I don’t know if I can really look back at this objectively, but I’m going to try.
Growing up, I had one parent out of four who really, really didn’t approve of me. I was always too fat. It made him really upset that my hair fell out in perfectly round circles – what was up with that? I must have been doing something to myself, I should just stop it! (But it was my body attacking itself.) He told me that he loved my sister more than me because she was the first born, and my brother more than me because he was the boy he always wanted.
While I was still in elementary school, we moved from a large city to a very tiny town of 300. This was right in the middle of my awkward years when I couldn’t figure out what to wear on my strange new body and my teeth were still crooked like I could eat a carrot through a fence because the dentist wanted to wait a few more years before recommending braces. Fifth grade was brutal. I had almost no friends the entire year because a girl from my class (who was tall, also awkward, with blond frizzy hair and shifty eyes) gave me a horrible nickname and meanly declared that no one could be friends with me or come near me. She got one of the boys in our class to write me love letters as a joke. He then made a big deal of “breaking up” with me, or as much as you can break up with someone after a few badly written letters, and their little group passed around what I wrote to him. (Imagine my surprise when I visited my step-cousin’s cousin’s house and it was HER house a few years later. I thought she was going to shit her pants. I had no idea where my step-aunt was taking us, I was just riding with everyone.)
I also had bullies on my bus. They didn’t just pick on me, my sister was a target too. Our bus ride was a long one, nearly an hour in the mornings and about 40 minutes in the afternoons. The worst of them was the stop immediately before ours but still quite a distance from our house because we’re talking farm country. She was MEAN. ROTTEN. The others were further along the route. One was a girl in my class who has always been very mean spirited. Her whole family has taken on the same persona as her mom; her dad busted his ass, but it seems that her mom was never happy with that and was always focused on appearances and putting her dad down. So that’s what she embraced. So I was an easy target. Fat, awkward, and crooked teeth. There was a scrawny boy, I think he may have been a year younger than me, also part of their little group, that my sister ended up punching because he lifted her skirt. It’s too bad she didn’t break his nose. And then the last regular in that group was another girl, who, again, was spiteful. She was good friends with the girl with the nasty mom and she seemed to thrive on the nastiness herself. (As a side note, I have become friends with some of these people on Facebook to see if anything has changed. It hasn’t.)
I’m just going to skip way ahead here, to the bullies online. First there’s the guys who have dating profiles on the various dating websites. After a few decades of doing online dating between being in relationships, I have decided to not use online dating anymore as a means to find connections, because it can be pretty brutal. In my 20s and into my 30s, there were times when I would take things that were said to me very personally. It was really tough to let stuff go. This was also the time when I was in the process of losing all of my hair, so I was really self-conscious of my appearance and didn’t really know how to initiate the conversation about looking like Mr. Clean to prospective dates (or guys that I had already been out with a bunch of times). But everything nasty that was said to me was excused by the guys as being in the interest of not wanting to waste time. They HAD to say it. They couldn’t wait. They couldn’t filter. I had to take it or they would move on. They had to be shitty. If I couldn’t handle it, then it was my problem and not theirs. How can you reason with that anyway?
Now of course we’re in the era of Facebook. We thought this would be a fad that lasted maybe 5 years, maybe a bit more. But they keep changing the algorithms so we stay hooked. I try to take breaks, but they usually only last 4 of my waking hours. Facebook is filled with all kinds of ills. I belong to some rare disease patient groups because I know it’s likely I will hear something I’m not aware of, and it’s also a good way for me to keep track of doctors and medications. I don’t often comment, though. I will see the same people posting – sometimes daily. I know that some people need to find any reason to connect. It drives me a little batty because sometimes they ask, “Has anyone tried ______?” and of course there was just a long discussion about it the day before. If I have something different and useful to say, I will add to the discussion.
