VWW- Compliments

Part of the backlash of the Brock Turner rape case was responses from men declaring they won’t commit rape. Thanks guys, but that is about as useful as me saying I won’t levitate since I had no intentions to do so in the first place. Then there are the blogs and comments about the good men attempting to enlighten the not good men about the realities on everyday sexism. I applaud your efforts, but that is a brick wall you are talking to. Besides, you are going about it all wrong.

One of the commonly used arguments for harassing women is that the perpetrator is only trying to give a woman a compliment. I have seen many content pieces where these good men are stating that they don’t want to compliment anyone anymore because women have so many men approach them and behave rudely. That banner is being taken up by the not good men as a claim of victimization. “Oh, now we can’t even compliment a woman anymore?” Read that with the correct tone of whining, disbelief, and hyperbole. You know the one.

I would like to point out that the issue isn’t that women don’t like getting compliments, but rather how too many people have forgotten what a compliment is. So we are all on the same page, Webster’s definition of the word Compliment is as follows:

  • an expression of esteem, respect, affection, or admiration; especially :  an admiring remark
  • formal and respectful recognition :  honor

Looking at that we can derive that the not good men that catcall and harass women under the guise of compliment have the admiration part down. Usually for a body part that is sexualized. They have seemed to ignore the part about esteem, respect, and honor. If you wouldn’t walk into a family gathering and tell grandma she has “a nice ass, no wonder grandpa wanted to tap that shit. But bitch, you should smile more,” then you probably don’t want to say that to a stranger. Note the part of the definition that states a compliment is formal and respectful. It’s important.

Want to know how to give a good complement? Watch how women compliment each other. Example:

Hey, that is a great top. I just love the color.

Oh, thank you. It’s new.

It’s very flattering. And it looks really comfortable.

Yes, it is. The material isn’t clingy at all.

Well, it looks great!

Thank you.

Have a nice day

You do the same.

Take a moment to compare that to the following:

Hi baby, how you doing today?

I’m fine

You need to smile more honey, you look so much nicer when you smile.


Don’t you want to give me a smile?

Silence and looking away

Bitch, don’t let it go to your head. You’re not that hot. You should be grateful I gave you a compliment.

Can we see the difference here? OK, I know you are thinking that is fairly extreme. You would be incorrect, but let’s examine the two scenarios.

The first one focused on an object, the wearer’s top. There was an expression that identified an admiration for it and why, the color. It was met favorably so then the conversation continued to point out other positive attributes of the item. Notice they were still talking about the top. The top looked flattering, not that it flattered any specific part of the wearer’s anatomy. Then the compliment was stated again and they wished each other well and went about their individual business.

Notice that there was no implied quid pro quo in that dialog. It was positive comment given with the intent of making the other party feel nice. The giver got nothing in return. It was polite, respectful, and there were no strings attached.

Now the second example started off with diminutive pet names that should only be used by people who have a certain level of familiarity. Right off the bat that will put someone on the defensive. Then there was a command issues. You need to smile more. This was then met with refusal to acknowledge. The command was then changed to a pleading request and a second rejection. This was then met with hostility. The entire exchange was a type of gas lighting designed to get something for the person giving the compliment as opposed to showing respect or admiration for the person receiving the compliment.

Still confused? OK, there are many subtle clues you can look for to see if your compliment is being well received or crossing over into harassment territory. Did the person answer you with a pleasant and friendly tone? If so then you can proceed. If not, perhaps your opening should be more general and to the point. For example, I like your sunglasses. Are they not responding and/or looking away? Do they have a strange expression on their face? Are they turning their body away from you or trying to create space? Are their eyes moving quickly around the room as if they are attempting to determine the fastest exit plan? Answering No to all of these means you are doing it correctly. Answering yes means you fucked up.

And should you respond with venom when you have crossed over into the creepy guy zone? No. You should acknowledge that you have made them uncomfortable. An example “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you, my apologies.” That’s it. That’s the end. Don’t try to justify or clarify. You’re sorry and you will now demonstrate that respect by silently moving on with your life and no longer bothering the other person.



If You Voted for Trump

“Can’t we all get along,” “It’s time to heal,” and “You’re being intolerant.” I am sick of it. So let me set the record straight. Yes, I am intolerant of the intolerant people and no, I won’t apologize for it. Now let me tell you why.

