makes food go down smoother…quicker…whatever.
While I watched these crazy guys eat, I thought about an NPR report I heard earlier in the day. It was about the famine in the Somalia! Don’t know about it? Take a listen.
No. I’m not blaming these guys for the famine. They can gorge on food and take in un-needed calories as much as they want. It’s fine and in good (but disgusting) fun (I guess).
But…
Yes. I would like to hear more about this on news networks.
Flight of the abandoned condos
I know I’ve typed about this before. When I run outside, I see lots of odd things on the side of the road, on the sidewalk and thrown in the grass. All the cute and decent things leave my mind immediately and the memories of the gross items get stuck in my brain for-ev-er. So, what do I see all the time — and I do mean all the time — during my run, you ask?
CONDOMS!
Use 'em and abuse 'em, kids.
Yeah, yeah. We’ve all seen worn-the-heck-out condoms in bushes (heh), and stuck to mailboxes. But the condoms I’ve seen are not used — the little rubbers are still intact and remain halfway inside the wrapper they came in (dirty).
And again — yeah, yeah — no one likes condoms, but rubbers are necessary for many reasons (one night stands, drunken encounters, baby preventers, STD stoppers, etc., etc.)
My question: why pull out a condom, get it ready to go and then say to yourself, “hm. I think I’ll just go ahead and go bare with this girl I don’t know. I mean, she at least smells like she’s had a shower in the last day, so she must be clean!”
Not smart my man. Not smart at all. This chick (or you) could have HPV, herpes or another fun little bug and not even know it. Nothing says “take me now” like genital warts, am I right?
So, fellas – if you take the effort to get a condom out and prepared, put it on.
Let’s do an ankle roll
I rolled my ankle during my run today. Once I felt the pain surge through my body, I tried to pretend my shoe had come untied because I didn’t want the people driving by to know I hurt myself. So I pretended to stretch and slowly sat down to tie my already tied shoe.
Holy fuck, it hurts to roll your ankle.
I sat on the dirty sidewalk (outside of a dirty frat — lord only know what’s happened on that sidewalk) and waited until the pain went away.
I was able to finish my run, but by the time I got home my ankle was chunkified.
It's the left one. Yeah, yeah. It's not that big (heh), but it hurts.
Sad panda.
While I slowly trotted home, I noticed some dude’s underwear on the lawn outside of the girls’ dorms on the KU campus. That got me thinking, “hey! All the students are gone. I can now drink in public in peace!”
So now, my friends, I’m going to go have a pity glass of wine for my poor ankle and enjoy the silence.
Gloom, doom, boom
It’s gloomy day in Lawrence, Kansas. The weather is stormy and the sky is dark. I’ve also massacred, like, 3,000 ants. They’re everywhere and have pretty much infested my bedroom. The ants are in my shoes, in my closet, in my dog’s food bowl, and in my bed. A traveling posse of flying ants have taken over my room, too. About twenty flying ant bastards hung out inside my bedside lampshade last night and watched me read, and then crawled on my pillow. I’m sure some crawled in my mouth, too. Freakin’ disgusting ants.
Although my house is all anty, it’s also lined with beautiful flowers and trees. I forgot how awesome this house can be. It’s old. Really old. Like, 1890-ish old, so it has some problems, but it’s still lovely. I’m going to miss all the pretty once I move into some beige hellhole.
And have you heard about my beagle? My damn beagle who injured her paw and is now stoned on pain killers? Yeah. She’s been a yelpy little grump butt for four days. She’s finally feeling better, though. Well, she’s not feeling better now. She’s actually hiding in the bathroom underneath a blanket because a thunderstorm is kinda raging outside.
Now, here’s something. Have you guys seen this? My colleague wrote it. Holy infuriating, am I right? It’s absolutely insane. Not my colleague’s piece, but the butt face the piece is about. I bet my parents totally wish they would have bought rape insurance when I was a baby. Then they wouldn’t have had to pay all my pesky therapist bills. Actually, I don’t think that’s how rape insurance would work, but you get the point. It’s idiotic. Luckily, a local Kansas group has concocted a way to stick it to this freak face. Click here to find out more.
I’m sitting on my back porch and the sun is setting behind me. It’s a damn fine evening. I’m drinking New Belgium Somersault and cooking a hodgepodge potato casserole. I get to review a show tonight — tUnE-yArDs at the Jackpot. Earlier this week I reviewed Joe Pug. It was one of those shows that is unexpectedly awesome.
*turns around*
Oh, gross. There’s a colony of ants behind me.
I still haven’t watched two of the three Netflix movies I’ve rented. Instead I’m re-watching the entire series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And Deathproof. And Phenomena. It’s a monster filled blood fest.