Recently in one of the groups, a guy posted that he was taking hydroxychloroquine for our condition, the same as what “cures the virus.” That really upset me, because first of all, no one takes that medication for our condition. It’s the wrong medication. Second, that medication also does not treat COVID-19. So I posted that along with scientific journal articles, plus the CDC directive stating that that med should not be used because it has caused people to die. Suddenly 4 guys jumped on and said all kinds of personal things about me, including one who said he hoped I didn’t have children – as if that related to me correcting this misinformation that this guy put up in the first place. So a few days later he came back on and said he did indeed put the wrong medicine up, that he was actually given an antibiotic of a completely (not even close) name. No one apologized to me for being shitty to me. Then two days ago from today, a woman jumped on and was shitty to me, telling me I was off topic and I should apologize for that. I wrote back and told her that ignoring all of the other posts and focusing on me for correcting misinformation, misinformation that the original guy admitted he was responsible for, was shitty. Then she just wrote another line saying, “Well, it was off topic.” Yep, it sure was, initiated by the original guy. But I’m going to correct it with science every time if someone else is going to put the wrong info out there.
Just yesterday, I was in another patient group for another rare disease. It’s a little more difficult for me to describe everything that happened or is happening with my brain and cerebrospinal fluid in a short enough paragraph that will make sense. Part of that is conveying this understanding that my symptoms are unusual and disarming to the doctors, to say the least. A fellow patient basically called me a liar. My fuse is pretty short these days, so I tend to stomp and snort once as warning, and that’s all you get. After that I will cut a bitch. I explained how many doctors I had encountered (over 100 in 10 years) and being banned from the Mayo in writing, and added that Barrow had just told me to go to a “neighborhood neurologist” because they didn’t know who to send me to in their own organization. This other patient continued on her crusade to tell me that I didn’t know what I was talking about and there was no way I could guess that doctors hadn’t seen my symptoms before. So I told her congratulations on deciding to be a bully to a fellow patient. In fact, all of the doctors were stumped by my symptoms, their words.
Also not too long ago was the issue with my cousin who lives on the east coast. He told me to get off my lazy ass when I became disabled after the ten failed brain surgeries (but before the issues with my vertebrae and the bones in my hands starting to fuse together). I did mention this before, but I didn’t hesitate to tell him to eat a bag of dicks. He is a drunk bully, and I just kind of feel sorry for his wife and daughters.
I’m 46 years of age now. There’s certain things you stop caring about, I suppose, but I think my thing is bullies. I mean, really, I think I’ve experienced them all. My feelings just aren’t getting hurt anymore. After the most recent exchanges, I did a temperature check and I felt nothing. That parental bullying is gone. My cousin hasn’t ever really been in my life. Elementary school is long done. I haven’t ridden a school bus since 10th grade. I’m definitely not doing online dating anymore, I think I gave that the old college try and then some. And those patient groups…well, now I can just scroll past them. Sometimes I get random comments online because of articles that have been posted that I respond to. Those are usually the lowest of the low. I think I remember one lady telling me to “get that thing in the middle of your forehead fixed.” I still have no idea what she was trying to say. It seems no one else did either because she didn’t get any responses or reactions.
I think one of the truest tests was after an exchange with complete strangers in a comment section, a stranger sent me a message that said, “Have you been drinking? You must be lol” and I was thinking, wow, he came all the way over here just to say that. No imagination. He’s the laziest bully ever.
marriage
Co-Dependency: I’ll Scratch Your Back If You’ll Scratch Mine
Co-dependent: I’m quick to use the term. It’s not so easy to define, though. I’ve been trying for better than a decade to find just the right words. It seems most psychology publications are in the same boat as me.
PsychCentral defines it as “a person belonging to a dysfunctional, one-sided relationship where one person relies on the other for meeting nearly all of their emotional and self-esteem needs. It also describes a relationship that enables another person to maintain their irresponsible, addictive, or underachieving behavior.” So really, they provided two definitions, not just one.
GoodTherapy.org breaks it down with a good ol’ list (because we love bullets) and explains that the “old” way of thinking was that everyone’s feelings were centered on one person’s addictive behaviors. Now co-dependence is recognized in much broader terms to include the role of caregiving, denial of personal problems, low self-esteem, feelings of guilt when offered help or attention from others, sensitivity to criticism, perfectionism and fear of failure, a projection of competence and a need to control others.