Because of the photos attached below, only two days after the election. The president elect has not even been sworn in and the social order is falling apart. Because the people perpetrating these activities are not looking for justice, they are not trying to get their place at the table. No, it is because these are the people that have taken control of the table and excluded everyone else for centuries. They are angry that someone different is demanding their rightful place among them. They don’t want everyone to live together under the same rule of law. They only want people who look and think like them to have rights.




Durham 11/10/2016


I am standing up and declaring firmly that I am against white male privilege. I am against returning to a colonization mindset. I am against forcing anyone or anything deemed “other” as inferior. And I am turning the buzz words back to the privileged white people who are expressing such vitriol at anyone who doesn’t look like them “Why can’t we all get along?”

I blame you. I blame your arrogance, your ignorance, your unwillingness to bend, your hypocrisy, and your blindness to the power you wield simply by the random chance of being born with less melanin than other people. I say this as a white person. I see how you behave and you embarrass me. I am not one of you. I stand apart from you. I stand with all the thing you try to destroy with your fear and hate. Yes, I am against white privilege. No, you don’t speak from me. No, I will never unify with you until you learn tolerance.

Soon you will look around and realize that together the “minorities” outnumber you. Soon you will have to face your fear of losing you position at the top of the social strata. Because no longer do those you hate stand in the shadows, marginalized and victimized. Your actions have brought us all together. We disagree so strongly that we, the “others,” have put aside petty differences that were dividers only a week ago and united in one cause. That cause is to stop you, privileged white people. To stop your hate and violence. The sleeping lion has been awakened and it is angry. It is angry, it is educated, it is informed and it has powers you have not even dreamed of. It is time to heal. And sometimes the only way to heal a wound is to cut out the disease.

Don’t You Want To Look Good For Me?

Not particularly, no. And let me tell you why!

1- That statement implies that you don’t think I look good currently. So why are you here?

2- I don’t owe you attractive. No matter what the movies, television, books, magazines, and media try to sell. You are not entitled to attractive arm candy just for existing. No one is!

3-That statement implies that the only way you could be pleased with my appearance is if I change it. I don’t care if you are talking about clothes, high heels, hair, or makeup. If I am not living my authentic self then I am hiding behind a mask. So you are saying I am only acceptable with a bag over my head? Please find the door.

4- How selfish can you be? Listen cupcake, it’s not about you and your happiness. I am not responsible for that.

I bring this up because the New Year is approaching. And with it the resolutions. Millions of us will decide we need to join a gym. Very few of us will go.  If you want to exercise more because it’s better for your health, go do it. If you want to lose those cookies and eggnog that have taken up residence on your derrière, go for it.

But if your motivation is for anyone other than you, what is the point?

Not Today

Today isn’t going well. Sure on the exterior is look s fine. I’m dressed and at least minimally presentable as a professional adult. I showed up on time, or at least close to it, I have my work, I am pretending to perform my work (I’m really writing this).

Under the surface I have a dull and muted sense of defeat. Where it came from I have no idea.  It’s one of those days were all the small and insignificant things go wrong one after the other. I forgot to make lunch, I’m out of cat food, the button on my last pair of clean pants is missing, I have no matching socks, the kitten chewed the cord on my straightening iron, I’m out of gas, I can’t find my wallet in my bag, my tires are low on air. Fuck it! I just want to drive to work.

I would really like to crawl back into bed pull the covers over my head and sleep for a few more hours. But that isn’t going to happen, so I’ll settle for driving. Just drive. But what should have been simple turned into a 40 minute delay. Damn it!

So now I’m at my desk, I’ve had my coffee, I participated in a conference call, I was pleasant but for the most part silent. My give a shit has broken down. You are out of supplies? I don’t care. You are missing paperwork? I don’t care. Do I have anything? Yes I do and I need it by next Monday. The answer? OK, I’ll get you something. I want to scream that a vague reply of “something” simply won’t suffice and I need details, but I don’t care.

I’m hungry and have access to food. Food I usually enjoy, but I don’t want to eat. I’m just not interested. It would take too much effort. And what’s the point? In a few hours I’ll just be hungry again. Might as well wait a few hours and see if food is more appealing then. I can’t even muster the motivation to reflect upon why I don’t care. I don’t care enough to warrant the effort.  

