Hurt sucks. Whether it's hurt feelings or physical pain, hurting just sucks. Hurt is something we all understand, though we may deal with our hurts in very different ways. One person may "turtle up", retreating into an emotional or social shell until the worst is over. Another person may work overtime at some cathartic task. Someone else may find their pain morphs into anger or frustration.
When I hurt, I do all those things and then some.
Tonight my feelings are hurt because I am painfully lonely. I am not proud to admit I am feeling jealous of my husband because he is at an event I'd typically really enjoy and I'm not. It's a convention and serves as a reminder of the fact that breaking my leg meant I missed a big convention I'd looked forward to for nearly a year. And that same leg still hurts to the point that I simply CAN'T go anywhere or do anything for any length of time. Tonight I forced myself to take the kids to the Halloween store for costume shopping. I couldn't handle the thought of going to the store or making dinner or going out. I wound up choking down drive-thru McDonald's for dinner, because I was exhausted.
This leg thing happened on July 5. I've only been able to drive for the last few weeks. Know what I do when I get out of the house? I go to Physical Therapy, which is less than 3 miles from home.
Meanwhile, my husband goes to writer meet-ups or beer nights, and in the daytime it's either out running or at the gym, or he's closed off in his office. The kids are at school in the day, and neither want to just hang out with me all the time. So I sit on the couch with my foot propped up alone, or I go to bed alone.
Note the theme throughout is ALONE.
Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate and NEED alone time. It's just that I'm feeling particularly out of step with the rest of the world. I don't like that feeling.
My injury hurts, but the loneliness it's created hurts a hell of a lot, too.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
My response to William Saletan
I'm finding that I'm just not getting over Mr. Saletan's initial post about the Roman Polanski rape. His second article didn't do anything to ease my mind. After reading the third follow-up, I decided to leave a comment. Below is what I wrote.
Here's the line that still bugs me
"A guy who goes after 5-year-old girls is deeply pathological. A guy who goes after a womanly body that happens to be 13 years old is failing to regulate a natural attraction. That doesn't excuse him. But it does justify treating him differently."
No, actually, it does NOT justify treating him differently. I developed breasts and started menstruating at age 8 - does that mean a man who failed to regulate his sexual attraction with me should be excused because he was just thinking with his "little head"? I looked old enough at age 12 that I could have gotten into R-rated movies alone. If I were to smile at an adult male at that age, looking as old as I looked, would that have been an invitation to give me alcohol and drugs and then proceed to orally, vaginally and anally rape me?
In testimony, it is clearly revealed that the girl repeatedly said "no" to his advances. However, he proceeded to do as he wished. What part of "no" means "oh, she really wants this"?
Furthermore, in your entry you seem to allude to the idea that the girl's mother should be held responsible. However, from the testimony I've read (and yes, I have read it, very carefully), it doesn't sound like her mother was a pimp.
So here we are, three articles in about Polanski, and I STILL have the impression that you Just Don't Get It. Blaming the girl because she looked older, or because she'd had sex before, or whatever, is a PROBLEM. I don't care if the world's top fashion models paraded down Main Street stark naked, that is STILL not an invitation to be raped. If a man rapes anyone - regardless of gender or age, there is NO justification for treating him differently.
Rape is not acceptable. Ever. Period.
Here's the line that still bugs me
"A guy who goes after 5-year-old girls is deeply pathological. A guy who goes after a womanly body that happens to be 13 years old is failing to regulate a natural attraction. That doesn't excuse him. But it does justify treating him differently."
No, actually, it does NOT justify treating him differently. I developed breasts and started menstruating at age 8 - does that mean a man who failed to regulate his sexual attraction with me should be excused because he was just thinking with his "little head"? I looked old enough at age 12 that I could have gotten into R-rated movies alone. If I were to smile at an adult male at that age, looking as old as I looked, would that have been an invitation to give me alcohol and drugs and then proceed to orally, vaginally and anally rape me?
In testimony, it is clearly revealed that the girl repeatedly said "no" to his advances. However, he proceeded to do as he wished. What part of "no" means "oh, she really wants this"?
Furthermore, in your entry you seem to allude to the idea that the girl's mother should be held responsible. However, from the testimony I've read (and yes, I have read it, very carefully), it doesn't sound like her mother was a pimp.
So here we are, three articles in about Polanski, and I STILL have the impression that you Just Don't Get It. Blaming the girl because she looked older, or because she'd had sex before, or whatever, is a PROBLEM. I don't care if the world's top fashion models paraded down Main Street stark naked, that is STILL not an invitation to be raped. If a man rapes anyone - regardless of gender or age, there is NO justification for treating him differently.