But the definition from GoodTherapy.org doesn’t make clear that there has to be at least two people in the relationship to make it co-dependent. At least one of the parties has to have low self-esteem and be sensitive to criticism and project a false sense of competence, and have support and attention from another party to continue carrying on with those behaviors. And let’s be clear, here: both or all parties can be co-dependent upon each other. Mothers and daughters, friends, teachers and students, lovers. Of course, some relationships are much more intimate and lasting than others.
Here is a comprehensive list from CoDA.org (Co-Dependents Anonymous.org):
Patterns and Characteristics of Co-Dependence; Co-dependents often:
• have difficulty identifying what they are feeling.
• minimize, alter, or deny how they truly feel.
• perceive themselves as completely unselfish and dedicated to the well-being of others.
• lack empathy for the feelings and needs of others.
• label others with their negative traits.
• think they can take care of themselves without any help from others.
• mask pain in various ways such as anger, humor, or isolation.
• express negativity or aggression in indirect and passive ways.
• do not recognize the unavailability of those people to whom they are attracted.
Low self-esteem patterns; Co-dependents often:
• are extremely loyal, remaining in harmful situations too long.
• compromise their own values and integrity to avoid rejection or anger.
• put aside their own interests in order to do what others want.
• are hypervigilant regarding the feelings of others and take on those feelings.
• are afraid to express their beliefs, opinions, and feelings when they differ from those of others.
• accept sexual attention when they want love.
• make decisions without regard to the consequences.
• give up their truth to gain the approval of others or to avoid change.
Control patterns; Co-dependents often:
• believe people are incapable of taking care of themselves.
• attempt to convince others what to think, do, or feel.
• freely offer advice and direction without being asked.
• become resentful when others decline their help or reject their advice.
• lavish gifts and favors on those they want to influence.
• use sexual attention to gain approval and acceptance.
• have to feel needed in order to have a relationship with others.
• demand that their needs be met by others.
• use charm and charisma to convince others of their capacity to be caring and compassionate.
• use blame and shame to exploit others emotionally.
• refuse to cooperate, compromise, or negotiate.
• adopt an attitude of indifference, helplessness, authority, or rage to manipulate outcomes.
• use recovery jargon in an attempt to control the behavior of others.
• pretend to agree with others to get what they want.
Avoidance patterns; Co-dependents often:
• act in ways that invite others to reject, shame, or express anger toward them.
• judge harshly what others think, say, or do.
• avoid emotional, physical, or sexual intimacy as a way to maintain distance.
• allow addictions to people, places, and things to distract them from achieving intimacy in relationships.
• use indirect or evasive communication to avoid conflict or confrontation.
• diminish their capacity to have healthy relationships by declining to use the tools of recovery.
• suppress their feelings or needs to avoid feeling vulnerable.
• pull people toward them, but when others get close, push them away.
• refuse to give up their self-will to avoid surrendering to a power greater than themselves.
• believe displays of emotion are a sign of weakness.
• withhold expressions of appreciation.
As I revisit the definitions, I evaluate first my own behavior, but also a few specific relationships near me (that I have to be careful not to become too invested in, though I tend to become protective and outraged when I spot misbehavior). I think that the actual name “co-dependency” will be adjusted within the next 5-10 years, though what it will morph into will be a great mystery.
Unhooked Generation – The Book
Originally published in my MySpace Blog, 2/10/2008.
Unhooked Generation by Jillian Straus
The woman that wrote the book was not a clinical psychologist; she was only a woman in her 30’s wondering why it seemed so much more difficult for people in our generation to find lasting love. She traveled to different locations around the U.S. to interview random people that responded to her ads posted in free newspapers and Craigslist. Some points really hit home for me.
1. Do you make a list? I know a man who has listed 42 qualities his future partner must have. I even have a list myself, though it doesn’t go up to 42: must pay his own bills and not try to steal my money; must bathe at least daily; must brush teeth 1+ times a day; must be nice to me. Some standards are reasonable, I think, and some absolutely no one can live up to. I don’t even think I can list 42 qualities about myself, so how do I know if I fit that manifest my friend created? Oh, and once you have your grocery list made, then you can go shopping on eHarmony or Match or Plenty of Fish to make your selection. Like a piece of meat. What ends up happening is that we reject everything, which leads to….