Today I am a pile of flesh taking up space and wasting precious time. Perhaps I will look back and be angry of all the increments of time that passed, moments of limitless opportunity that I squandered. I probably will, but not today.




usually obscene: copulate

usually vulgar: mess- used with “with”



This is one of my favorite words. It conveys so much information depending on tone and inflection. You can be happy as fuck, mad as fuck, or so fucking depressed. You can tell people to get fucked, fuck themselves, or just fuck off. I won’t expand more on that since every comedian since George Carlin has already done so.

But why is this word so offensive? And what makes one word more than another vulgar? Who decides? It’s certainly not by democratic vote. Wikipedia had some insight but still left many questions. All I learned is that profanity is always changing with the lexicon. Perhaps, in time, some word will replace fuck as the top of the expletive food chain. In the mean time, fuck reigns supreme.

So get out there and fucking tell everyone how fuck is a legitimate word. It’s in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. And if it’s a legitimate word then there must be a proper use for said word. Fuckin’ A!

Personality Traits


There are three dominant personality traits that run throughout my family. Each person has two. They have other traits of course because otherwise we would be incredibly flat and boring. The three traits are as follows:

  1. Misanthropic hermit
  2. Insatiable wanderlust
  3. Conformist control freaks

My dad was a consummate traveler that loved culture and adventure, as long as there were no people. He wanted to explore everything without enduring a crowd. His sister has the wanderlust and the control issues. So she goes everywhere and tries to get everyone to do things her way. The resorts in exotic locations serve her well. My uncle is a hermit that…well I’m not really sure what else. He’s that good at being a hermit. He really embraced it. We haven’t seen him in thirty years. My aunt gets information about him, probably from his wife, that she doles out to us as she sees fit (control freak!).

I have the misanthropic hermit and the insatiable wander lust. Essentially I want to travel, explore, meet new people, and do new things unless I’m at home. Then I want you to leave me alone.

I was bitten by the travel bug early. My great-aunt was a retired school teacher. She loved to tell of her adventures. In a time when opportunities for women were limited this feisty lady rode a motorcycle to work and traveled the globe on summer break. She would take her students camping and they learned about nature and science. When I was in high school she bought a mini van, gathered up a few neighbors in her senior development and they drove to the Grand Canyon. She left a note for us on her kitchen table.

When I was in school she would pick me up early on a Saturday morning. I would get in the car and she would hand me the road atlas. Perhaps she had a plan, perhaps not. But we would explore. She never got on the highway but always took a back road. We would randomly turn down roads when she exclaimed something looked interesting. My job was to figure out where we were and how to get home.

I learned how to read a map, read road signs, do simple math to figure out if we needed gas or how mileage translated into time to the next rest stop. We picked blueberries, visited landmarks, discovered forgotten bits of history, chatted with strangers, got lost, and had some amazing adventures. She was trying to teach me reading, geography, math, and history. I learned to be fearless and open to possibilities.

My parents divorced when I was eight. By the time I was 10 my dad had gotten stationed out of the country. My first international flight was from JFK to Panama as an unaccompanied minor when I was 11. Dad never lived on base. He always took his housing allowance and lived off the local economy. He was big on immersing into the local culture. He didn’t participate in it because that would mean interacting with people, but he knew all the local shops and restaurants.

That’s where we ate. At some open air, concrete slab, iguanas on the wall type of place where they tried to make pizza and no one spoke English. He dragged me into the jungle to see churches that the conquistadors built and we stopped on the side of the road to research flora. One time we were driving along a dirt road in his Buick (because Dad had to have an American made land yacht!) and there was an animal in the road. We pulled up and stopped. He got out slowly, threw his sports coat over his head and shoulders and slid out of the car, camera in hand. This man proceeded to crawl slowly up to said animal trying to get a good photo of it. My step mother and I got out and walked up asking him what he thought he was doing. He said he didn’t want to frighten the animal. I said “Dad, it’s a sloth. It’s already running as fast as it can.”

Dad took me to see the canal and I endured an entire day of watching ships go through the locks while he droned on about the history and politics of the canal. This was the first inkling we both had that I was a bit different in my world view. It’s the height of the cold war and a Russian ship is going through the locks. Maybe it was because I was hot and bored. The process to get a ship through the canal is slow and mind numbing. You could let the crew off at one side and the could walk across faster if the jungle wasn’t in the way. Dad got all animated at the Russian ship. My comment was that it didn’t look any different from the American ships.