Rape is not acceptable. Ever. Period.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Halloween is near...BOO!
I will be the first to admit it. I LOVE old movies. By far some of my favorite movies are in the "horror" genre, things involving Vincent Price, Alfred Hitchcock, Bela Lugosi, Lon Chaney, and Boris Karloff to name a few of the "big names" back in the day. With Halloween only weeks away, I've had the opportunity to see a lot of old horror flicks on television and I'm LOVING it! It's bringing back memories of staying up late on weekends as a kid to watch a sometimes campy, sometimes creepy horror flick, often with a TV Horror Host who'd break things up by telling a tidbit about something behind the scenes of the movie or interjecting some humor.
I'm also getting nostalgic thinking about my childhood Halloween experiences, such as trying to navigate beneath a sheet with holes cut out for eyes (yes, I did the old school ghost costume), or sweltering beneath the uncomfortable plastic mask and plastic costume my Mom got at the store after much pleading and whining on my part. Many of my years of trick-or-treating was done with my big sister and my nephew (there's a big age gap - I was an aunt at age 3). I vividly remember Mom dressing up like a scarecrow one year, simply by wearing a flannel shirt under her overalls and tucking some straw into the cuffs at her wrists and ankles and painting her face a bit. Generally my parents didn't have a lot of money to throw away on a poorly made costume I'd only wear once, so I was encouraged to be creative and resourceful. At the time I'm sure I thought they were big ole meanies for not letting me wear the same sorts of store-bought costumes my friends got to wear. In hindsight, however, I'm really grateful.
I also remember that these were the years when people handed out apples and homemade goodies, and nobody thought anything was sinister about it. Popcorn balls sticky with molasses done up in plastic wrap, or sugar cookies with M&Ms pressed into them, or caramel apples made near enough to trick-or-treat time that they'd still be warm...that's not something my children have ever experienced. The candy was in a league all it's own. Red Hots, Bottlecaps, Sixlets, candy cigarettes, wax "Coke" bottles with sugary sweet liquid inside, Charleston Chew, sheets of candy buttons, square Chunky bars, Dubble Bubble gum, Fruit Stripe gum, Fun Dip Lik-M-Aid, Milk Duds, Sugar Daddies, Oh Henry! candy bars, Pop Rocks, Razzles, Smarties, Wax Lips (weird, but totally chew-worthy), and the list goes on. There was no reason to take away our goodies and look at each individual piece back then, because there was no media hype about razors or needles hidden in the treats. Kids simply got home, dumped their pillowcases (a plastic bag? Ppppfffttt!), sorted the candy out in some way or another. My system was simple: I had the chocolate pile, the not-chocolate pile, and the eww that's gross and I'm not gonna eat it pile. I had to trick-or-treat by car, since I lived out on a farm, and I used to get jealous as I would watch television shows of television kids going out their television house and walking around their television blocks without even seeing a car.
I remember Halloween parties, hayrides, bobbing for apples. I remember one of my neighbors (I think it was Jennifer, but it might have been Ginger) having a "ghost" hung up on their front porch for days prior to Halloween. Then, on the night of Halloween, the hanging ghost was replaced by a human under a sheet - one who proceeded to give me a big hug and nearly scare the life out of me! And I loved it.
I wonder, looking at my kids, what they'll remember about Halloween. My daughter's too old to trick-or-treat anymore at age 15. My son will have turned 10 just a few days before Halloween this year, so his time to stop begging for candy door-to-door is drawing near. Will they remember particular costumes? The way it is so cold here by Halloween that they often wind up having to cover their outfit with a coat? Will they remember how their candy lasts for months because we stash it and hand them a couple of pieces a day rather than let them gorge themselves into a sugar coma? I hope they remember good things, fun things, cherished things.
Mainly, fall seems to remind me that time is passing quickly. It reminds me to slow down, examine the colors of the leaves, to snuggle up with my kids and a warm drink (if they'll let me). The air gets crisp and cool and fresher somehow. Back home, this was my favorite time of year. I spent many autumn days laying on the cool grass of our front yard, making out shapes in the clouds, watching the leaves fall, taking deep breaths to fill my lungs with air so crisp and fresh I could taste it. I'd walk down to the bridge and watch the sun slowly sink on the horizon as it reflected off the babbling water of the creek.
I love the fall. I love Halloween. And for now, in this moment, I'm just feeling blessed to have had the life I've had so far.