I’ve been looking for a new place to live. My Lawrence lease is almost up. I’ve had a hell of a time finding a house or an apartment. Every place is in the wrong location, too beige or far away. Also, do you guys know how expensive it is to move? Sure, you can get all your dude friends to muscle up and move your stuff in exchange for a few six packs and some pizza. But security deposits — holy SHIT! And pet deposits — triple horse SHIT! It’s frustrating and insane. Most places are not near worth the price that’s being charged. You probably already know all of this and so do I, but every time I move I re-realize it. Like re-living some terrible trauma that happened in a dark basement every. Fucking. YEAR!
*turns around again*
Oh, shit. They’re gone (They being the ants.)!
Yes, I realize I’m rambling, but it’s been a long week. I’ve been working early mornings and late nights. Sleep is scarce in these parts (the parts being my body. Ew.) I got a hair cut. I look weird. I always look weird, but now I look double weird. I also got some new lipstick. It’s fab. And it wasn’t tested on animals. Seriously. Don’t buy products that are tested on animals. It’s not cool. Did you know that a lot of companies that test on animals use beagles as test subjects? Dear, sweet little beagles. I find that information terrible.
I’ve stayed overnight at my parent’s house twice this week. I’ve had a ton of appointments in Kansas City and gas is expensive. It’s been interesting. I ate a lot of free lunches. I saw my dentist during one lunch. That was pretty awesome, though, because I was wearing my molar earrings (yes, I own molar earrings and wear them.) He totally flipped!
Anyway, congrats if you’ve made it this far. This blog was absolute crap.
Here’s your prize. It’s a pre-summer music mix!
Llama – “Monareta“
The Dears – “Blood“
Charles Bradley & the Bullets – “Now that I’m Gone“
Dum Dum Girls – “Bhang Bhang“
Fitz and the Tantrums – “Breakin’ the Chains of Love“
Weathered White – “Social Studies“
Cruel Black Dove – “Isolation“
Los Straightjackets – “Twist and Slide“
Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. – “Nothing but Our Love“
The Coasters – “Down in Mexico“
Jeremy Messersmith – “Organ Donor“
Crocodiles – “Hearts of Love“
Bonjay – “Stumble“
Miami Horror – “Echoplex“
David Bowie – “Suffragette City“
Al Green – “Here I Am (Come and Take Me)” (yes. I did have this picture of Al Green hanging in my car for four years.)
The Black Angels – “Telephone“
Tom Waits – “Such a Scream“
The Kinks – “A Well Respected Man“
Escort – “Cocaine Blues“
I watched Enter the Void today and woo boy, it’s a nutty little film.
Here’s a description of the film (via Netflix):
Why am I stuck in a...why am I stuck in a...(k-hole)
“When Oscar (Nathaniel Brown), a foreign drug dealer living in Tokyo with his stripper sister, Linda (Paz de la Huerta), is fatally shot in a police raid, his spirit leaves his body in a hallucinatory odyssey that merges his past, present and future into a chaotic whole. This riveting third film from provocative French auteur Gaspar Noe screened in competition at the 2009Cannes Film Festival. Cyril Roy co-stars.”
Whoa! Pretty crazy, right? Even more crazy when you watch it, my friends.
All.
Three.
(drugged out, porn filled, semen sprayed)
Hours.
of.
it.
(shudder)
Anyhow. Films and books that explore what happens to a person when they almost die / do die, but come back, interest me. I “died” during a surgery when I was three. I vomited after my doctor gave me anesthesia and almost choked to death (hey. I see you laughing.) The nurses didn’t know what was happening, so when I tried to pull off the mask they were using to administer the drug, they held me down. Luckily, someone caught on to what was happening and I didn’t die, die.
Yea…?
Recovery took a long time and I’ve had night terrors since the surgery, but all else considered, I’m okay.
When I died, I didn’t have an out-of-body experience. I just disappeared then reappeared. After having that sensation, I’ve never felt at home in my body. It’s like my body isn’t mine.
*awkward pause*
Soo. Have any of you ever died? Something similar to a near death experience?
Share!
~
Anyone who works in a creative field knows they will never feel complete satisfaction with their work. As soon as a writer feels good about a story, someone will tear it up and spit on it.
I haven’t got a lot of criticism lately.
That makes me nervous.
Really nervous.
I welcome bad reviews (when I’m used to getting them.) When I haven’t heard a negative word in a while, I begin to forget what critique feels like. I wonder if my work, ideas don’t matter; if my words, thoughts aren’t relevant. That’s a scary thing.
I suppose I’m technically not relevant, though. Marketers and people who have similar jobs say women over 25 really don’t matter. We are a dead market. All we like are chick flicks. Well, marketers, I like chicks in flicks if they’re wearing fake dicks (referencing Bloodsucking Freaks).
Take that.
Okay. Creativity and relevance sob story over.
Self promotion begin.
Here is a link to my Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. interview and my Tapes ‘n Tapes review. There’s a lot of redundant redundancy in the previous sentence, but I’m cool with that.
