Almost every woman you know…

…has a story of sexual assault. Some of us have several stories.

The first time I can remember it happening I was probably about eight years old. I was riding my bicycle home on a sunny afternoon in a calm Los Angeles suburb. A man walking in the opposite direction waved at me, indicating he wanted to talk to me. I slowed down and stopped obligingly, and he asked me if I knew where a certain street was. I started to tell him that yes I did know where that was, but as soon as I started describing the way, he walked closer to me and shoved his hand down the front of my shirt. He felt up my bare chest for a few seconds, then pulled his hand out, and walked away, giving me a self-satisfied smirk that told me that he had just done this thing to me and there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t speak or scream or react at all. Mortified and ashamed don’t really describe what I was feeling. I felt violated. Completely and totally violated. I’d never been touched that way by anyone before. But at eight years old I didn’t know how to process those feelings. I rode the rest of the way home, turned on the TV and watched cartoons. I tried to block out what just happened. I tried not to see his face. I was determined that I would not cry because I didn’t want anything to seem out of the ordinary.

I never told anyone or spoke about it until recently, when I told my husband. This was my introduction to sexual assault. I was eight years old and it happened in broad daylight. Other things have happened to me since then that make this first incident seem pretty mild by comparison. It had long since been buried and forgotten.

Then Donald Trump’s “grab’em by the pussy” scandal hit the news. That’s when women started sharing their stories of sexual assault, about how powerless and violated and weak it made them feel. It’s the guilt and shame that makes us never want to report it or talk about it. We know that we will be told that we must have wanted it if we made no effort to fight them off.

As for that, I can tell you that when it’s happening to you, these are the thoughts going to through your mind:

Oh god, this is really happening to me.
Please, please, don’t hurt me.
Please don’t kill me.
Please just let it be over soon.
Please don’t kill me.
Please just go away when you’re finished and leave me alone.
Please don’t kill me.

You’re not thinking about fighting back. You’re just hoping it will be over soon and that he won’t hurt you or kill you when he’s done.

To men like Donald Trump, woman are not thinking and feeling human beings. We are nothing more than play things to use and abuse whenever he feels like it, and then discard when he tires of us. We’re not really people and therefore we don’t need to give consent. Merely being in his presence is consent enough. After all, if we didn’t want to be grabbed, we shouldn’t have been within grabbing distance. The onus is always on the woman to not allow herself to assaulted or raped. Men like Donald Trump say they are unable to control themselves. She was drunk. She was wearing a short skirt. She was there. They see a pretty thing and they just act, and they know that most of the time they will get away with it.

This is not an indictment of all men. Far from it. There are so many wonderful, strong, loving, caring, supportive men out there. Men like my husband. This is about the pussy-grabbing, cat-calling, child-molesting monsters out there. A man-like creature who has the pretensions to the office of POTUS is one of them, and that must not be allowed to happen.

Tim on Tim…

…and The Replacements.

I love politics.  I love music.  This is not a secret.

Imagine my splodey-hearted-and-headed joy when I read that Tim Kaine loves The Replacements.  Imagine my bliss when he quotes “Bastards of The Young.”  Imagine my being unable to function for the rest of the day as I sit at my laptop and draw hearts in the air with one of my eight legs while dreaming of the potential Vice President and Paul Westerberg.  Together.  With Tim playing in the background.  All of the Tims.  All of the time.

There has been nothing redeemable about this shitshow of an election cycle.  My child cannot watch the debates, let alone the news, with me.  I have been called a Skype and an Oven Dodger.  We have heard “Grab ’em by the pussy” for the first time and it’s not Mrs. Slocombe doing the talking.  For someone who finds political theatrics intoxicating, this election has been the equivalent of drinking too much grain punch from a frat house garbage can and puking down the front of your shirt in front of the really adorable guy you had been trying to get with the entire time you were in school; a messy, public humiliation that everyone is talking about.