I'm also getting nostalgic thinking about my childhood Halloween experiences, such as trying to navigate beneath a sheet with holes cut out for eyes (yes, I did the old school ghost costume), or sweltering beneath the uncomfortable plastic mask and plastic costume my Mom got at the store after much pleading and whining on my part. Many of my years of trick-or-treating was done with my big sister and my nephew (there's a big age gap - I was an aunt at age 3). I vividly remember Mom dressing up like a scarecrow one year, simply by wearing a flannel shirt under her overalls and tucking some straw into the cuffs at her wrists and ankles and painting her face a bit. Generally my parents didn't have a lot of money to throw away on a poorly made costume I'd only wear once, so I was encouraged to be creative and resourceful. At the time I'm sure I thought they were big ole meanies for not letting me wear the same sorts of store-bought costumes my friends got to wear. In hindsight, however, I'm really grateful.
I also remember that these were the years when people handed out apples and homemade goodies, and nobody thought anything was sinister about it. Popcorn balls sticky with molasses done up in plastic wrap, or sugar cookies with M&Ms pressed into them, or caramel apples made near enough to trick-or-treat time that they'd still be warm...that's not something my children have ever experienced. The candy was in a league all it's own. Red Hots, Bottlecaps, Sixlets, candy cigarettes, wax "Coke" bottles with sugary sweet liquid inside, Charleston Chew, sheets of candy buttons, square Chunky bars, Dubble Bubble gum, Fruit Stripe gum, Fun Dip Lik-M-Aid, Milk Duds, Sugar Daddies, Oh Henry! candy bars, Pop Rocks, Razzles, Smarties, Wax Lips (weird, but totally chew-worthy), and the list goes on. There was no reason to take away our goodies and look at each individual piece back then, because there was no media hype about razors or needles hidden in the treats. Kids simply got home, dumped their pillowcases (a plastic bag? Ppppfffttt!), sorted the candy out in some way or another. My system was simple: I had the chocolate pile, the not-chocolate pile, and the eww that's gross and I'm not gonna eat it pile. I had to trick-or-treat by car, since I lived out on a farm, and I used to get jealous as I would watch television shows of television kids going out their television house and walking around their television blocks without even seeing a car.
I remember Halloween parties, hayrides, bobbing for apples. I remember one of my neighbors (I think it was Jennifer, but it might have been Ginger) having a "ghost" hung up on their front porch for days prior to Halloween. Then, on the night of Halloween, the hanging ghost was replaced by a human under a sheet - one who proceeded to give me a big hug and nearly scare the life out of me! And I loved it.
I wonder, looking at my kids, what they'll remember about Halloween. My daughter's too old to trick-or-treat anymore at age 15. My son will have turned 10 just a few days before Halloween this year, so his time to stop begging for candy door-to-door is drawing near. Will they remember particular costumes? The way it is so cold here by Halloween that they often wind up having to cover their outfit with a coat? Will they remember how their candy lasts for months because we stash it and hand them a couple of pieces a day rather than let them gorge themselves into a sugar coma? I hope they remember good things, fun things, cherished things.
Mainly, fall seems to remind me that time is passing quickly. It reminds me to slow down, examine the colors of the leaves, to snuggle up with my kids and a warm drink (if they'll let me). The air gets crisp and cool and fresher somehow. Back home, this was my favorite time of year. I spent many autumn days laying on the cool grass of our front yard, making out shapes in the clouds, watching the leaves fall, taking deep breaths to fill my lungs with air so crisp and fresh I could taste it. I'd walk down to the bridge and watch the sun slowly sink on the horizon as it reflected off the babbling water of the creek.
I love the fall. I love Halloween. And for now, in this moment, I'm just feeling blessed to have had the life I've had so far.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Lady Fun With Guns
I'm one of those lucky women who has some truly awesome girlfriends with whom to hang out and basically enjoy life. One of these awesome ladies heard about a local business hosting a weekly "Ladies Night", complete with freebies we'd have to pay for any other night of the week, and decided it would make a great girls night out event.
THAT, my dear readers, is how we wound up here:
At first glance you'd think that sign would just be a cute "hey, it's almost Halloween, aren't we funny" sort of sign. You'd be WRONG. DEAD wrong. (See what I did there? It's funny cuz zombies are reanimated corpses.)
I picked out a sweet little .22 revolver. It wasn't the top choice of the others, I think because it wasn't as glamorous as some of the more serious weaponry with a big kick. I, however, am in looooove. I present my weapon of choice:
I also selected my target, a zombie lass by the name of Becky. My reason for selecting her above the other zombies were, as I explained to my friends, because "even dead she's prettier than me. I hate the bitch!" Don't believe me? Check her out:
It's important to remember that with zombies, you gotta aim for the head. So you know what I did? I killed zombie Becky. I killed her real good!