2. Why suffer? If I don’t like something, or if it isn’t working for me, why not just cut it off and be done with it instead of beating myself up trying to make it work? Relationships ARE work. Or at least they require effort. Expecting for things to just fall into place is unrealistic, and bailing is the easy way out. I have absolutely been quick to jump ship but can honestly say that I’ve never regretted doing so. I just don’t put up with any juvenile bullshit anymore. Of course, the “why suffer” mentality is one of the main reasons that couples get divorced; think about it: how many marriages do you know about that have lasted for less than a year? I can think of 7 of my friends right at this moment. Is it that they’re picking the wrong partners, or just giving up too easily?
3. Fear of making the wrong choice: let’s talk about the guy with the 42 requirements again. He repeatedly says that he never wants to commit, because what if the next person that comes along is a better match for him? He’ll never, ever be happy, I guarantee you that.
4. Never allowing yourself to connect because you are afraid to fail at marriage. Wow, this is a big one – I have always said that if I’m crazy enough to get married, it will be only once. Half of the interviewees said they were afraid of failing by not living up to the seemingly seamless relationship their parents have, or failing by turning out just like their divorced parents. I’m afraid of the second one myself. No one goes into a relationship thinking that it’s going to fail, but it’s another thing to think that you’re not even going to allow someone to get close so there is no opportunity to fail.
5. Losing our gender identities. Yes, women’s lib was a blessing, I will bang the drum about that one all day long. It’s what allows me to be a single woman in my 30’s [now 40’s] with a career and the ability to stand on my own. But……..I could really use a mate who knows how to work on cars. And by the way, can he also like going to art museums, and cry at mushy movies too? But I don’t want him to open the freaking door for me, I have two arms and two legs and can manage on my own. But can he still pay for dinner, because he’s the man? I can say that I want a really strong, stoic man who can build a house but still tear up over “Love, Actually”, but how realistic is that? It’s a bunch of mixed messages that lead to misunderstanding because one person gets pissed off that the other one didn’t pick up the check. It is every man for himself, I tell ya – because there are no boundaries on the gender roles anymore. Better brush up on your communication skills.
6. Technology. How easy is it to erase someone from your cell phone, and therefore your life? How easy is it to send e-mails and instant messages, but never talk on the phone or see each other face to face? We’re definitely disconnected and our spelling skills are becoming atrocious – because we are lazy. And scared.
This is one of the few relationship/self-help books that I’ve read from cover to cover – usually I get bored pretty easily or can’t relate to what the message is. This one is fascinating because I have so many single friends, just like me, wondering what in the hell is going on. If you recognize any of these factors within yourself, this may be an interesting read for you too.
[Disclaimer: Since it’s now 10 years old, some references are going to be outdated, but the ideas are still relevant.]
Failure Or Fun? You Choose
I get a lot of flak for my dating life. Well-meaning friends and family have tried to keep up with the names of the men I’m dating, and I tell them not to bother, because they won’t be around long. I also deliberately avoid family photos. It means that I’m often the butt of many jokes, which admittedly sting from time to time. But my refusal to settle means that I continue to avoid divorce, too. I always end up with good stories.
Here’s the perfect museum for me, and people like me: The Museum of Failure. Of course this has to do with the world’s worst innovations and not relationships, but these are gloriously bad. That shocking facial mask?? OUCH. I had my face tased for a test, it’s not pleasant. I would not buy a device and do it willingly on a regular basis. What the what…?
And the Colgate lasagna…well, this year there was an ad for toothpaste that tastes just like a Burger King Whopper, but that was an April Fool’s joke. Trust me, you do not want this unless you are going to be single forever. And not talk to anyone. Ever. And not get laid. EVER. No.
If you haven’t had the pleasure yet, one of the items included in the Museum of Failure is the Bic for Her pens. It’s not because the pen itself is dysfunctional. Bitch, please – why the fuck would you market a pen as only “for her”? Talk about trolling, Amazon couldn’t keep up with erasing the “reviews” fast enough, so there’s a ton of material out there that you can search for, but here’s a taste.