Until now.  Until Tim Kaine saved the day and restored hope to this bleak hellscape by speaking of the underrated brilliance of The ‘Mats.

Once I’m done coloring in my hearts, I’ll cross my eight legs and hope for a Hillary/Tim victory.  Not just to restore sanity to this frothy cauldron of doom, stupidity and hatred this country has become.  No.  But for an inaugural ball befitting a modern era and featuring The Replacements as they should be – loud and drunk.

The Wisdom of the Swedes: Too much patriotism is a very bad thing

Perspective.
I has it.

It’s what most Americans don’t have. At least those who haven’t lived abroad for an extended period of time. They are, for the most part, totally unaware of how they and their country are viewed by other countries. As an American living outside of the United States I have the uncommon perspective of viewing my country from the outside, and I can tell you, at the moment it ain’t very pretty.

What I can tell you is that most of the people I know love the idea of America and the people of America. They think it’s fascinating that I come from there, and choose to live here. For the record, here is Sweden. This is a country that thinks so little of itself they can’t comprehend why anyone would want to come here to live indefinitely and deliberately. At the same time, they are so elitist, they make American exceptionalism look like nothing. They honestly believe they are the best at everything, but unlike Americans, they’d never dream of boasting about their superiority. That would be very un-Swedish. Instead they are casually patronizing about it in an, “Oh, you poor thing.” kind of way. Americans adore their flag and display it proudly everywhere and on everything for any reason or no reason at all. Swedes love their flag as well, so much so that they only bring it out for special occasions: National Day (kind of like Swedish Fourth of July), Mid-Summer (the most important Swedish holiday of the year), graduations and weddings. However, it’s considered very un-Swedish to display the flag for no reason other than, like their American cousins, pure patriotism. The Swedes believe without a doubt that they better than everyone else, but they have an uneasy relationship with patriotism. They keep outward displays of patriotism in check because it’s considered to be a sort of gateway drug to a fascist authoritarian regime ala Adolph Hitler.

Ergo: Swedish flag -> Patriotism -> Nationalism -> National Socialism -> Hitler-like demagogue seizing power/World War III/collapse of civilization/nuclear annihilation/return to a stone-age like existence.

Maybe the Swedes are onto something here. Maybe too much patriotism can be a bad thing. A very bad thing. It’s okay to know that you’re number one but don’t shout about it. Don’t shove it in people’s faces. Don’t threaten with bodily harm and/or death, those who disagree with you or who would rather not participate in your patriotic display. Too much patriotism riles people up and turns them into a mob. A mob with a funny-looking man gesticulating behind a podium and telling it that everything is going to hell, and it’s all the fault of the Jews/Mexicans/Muslims/Gays, and only he can fix things and make everything great again. Yes, great again, because obviously things were fantastic before Those People came along, and they can be Great Again if they all just went away, if they build a wall to keep them out, exclude them from entering the country, or if they’re already citizens and cannot be deported or excluded, put them in camps to keep Us safe from Them.

And the mob believes the funny-looking man. It responds to him and wonders why it never saw this before. Their Muslim neighbor was always friendly before but now that they think about it, there was always something Not Great about him. He’s probably building a bomb in his basement. And their Mexican co-worker is obviously a car thief, or a drug dealer or a pimp. They are no longer friendly neighbors or co-workers. They are dangerous infiltrators trying to undermine our freedom and our democracy.

However, the thing about the authoritarian figurehead and its mob is that they depend on one another. One cannot exist without the other. As soon as that strong authoritarian figure disappears, the mob evaporates. It turns into individuals who suddenly blink back into existence and ask themselves what the hell just happened. One thing that I’ve read a lot lately is that even if Donald Trump loses the upcoming election, that his supporters will still be out there and the thought of that scares the shit out of people. But without Donald Trump, the “Make America Great Again” movement will eventually quiet down and become only a whisper. I doubt he will have the stamina to continue his rallies after the election. And he’s not getting any younger. By the next election, he will be seventy-four years old. Will be run again? Or will he wait until 2024, when he’s 78? At that point, I doubt he would have the strength to make the effort.