Now let's be clear. Yes, I did grow up on a farm in middle Tennessee. Yes, my Dad, my Pa, my brother, uncles and male cousins all had guns. But the ONLY time prior to this week's adventures in gunland I'd actually used a gun was for 7th grade hunter safety class. (And yes, that was a required portion of my 7th grade health class. Who could even make that up?) So the fact that I was able to make Becky's zombie face look like the world's worst case of pizza face makes me unbelievably proud, people. PROUD!
I think I may have found myself a new hobby. Also, it's very possible my Southern accent will come back VERY strong while at the range, if for no other reason to make people around me check my back pocket for a snuff circle. *p'tooey!*
THAT, my dear readers, is how we wound up here:
At first glance you'd think that sign would just be a cute "hey, it's almost Halloween, aren't we funny" sort of sign. You'd be WRONG. DEAD wrong. (See what I did there? It's funny cuz zombies are reanimated corpses.)
I picked out a sweet little .22 revolver. It wasn't the top choice of the others, I think because it wasn't as glamorous as some of the more serious weaponry with a big kick. I, however, am in looooove. I present my weapon of choice:
I also selected my target, a zombie lass by the name of Becky. My reason for selecting her above the other zombies were, as I explained to my friends, because "even dead she's prettier than me. I hate the bitch!" Don't believe me? Check her out:
It's important to remember that with zombies, you gotta aim for the head. So you know what I did? I killed zombie Becky. I killed her real good!
Now let's be clear. Yes, I did grow up on a farm in middle Tennessee. Yes, my Dad, my Pa, my brother, uncles and male cousins all had guns. But the ONLY time prior to this week's adventures in gunland I'd actually used a gun was for 7th grade hunter safety class. (And yes, that was a required portion of my 7th grade health class. Who could even make that up?) So the fact that I was able to make Becky's zombie face look like the world's worst case of pizza face makes me unbelievably proud, people. PROUD!
I think I may have found myself a new hobby. Also, it's very possible my Southern accent will come back VERY strong while at the range, if for no other reason to make people around me check my back pocket for a snuff circle. *p'tooey!*
Saturday, October 3, 2009
More on Polanski
The country - indeed, the world - has been going nuts about Roman Polanski this week. There's been some good, some bad, and some ugly.
Squarely in the GOOD category is Polanski, Polanski, Polanski: Kate Harding's blog listing all of the OTHER blogs she's written in the aftermath of Roman Polanski's arrest - the Hollyweird support system, the Whoopi "rape-rape" thing, and most importantly a very detailed recounting of the crime for which Roman Polanski was originally arrested back in 1977. She approaches the subject with not just disgust at his crimes, but also with intelligence and links to back up what she writes.
In the BAD category we have Polanski's Arrest: Shame on the Swiss written by Joan Z. Shore. It's not only bad because of it's content, but because Shore is apparently the co-founder for something called Women Overseas for Equality in Belgium. I'm still processing how someone who's for equality for women can find a way to justify saying "shame on the Swiss" for arresting a child-raping fugitive.
In the UGLY category is the shockingly horrific fact that Feminist Majority founder Peg Yorkin was quoted in a L.A. Times story as saying "It's bad a person was raped. But that was so many years ago. The guy has been through so much in his life. It's crazy to arrest him now. Let it go. The government could spend its money on other things." Fortunately it looks like the president of the Feminist Majority Foundation disagrees with the founder.
Squarely in the GOOD category is Polanski, Polanski, Polanski: Kate Harding's blog listing all of the OTHER blogs she's written in the aftermath of Roman Polanski's arrest - the Hollyweird support system, the Whoopi "rape-rape" thing, and most importantly a very detailed recounting of the crime for which Roman Polanski was originally arrested back in 1977. She approaches the subject with not just disgust at his crimes, but also with intelligence and links to back up what she writes.
In the BAD category we have Polanski's Arrest: Shame on the Swiss written by Joan Z. Shore. It's not only bad because of it's content, but because Shore is apparently the co-founder for something called Women Overseas for Equality in Belgium. I'm still processing how someone who's for equality for women can find a way to justify saying "shame on the Swiss" for arresting a child-raping fugitive.
In the UGLY category is the shockingly horrific fact that Feminist Majority founder Peg Yorkin was quoted in a L.A. Times story as saying "It's bad a person was raped. But that was so many years ago. The guy has been through so much in his life. It's crazy to arrest him now. Let it go. The government could spend its money on other things." Fortunately it looks like the president of the Feminist Majority Foundation disagrees with the founder.
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