V-Day
I ran into my next-door neighbor yesterday as I was coming back from the pharmacy up the street and she was heading out to her car. We usually only exchange a “hey” and weak smiles. Instead, I said, “Did you hear the downstairs couple screaming for eight and a half hours Saturday???”
She said, “Oh, I guess he has PTSD, so that’s why he’s violent.”
I said, “That’s NO excuse. None.”
She walked away from me quickly and snidely said over her shoulder, “Well, stuff happens in relationships.”
Yeah, it does. I can tell you all about the relationship downstairs. There’s a lot of crying. The guy rages and screams and says that he CAN’T EXPRESS HIMSELF LIKE SHE CAN and SHE’S GOT IT EASY and EVERYONE LETS HER TALK BUT NO ONE LETS HIM TALK and I can’t hear her response clearly because he’s raging and screaming and telling her to shut the fuck up. Sometimes he tells her she’s stupid for touching his stuff. Sometimes he tells her she’s stupid for cleaning a certain way and that no one else cleans that way in the entire world. THE ENTIRE WORLD DOES IT BETTER THAN SHE DOES. If she would just LISTEN TO HIM THEN THINGS WOULD BE BETTER, but NO, SHE’S GOT TO BE FUCKING SELFISH, and WHY DOES SHE MAKE IT SO HARD ON HIM? She’s so self-centered!
This went on for eight and a half hours Saturday night. The only break was when they had visitors at around 7 pm to sing one of them – I think the husband – happy birthday. Just a half hour beforehand there was sobbing, so someone had to get cleaned up before the friends came over. Then when the visitors left, there was a huge, audible sigh, and the fighting resumed.
Is this what my next-door neighbor really believes is the norm? Is this really what is healthy in her eyes?
It doesn’t feel good to me. It makes my skin crawl. Specifically, it affects me because I have been in it before. The worst was Drummer #2, the guy who would write me hate letters in dry erase marker on the kitchen tile counter overnight and cover the entire counter and I would wake up to chaos. Our fights would last hours and days, and the scripts were the same: he couldn’t talk about his feelings (while screaming at me), if I would only do things his way then he wouldn’t get pissed off at me (but the rules were always changing), and by the way, why was I so selfish?
But I didn’t learn my lesson with him. The most recent live-in boyfriend that I had turned violent after we moved in together. He became very unhappy after realizing that I wouldn’t be able to wait on him hand and foot because I’d be recovering from one of my many surgeries, and it really pissed him off that I made twice as much money as him. He shoved me three weeks after one of my surgeries. I broke up with him five months after we moved in together, but I still kick myself for even letting it go that long.
Eve Ensler, the creator of “The Vagina Monologues,” came up with a brilliant movement: V-Day. On Valentine’s Day, it’s important to remember that it’s not always roses and chocolates – sometimes it’s booze and bruises, or worse.
http://www.vday.org/homepage.html
And of course a block down the road from us in St. Paul is the oldest women’s shelter in the U.S.
But even though we have these wonderful resources, and we have the women’s march in D.C. and around the globe, and we can say “pussy” and “vagina” without raising an eyebrow, there is still such a huge disconnect.
Why is my neighbor so flip about “stuff” happening in relationships? Is she just so fucking grateful that it’s all about pleasing the guy? And is her assumption that I’ve never been in a relationship so I don’t have a clue? Oh, honey, let me direct you to my blog…
But I feel like it is such a never-ending battle, for me, and for all women, to be considered equal and to not be slut shamed or used as punching bags, and to make sure we are not buying into some patriarchal and misogynistic vomit.
The Ballad of the Broken Neighbors
“FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! FUCK YOU!”
It first came on Sunday night, a man’s voice, from the direction of my windows to my right. I had my ear buds in and had been laying in bed, watching movies, as usual. My first thought was that a guy was watching a sporting event and was just generally being a dick and being really passionate about a goal that was scored.