After this election Donald Trump should just retire, secure in the knowledge that he came this close to Making America Great Again by leading the entire country over a cliff. But, it wasn’t meant to be. We like our country just the way it is, okay? We have no inclination for the kind of greatness that consists in persecuting and excluding anyone who is not a wealthy heterosexual white Christian male. Thanks anyway.

TRUMP – The Trilogy

There once was a man name of Trump,
Skin painted orange with a pump,
He fed off people’s fears,
And there ‘twixt his ears,
Was really no more than a lump.

 

There once was a man with the tiniest hands,
He quite hated people that came from foreign lands,
He said he’d build a wall, and he’d issue commands,
All the dumb things he said were deflected,
He had so much hate he couldn’t control it,
If you showed him a tweet, well he’d try to troll it,
He sure wasn’t bright, in fact quite a slow wit,
And his mouth and his brain weren’t connected!

 

Trump is a man who is clearly insane,
It seems he has breasts on his small tiny brain,
He dreams of taking each small tiny hand,
And meeting a woman with great tracts of land,
And titty titty titty titty titty.

STEP BACK DONALD

​Dear Donald:

There is a graceful way out. 

You simply address the Anerican public, and tell them that after running the campaign thus far, you realize this is not the job for you.

You love your country, and hoped to serve it, but this is not your strength.

You resign now, to allow someone else time to step in. People will accept that, and appreciate it, because it’s the responsible and adult thing to do. People will thank you. 
You can then go back to your forté and make a reality show about running for President with all the footage you have. It is most likely already underway. 
Trust me on this one, big small-hand guy. Step back now, you will be a hero, be loved, and your merchandise will be worth a fortune. 

You’ve made a difference, and given us lots to think about in regard to the voting system. 

Now step back. Most of the free world will thank you.

Ken Donner

Step Back Campaign

Hillary Clinton…

…and smashing the glass ceiling.

Milkface, being born in 2009, does not understand the significance of Barack Obama’s presidency. In his frame of reference, a person of color could always be president, should always be able to be president. As of tonight, we can add women to the talent pool. Milkface, his friends and many children will be blissfully unaware of the significance of tonight’s event, too.

Regardless of one’s feelings for Hillary Clinton, tonight we should celebrate an event I honestly believed I would never see. And when the celebration is over, we need to resume the hard work of advocating and supporting those who remain unrecognized and overlooked. Our nation has come so far but has much further to go.

I look at Milkface’s friends, my friends’ children, random children and want them to live in a world where opportunities are not limited by gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, economics and geography. The notion “It was that way when I was a kid and I turned out fine” must be rejected.

I’m not saying this as a mother. I’m not saying this as a professional woman who has been sexually harassed at work, paid less than a male peer, denied a job because I was “at the age most girls have children” or invited to make someone a sandwich. I’m not saying this as a woman who has been the victim of sexual assault.

I’m saying this as a human being who happens to be a woman, who recognizes that a single hole in a glass ceiling doesn’t automatically mean there is a ladder for the rest of us to climb. We, still, have to build the ladder.

Tonight, we celebrate.  Tomorrow, we get back to work.

Munich…

…and jumping to conclusions.

Why wait for the facts when it's easier to act like a total asshole?

Why wait for the facts when it’s easier to act like a total asshole?

Completely emotionally drained from yesterday’s bullshit, I went to bed early.  Early enough that I didn’t stay glued to the news as I usually do when stories such as these break.

This morning, I woke up and did my usual routine of coffee grab, dog duty, breakfast for the Milkface and checking Facebook for birthday reminders.  I was distracted by two things at the top of my feed:  an article from The Local – Germany and a rambling verbal tantrum about Obama’s failure to protect German citizens from Muslims who want to see the world burn.  It came as no surprise that an American would ignore basic facts and twist a story to suit a political narrative:  Obama is the problem, our foreign policy is weak, we are soft on terror, we enable terrorism by allowing immigrants entry into our country.