While in Panama I somehow ended up with a gang of local kids. They were fascinated with me and happily practiced their English which was far better than my Spanish. They took me into the fields where I ate raw sugar cane. Common now, but unheard of in the early 80’s. They scaled trees to give me fresh mangoes and when I declared I had never had plantains promptly started a fire and cooked me some that we ate off sticks. We ran around barefoot. We crawled under the house, they taught me new games, and I taught them the ones I knew. I was hooked!





an extraordinary or violent emotional reaction to a small issue


This is taken from Spanish and I think we need to incorporate it into the vernacular. Because who hasn’t done this? Be honest!

At some point, more often than we would like to admit even to ourselves, we have all lost it over something silly and inconsequential. Oh sure, we know there are mitigating circumstances that lead up to a total meltdown of an adult over an out of order air pump but the other people don’t see any of that.

No one sees that you got up a half hour early only to be treated with a vomiting cat, a broken coffee maker, a dryer full of wet clothes you forgot to turn on, a misplaced report you need at 8 AM, and a lost shoe all before getting in the car to discover the tire pressure monitor is lit up. No one saw that you drove to three gas stations before this one and none of the air compressors were working. No one saw that you were now running late despite planning ahead.

What everyone saw was a middle aged woman dressed in business clothes kicking the air pump, shouting profanity, and acting like she was off her meds. They get a great story and you get to be a combination of frustrated, defeated, and embarrassed. You’re lying if you say you haven’t done it.

So let’s take this word. Let’s use it and make it we’ll known to all. That way when everyone is staring at your socially inappropriate reaction to something small and seemingly minor you can just say Sorry I went alharaca, bad day.” And everyone will understand. Continue reading

The Dream of the Echidna

download (1)Last night I had a dream that my garden was invaded by echidnas. This is strange for many reasons. First, I don’t have a garden. I am where plants go to die. Second, I live in North America. No echidnas here outside of a zoo. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a live one. Stranger still was the fact that they weren’t reproducing via eggs as they do in the real world. In my dreams they were sprouting out of my plants in small purple puffs. They looked like tiny Dr. Seuss Truffula trees.

In the dream I called animal control because I didn’t know what to do about all the echidnas and I was worried about what an introduced species would do to the environment. Instead of getting help I had government officials shouting at me that I planted them so they were now my responsibility. I was arguing that I didn’t plant them, that they were animals and should be hatching from eggs. The officials didn’t care. They told me it didn’t matter how they got there, I was responsible for them and I had to apply for a permit for exotic animal husbandry.

That’s when I woke up. Seriously messed up the things your subconscious concocts. Even more odd as I almost never remember my dreams. This one was very clear and it stayed with me all day. I’ve been staring photos of echidnas on Google trying to understand what it means. What am I supposed to garner from this message? I am at a complete loss. Echidnas!