But then I heard a much softer female tone answer. I could tell she was in tears but I couldn’t make out what she said. Then he again exploded: “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Then he punched something, hard, multiple times. It may have been the wall, or it may have been a piece of furniture, but I don’t think it was her. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I got out of bed. This building is old, built somewhere around 1910, and the floors are the original wood. They creak with every step I take no matter how quiet I try to be.
I went to the kitchen, and it seemed to be slightly louder. I could hear them both. I have a very tiny apartment, only 360 square feet, and much of the wall space is covered with art, so it was really difficult for me to find any blank wall to put my ear to. By the time I did, they had stopped. I hovered for a while but everything stayed quiet. I slowly walked back to bed, wondering if they were truly done.
At around 12:30 a.m., there was another outburst. “FUCK! FUCK YOU! STOP IT! JUST STOP IT! JUST SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!” More crying from her, and words, but I still couldn’t hear what she was saying. I got up and they stopped. I got into bed again and wondered when they moved in, because I hadn’t heard anything like it before from that space below me.
At around 9:00 the next morning, the yelling started again. I got out of bed and laid down on my floor so I could put my ear to the floor boards. I could hear them walking around, I could hear the air moving between their bodies and their ceiling/my floor, I could even hear them making holes somewhere close to me – maybe to hang electronics, or pictures? I felt like I was in a movie, where the cinematographer shows how close one character is to the other, and all that is separating them is one flimsy piece of board. I wondered if they could hear me breathing. I tried to hold my breath.
I heard him say, “Why do you always fucking do this?!” and I know that she answered because I heard her voice, but it was still too quiet and tearful to make out the words. Then it was silent except for their bodies moving, and the periodic pounding into the plaster. After about 15 minutes I got up from my place on the floor because it was becoming far too painful to maintain, and I started getting ready for my caseworker to visit. As soon as I did, the yelling started again.
When my caseworker arrived at around 1:30 p.m., I warned her that the couple in the apartment below mine had been fighting, and she would likely hear it. About three minutes later, we heard the guy again, just as loudly as all of his other rants. He never seemed to tire. I imagined that the woman was exhausted.
His rage continued for a total of 15 hours on Monday. He hit something again too. I still don’t think it was her, but it set me on edge. The last screaming rant was around 12:30 a.m. again; I had my ear buds in watching my final movie of the night trying to get tired enough to sleep and his screaming penetrated the ear buds.
For the next two days, Tuesday and Wednesday, he had screaming fits again, but not for the 15 hours that he did on Monday. On Wednesday I typed up a text to forward to the property manager but at the last second deleted it. Then an hour later, a notice was slipped under my door saying that we were getting completely new apartment managers (our 7th and 8th in a year and a half), and to be patient during the transition. That’s why my instincts wouldn’t allow me to text the now-fired old manager!
Today at lunch I took a chance and stopped by the office, which is located directly across from the new tenants’ apartment. I pulled the door shut, introduced myself, and told the new managers that I heard abusive behavior from the male tenant of the two. The new managers said that maybe the guy was just watching a game or playing XBox. I said that was bullshit, and that the woman had been crying. Then one of the managers said that yes, she had seen the woman crying. Then they said they didn’t see any marks on the woman’s face. I told them that didn’t mean anything, and by the way, women don’t cry over scores that men get while playing XBox. They said that I could always call the cops if I needed to. I am fine with that – and I will, do not doubt that – but here’s my problem: I have to actually do things to get ready to get to the front door to let the cops in that people who are able-bodied don’t think twice about. We have a secured front door without an intercom. Plus I am the only apartment within close proximity of the asshole, they don’t touch walls with anyone else (even though my next door neighbor heard him shout once), so when I report him, he’s going to come after me.
The new managers assured me they would talk to the new tenants. I went back to my apartment and laid down, and then someone started banging on my door and buzzing the ancient doorbell. I had to say “Just a minute!” more than a few times to get them to stop. After putting my wig back on, I opened the door to discover one of the managers there; she apologized and said she should have called instead of knocked, but then said that the woman said the man was playing with his XBox. I told the manager that that was absolute bullshit. The manager said that if I felt like the new neighbor was disturbing the peace, I was certainly welcome to call the cops, but she had to accept what the woman told her. I asked her if the woman came up with the XBox explanation on her own, or if the manager gave her that option as a possible “out,” and she couldn’t tell me.