The tragedy in Munich is not an IS related incident.  The tragedy in Munich was committed by a man called Ali Sonboly who was born and raised in Munich.  He has no ties to IS.  Per reports, Sonboly was obsessed with mass killers and inspired by Anders Breivik.

For those who do not remember Anders Breivik, he is the far-right extremist who shot up a summer camp on Utøya in Norway in July 2011.  Breivik had written a manifesto of explaining his ideology and his desire to to deport all Muslims from Europe.  In short, he’s a racial purist. Utøya was carried out as a means to draw attention to his manifesto.

This morning, there are people who are inferring that the atrocity in Munich is related to the nightmares in Nice, Paris and Istanbul.  This line of thinking needs to stop immediately.  We must understand the difference between Utøya and Munich and Nice, Paris and Istanbul.  Utøya and Munich were perpetrated by members of the far-right who want Muslims, non-whites and immigrants out of their country.

Not unlike many people who are currently supporting Donald Trump’s “platform.”

Obama is not the problem.  Muslims are not the problem.  Hispanics are not the problem.  Immigrants are not the problem.  The problem is with people who are reluctant to embrace change, accept those who are different (from them) and perpetuate hate because they are unabashedly ignorant.  The problem is with those who live in a fear of losing control and no longer being a majority.  The problem is with those who actually believe that being white and Christian means that they are better than those who are not.

BREXIT BLUES

(Borrowing from Van Morrison, with good intention)

Baby Please Don’t Go
Baby, please don’t go
Baby, please don’t go, off the EU scene,
You know I love you so,
Britain please don’t go,

Baby, your mind done gone
Well, your mind done gone
You could lose the farm
With your Brexit song,
Baby, please don’t go

Before I be your dog
Before I be your dog
Before I be your dog
Just let me make it clear,
Ya’ll are not alone,
Britain, please don’t go
Hey

Baby, please don’t go
Baby, please don’t go
Baby, please don’t go, off the EU scene,
You know I love you so,
Britain please don’t go,

Before I be your dog
Before I be your dog
Before I be your dog
Just let me make it clear,
Ya’ll are not alone,
Britain, please don’t go
Hey

The referendum blues,
The referendum blues,
If the Brexit win the country gonna lose,
Say it once again,
Ya’ll be leaving on that midnight train
And I’m cryin’

Baby, please don’t go
Baby, please don’t go
Baby, please don’t go, off the EU scene,
You know I love you so,
Britain please don’t go,
Baby, please don’t go
Let’s go

MOAR GUNZ!!!

WE WANT MOAR GUNZ!!!
WE NEED MOAR GUNZ!!!
FUCK YOUR STUPID
REGULASHUNZ!
SHOVE THEM WHERE
THERE IS NO SUNZ!
MOAR GUNZ! FOR ALL
THE THIEVES
AND RAPISTS
MOAR GUNZ! FOR ALL
POTENTIAL TERRORISTS
MOAR GUNZ! FOR ALL
THE KILLERS TOO
MOAR GUNZ! FOR ME
MOAR GUNZ! FOR YOU
MORE GUNS!
IZ FUNZ
FOR EVERYONEZ!

Everybody Has To Pee, Sometime

(to the tune of Everbody Loves Somebody, Sometime. Sing it Dino!)
Everbody needs to pee,
Sometime,
No one’s in a place to disagree,
Be it him, her, you or me,
We all need a place to pee,
That’s not dependent on gender,
Or sexuality,
If you can’t see we all need to pee,
Sometime,
Then you are simply not a friend of mine,
Although it may sound trite,
Passing water is a right,
There’s no moral ground for you to take,
Not this time,
Because everybody’s got to pee,
Sometime.