The Ravages of Time

    My physiology is torturing me. I am too far along the timeline for my body to start behaving like it is an adolescent again. My cycle and I had settled into a nice predictable routine. Boring? Perhaps, but I knew what to expect of my body and it understood how I would react and we had a system.  Then something changed and that time of the month is no longer a time of the month but a devastating and violent upheaval of my established standard. I have experienced this before. We all have. It was puberty, when our childlike bodies were flooded with new hormones at a prescribed moment in time determined by the pituitary gland, that bastard. And now it is happening again. Same sudden onset, no warning, no reason. What is it, menopause? No, not yet. It is a special affliction called perimenopause. Perimenopause is the period preceding menopause where your body produces less progesterone and you may have any of the following symptoms:
  • Fatigue
  • Low sex drive
  • Irritability
  • Irregular periods
  • Anxiety and/or depression
  • Mood swings
  • Hot flashes (aka flushes) and night sweats
  • Insomnia
  • Weight gain
  • Craving for carbohydrates and sweets
  • Cold hands and feet
  • Increased headaches or migraines.
    Sounds like a joy. So lets take a look at a few of these shall we? I say we start with the fun combination of weight gain and craving for carbs and sweets. I can attest that this is most definitely happening to me as we speak.  I noticed my metabolism slowing down a while back. Hell, that s.o.b. went into hibernation. So I adjusted my diet. Then I adjusted it again. And again. Somehow I am now living off of kale and chia seeds and have still managed to gain weight. WTF? As for the cravings, well, I have always enjoyed bread and chocolate. Realizing many years ago that this wouldn’t help my health in the long run I cut them both out of my diet and relegated them to the category of “special treats.” It’s important to understand this happened in my late twenties and I am fairly well-adjusted to life with limited bread and sugar. Why? Because recently I devour bread like I am some mythical wild child that had been raised by animals in the forest. I don’t bother to slice or butter it, I don’t even take the time to tear pieces off. Rather I shove as much as will fit into my mouth with chewing and alternating between gratifying sounds of enjoyment and low throaty growls to warn others away. Chocolate was an indulgence. It was to be savored and cherished, each bite slowly rolled over the tongue and permitted to linger at the soft palate for maximum enjoyment. Eating chocolate was ritual. But no more. I now descend upon the candy aisle like the Mongol horde single-minded in my quest for domination. Bags upon bags of sugar goodness are swept into my basket to be carried to the car where I will ingest as much as possible on the ride home. No longer is it savored as a means of pleasure, now it is a drug that my body must have or die. I approach it like a junkie, one is too much and too much is never enough.
    And that brings us to the mood swings. Because after my candy and bread binge comes the remorse. What have I done? Why did I do this? How could I have eaten all that and have no cognizant memory of it?  And how am I not sick? Oh, the self loathing and contempt. What kind of person does this? Suddenly the rush from the sugar dissipates from my blood stream and I am plunged into the dark depths of my inner psyche. Every mistake, every humiliation, every unkind action I have ever taken is pushed to the forefront of my consciousness and it consumes me. There I sit in a pile of crumbs and wrappers sobbing into my chocolate stained hands over the time in first grade I teased another girl for her hair ribbons. I am a horrible and worthless creature and that’s why nothing is right in my life and never will be. This is why I am alone, why my marriage failed, why I can’t have a successful relationship with a man. It’s because I eat bread and chocolate. If I didn’t eat these things, if I had more control over my impulses then I could become a better person. I could actualized my potential. But I never will because I have no will power and therefore am just wasting space on the planet. The pets are confused and hide from me as I weep into the side of the couch and rant incoherently.
    Why does this happen? Well, that is because of the irregular periods. What was once every 28 days like clockwork has become sudden onset with no early warning system. I liken it to a tornado. There are signs that favor tornado conditions, but that doesn’t always mean that a funnel will form and if it does that it will touch down. However, if that funnel does hit land you can be sure that it will leave a path of destruction in its wake. Much like my periods lately. I bloat, get irritable, have the cravings and the mood swings and that may mean I wake up in a bloody mess or it could mean nothing happens, no way to tell. And if it does occur there is no way of determining how long it will stay. Throughout my adult life it has been consistently 5 days. Over 30 years of this type of regularity only to have nature laugh in my face. Now it could be one day, it could be 10 days, it could last two days stop for three and then swing back around for an encore performance. I never know. So now I travel armed with an arsenal of feminine hygiene products. Every purse, bag, or available storage space has tampons, pads, and pantyliner’s. I have stain removal products in every location I frequent. I am prepared for the onslaught of the red tide revolution at every moment. No fluid shall get the better of me. I am armed. I can win this war.  At least I can patch up the wounds.
    I do disagree with the low sex drive. I didn’t get that. Contrary to everything I have read or been told by medical professionals my sex drive has hit an all time high. Especially during times of hormone fluctuation. It’s really no gift because the biochemical imbalance that is the glory of perimenopause pretty much ensures that no one in their right mind will want to engage in sexual intercourse with me. The outward manifestation is so detestable in both physical appearance as well as behavior it all but seals the deal for long, cold lonely nights of exasperation in an empty bed.