So at this point, it’s me against the neighbors. Why do women stay? They just want the abuse to stop. They want their men to value them and to see how much they love them. They want their love to be enough to fix them. They don’t want to get their men in trouble. They need their men for financial support. I run the risk of both of them turning against me when I pick up the phone.
You had better believe I’m going to call it in.
Dude, You’re Stepping On My Personal Space
I wrote this article for Patient Worthy on February 14th; since that day I got daily (sometimes twice daily) texts from this guy saying, “Good morning cutie” or “sweet dreams cutie.” The most recent ones – because he still won’t stop – say “Just got to my hotel” and “How are you?” For the life of me, I can’t figure out why he would bait me with the hotel remark because that one really came out of the blue. I haven’t traded texts with him since February 10th. Was the hotel text his clumsy attempt at a booty call? Or was it not intended for me, and instead should have gone to whomever was playing the part of his dirty little secret?
Dude, just…stop.
Super Bowl Sunday will feature another powerful anti-domestic violence PSA
Domestic violence happens in all financial demographics from the poorest of the poor to the richest of the rich. Domestic violence is a part of the lives of the football players and their domestic partners, first because they take their violent sport home with them, and second because they have repeated blows to their head that cause permanent damage (CTE – chronic traumatic encephalopathy). When you watch the Superbowl, just keep in mind that a portion of those players are going to go home and punch, kick, strangle and humiliate their partners while you eat chips and talk game highlights and best commercials.
Source: Super Bowl Sunday will feature another powerful anti-domestic violence PSA
Seek And Ye Shall Find
Yesterday didn’t strike me as being especially significant. It wasn’t a holiday and my rare disease wasn’t cured, so…
Okay, first of all, I’m paying more attention to the things that bring people to this little blog – and I do mean little. Six months ago I was lucky to get three visitors in a single day. Now my number of visitors is increasing because of the ways that I am networking with other bloggers and the content that I am including.
Nothing could prepare me for some of the search terms indicated by the program, though. (You’re welcome.)
*where does horny women hang in nashville
*fragile handle with care advertise porn
*pantyhose kik names
*stocking fetish social sites in India
Congratulations, and let your freak flag fly. There’s no way for me to identify the people making these searches. I have to point out, though – no one searched for hot, bald, unmarried women?? I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve been proposed to by a total stranger. I hope that issue remedies itself shortly.
In the evening yesterday I took the short bus to a guided meditation session held in a health crisis center. I wasn’t sure how it would go because I tend to just kind of throw my hands up in the air and then rush onto the next thing, whatever that is, to keep my brain stimulated because I get bored easily. During the actual meditation, which really only lasted about 20 minutes, I had to fight against dozing off twice, and luckily I didn’t snore or accidentally pas gas.
Twice I saw an orb rise out of a pool. I only “saw” it to the left of my left eye. I told some of the attendees during our recap about my experience and let them know that their vibes had a specific effect on me. One woman asked me if I had always been able to read strangers’ energy. I have, but I have never really put effort into following through on what I read; usually I push it away or ignore it, which is actually very destructive because then everything gets a free pass into my life and I end up hip deep in crap.
Whatever happened, the universe made a connection appear for me. My short bus driver made a stop after mine to pick up a lady in a wheelchair. She greeted me when she was lifted into the van, and immediately we started chatting. I asked her if she had just come from a dance performance because the building she had come out of was a theater specifically set up for that purpose. The answer was no, in fact; she was on the board for VSA Minnesota, the “state organization on arts and disability” (I got that from the website).
I told her a bit about my arts background as well as what I’m doing now (which is admittedly very little because my days are consumed by endless doctor appointments), and she gave me three organizations to get involved with besides her own to network, meet new people, be creative, and maybe even apply for a grant in my area of interest.
To the casual observer, this may not seem to be a big deal. It just drove home to me the fact that this state is so much more inclusive than where I moved from. I never, ever would have had so many resources to access for my particular physical challenges if I would have stayed in Arizona. I wouldn’t have been able to even ride the short bus because of their strict rules regarding who should be allowed to ride.