   Let me paint you a picture. Let’s start with the physical changes my body sees fit to burden me with. Aside from the changes in weight and its unflattering dispersion there is the paradox of hair and skin that is simultaneously oily and too dry. There are products geared for one, but nothing that can handle both. Seriously, we need to stop expecting miracles from the beauty industry. Next is the acne that comes on like a suicide bomber that chickened out and decided to  change gears and form an insurgency. No longer do I get small blemishes on my face but rather large, red peaks of impressive elevation slowly filling with pus but showing no sign of eruption. They scream out to anyone who dares to look upon them “Behold, I have taken this face hostage. There will be no quarter given.” They are painful if you touch them and painful if you do not. Their presence twines around everything you do forming an obsession until all you can focus on is relieving the pressure by any means necessary. But this path is folly for they will not relent. Even after the hormones have withdrawn and the invasion retreats victory is not your. No, it will resurface weeks later, the same spot, the same size, only to burst at the slightest touch resulting in an angry red scabbed over monstrosity that will most likely scar. You will average three of these a month coupled with spontaneously appearing white heads that do nothing to convince the world you do indeed wash your face. So this is a sexy look that I am sure we will see on the runways of Milan next season. All the men drool for this.
    The next noticeable change is that my nipples become engorged with blood and stay rock hard for the duration. This is not only unsightly but also have practical implications as they are now bumping into everything. Half the time I feel like my nipples enter the room before I do. They have become attention whores screaming :look at us!” in every imaginable article of clothing. A padded bra may or may not cover them up. I’ve had them poke through some bras padded so thick they remind me of early Japanese armor. Inconvenient it may be, but I must admit the level of projection is impressive. I can’t be dazzled by my body’s outstanding feats of hydro engineering for long because this has a major disadvantage. They are hyper sensitive. A breeze is painful. So is the gentle chaffing of the interior of the bra during normal movement. They now hit everything because I am not accustomed to allowing for their passage. They hit the door jamb, the desk, the side of the fridge, the shower curtain, and knock into objects on tables. Yes, I have pushed things over with my nipples. It’s not as fun as it sounds. Conflicting sensations accompany this fun new phenomenon. I alternate between having nothing and no one touch them and wishing desperately that I could gnaw on them so that the pain would offer relief to the never-ending soreness. This does not lend itself to a calm and balanced state of mind.
    Lets move on to what the hormones do to your behavior in regards to your sex drive. All the literature says I am supposed to be experiencing dryness and a loss of desire. Nope! There is enough moisture down below to revitalize the California droughts. And drive, I have drive. I’m not sure if this is a last-ditch evolutionary push for me to find sperm and procreate or a cruel joke my body is playing on me since I am currently without a partner. Either way, once the chemicals hit the blood stream the game is on. I’m not looking for romance, or tender lovemaking. I want primal animalistic sweaty rage as my body milks the seed from the male specimen. I need wanton bestial copulation. My nails digging into flesh as I am pinioned down by a hand on my neck, not out of cruelty but necessary for his self-preservation, hot breath and primordial rumblings as we both hurtled towards release. And there will be no satisfaction while the hormones have control. More, always demanding more from the poor spent flesh bag lying exhausted and broken next to you. While the throbbing returns and demands release that will never be sufficient. I can’t imagine what fear enters the hearts of men when confronted with this, I’m afraid of myself in this state.
    The worst part of all of this is that while it is happening we are aware of how irrational we are acting but are helpless to stop it. I find myself wondering if other mammals have similar moments during their heat cycles? And if so, how is this an evolutionary advantage? It would seem as if the female of the species is doing everything possible to drive the male of the species away in terror. Or perhaps that is how we ensure the strongest genes are passed on to the next generation. Only the bravest dare approach the female at this time and only the most worthy will succeed where so many others have failed. Though my personal experience is that it’s not so much courage as it is blind stupidity that makes men think women suffering hormonal fluctuations will find their attentions soothing. Well, also those deluded individuals suffering from the white knight syndrome of I can fix everything, but that’s a different topic altogether.
    There is one small caveat in my favor. A few weeks back I scheduled a doctor’s appointment because I was experiencing an abnormal amount of cramping in my pelvic area. That can’t be a good sign, so off to get a pelvic exam. She sent me to get an ultrasound. A trans-vaginal ultrasound. Essentially, the technician inserts what looks like a Hitachi Magic Wand into the vaginal canal and takes a look around the uterus and Fallopian tubes. Take a moment to imagine lying on a table, feet up in stirrups while some strange woman shoves a giant dildo up your hooha and tries to make small talk. Awkward!  What I found out was that the inoperable fibroid I have had for most of my adult life is being killed off by the lack of progesterone. At least something is getting murdered. Go hormones, kick that fibroid’s ass.