Really, meeting and speaking to that woman last night helped to open my eyes to the fact that even though I’ve got these major problems, I might actually be able to find a group of people who can see art where others may only see injury and illness. I am still working on retraining my brain to accept this as my new reality because the doctors have refused to keep operating on me. I still really miss driving my car while harmonizing at the top of my lungs.
Chelsea Handler Is My Soul Mate
I just finished watching season 1, episode 1 of the series “Chelsea Does” titled “Chelsea Does Marriage.”
Okay, there are a few ways in which we are not so similar. First, she’s a well-known star. Me, I’m lucky if my sister’s dogs remember me. Second, she can drink like a fish. I can’t because I have all of these crazy diseases (but just for the record, Chelsea, in my 20s and early 30s, I could have kept up swimmingly). Third, she’s not a fan of “fatties.” Since I’m stuck in bed, I’m the opposite of skinny, and I am severely limited on physical activity.
But here is how we are so similar: First, we share the same first name (and it’s spelled correctly). Second, we are very close in age; I’m actually 9 months older than her. Third, we both are very outspoken. Fourth, our father figures have told us and the men we have dated – if we like the men enough to bring them around, which rarely happens – that we are very strong women, and require a strong man.
Getting into the particulars, Chelsea and I feel the same way about the wedding dress, the wedding ceremony, and what comes before and after the big day – we just don’t get it. I never imagined a wedding day or what I would wear as a dress or even what it would be like to want to be hitched to someone for the rest of my life. I was lucky enough to be asked to be a part of the wedding party when two good friends got married, but it was very non-traditional. She wore a black dress, we went shopping for her black knee-high boots, and her wedding march music included “Flash’s Theme” by Queen. He wore a nice button-down shirt and even got a haircut for the big day. I think how my friends treated their special day was about the same level as I would want mine.
Chelsea and I have done a lot of dating and have had a lot of sex. In fact, I felt a little sorry for her because by my calculations of when the show was being taped, I was actually getting more ass than she was. That just goes to show that men have no standards – I mean, c’mon, I’m a bald woman who is confined to bed for about 22 of every 24 hours, and guys still wanna slip me the mickey.
But we’re kind of getting to the point in our lives (and Jesus H., don’t say it’s because we’ve hit 40) that we want to see how different our lives would be if we actually had someone in our corner. And we also want to be the type of people to say, “Yes, I love ______ deeply and he is my best friend.” We need strong men who aren’t going to act all butt hurt about everything that makes us us. We don’t want to be life coaches. We want men to be comfortable in their own skin and to look around and say, “Oh, I’m going to take care of this” instead of us having to beg, plead and bully someone to put on his big boy pants and do it, and do it right the first time.
Chelsea, I totally get it on Eric Bana. He is very masculine and he loves his wife deeply, and he doesn’t let anyone cross the line or share that space he saves for his wife. I think that when spouses are that loving, we see a certain relaxation in their faces. I’m not saying that I imagine their lives are perfect or they have no struggles. I’m saying that they know that if shit goes down, they have this life partner who is going to go through the shit with them instead of making a run for the life boats. Ultimately, we want someone to have that same look with us, and we want to see it on our own faces for a change.
By contrast, we are turned off by men who are overeager. We smell insincerity as if it’s a noxious blend of Avon perfume and cigarettes. We know when men are rubbernecking to make sure there isn’t somebody better than us lurking around that they might rather hook up with, and we simply don’t have time for that. We also don’t deserve to be abandoned.
The love we give to the men who truly deserve it is hard-earned. Chelsea and I have sharp tongues and a very thin filter. Fellow humans give us our best material, so men, if you fail us, your fall will be very painful. If you live up to the task, it will be like seeing the sun for the first time.
I don’t know about Chelsea, but I’m still taking applications.
Lastly, <sigh>, here is an article where the reporter tried to put Chelsea in a box. “Is this reality television or a documentary?” I would choose neither. Just let it be.
http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/01/chelsea-does-netflix-review/426951/
The Sick and the Dating 