Harvey Weinstein

You are probably done with hearing about all this crap. So am I but I have to point out that now, after all the women have come forward, the men are backing them up. And we as a culture are applauding these men for being brave.

They are not brave. The women who suffered in silence for decades were brave. The ones who sacrificed careers for physical safety were brave. The ones that spoke out were brave. Waiting until it’s a media hurricane then stepping up to condemn the behavior is not brave.

All of a sudden my news feed is filled with male celebrities coming out and saying how they suspected or even knew, but did nothing. They apologize and we applaud. They are forgiven. What could they do to stop these horrible events?

Really? They get off the hook that easily? They witnessed or had knowledge of systematic rape and/or harassment and they turned a blind eye for decades. Now all they have to do is stand in front of a camera, appear humbled, and recite rhetoric about rape culture being bad for everyone.

No thanks, boys. We don’t need your lip service. We don’t need you to validate our experiences. You say you find the behavior abhorrent but what did you do? Did you help? In anyway, did you help? Did you believe them when they told you? Were you supportive or dismissive? Or did you just turn around and ride the wave of success that cost so many so much?

Boys, we don’t want your words. We don’t want to validate your long awaited moment of clarity with applause. I won’t share your video because you finally (FINALLY) evolved to realize that women are people. Also, I won’t absolve you from the role you played in perpetuating the subjugation of half the population.

You knew. You saw. Your silence and inaction makes you complicit in the crime. You are not an ally. You and your silence are the reason the problem persists.

Thanksgiving

It’s Thanksgiving. And on this day let us not forget the true meaning of this beloved holiday. The brutalization of indigenous people.

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Yup, it’s still happening as we speak in North Dakota. Sure, the authorities are denying that they were intentionally targeting individuals with water hoses in below freezing temperatures, but what did you expect them to say? Do you really think they would stand in front of the press and admit to valuing human life so little? Do you think that humans have evolved to prioritize equality over ego? If you do I want to know what rock you have been hiding under because that fucker is impenetrable!

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So eat your turkey, drink your booze, and make sure you take some time to shop, shop, shop for those good deals. Don’t give a moments thought to people standing in the cold trying to peacefully protect not only the water that affects them, but the water supply for all of us. Don’t ponder for a second that these are the people who have been lied to, stolen from, demonized, and systematically abused by both the government and the rest of the population. Forget about the violence, the forced sterilization, and the diseased blankets. Turn a blind eye, again, to what our tax dollars are supporting.

Because it’s Thanksgiving, the day we feed into the fallacy of an inclusive America.

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Indoctrinations

I have never been a fan of romance novels. It always seemed like granny porn, something older women read to fantasize. At one time I would buy used romances based on the absurdity of the cover at a thrift store, read them with a group of my friends, and make fun of the passages. Nothing like hot, moist, loins ignited with the flames of desire to get us all into a good belly laugh. If we ventured beyond that we would poke fun at the horribly simplistic depictions of interactions between the genders. The men were always in a position of power, often some sort of misunderstood outlaw or unjustly vilified criminal and the women were always some sort of victim, either a hostage or a forced marriage or some sort of dilemma that implies subservience. At some point the female protagonist always attempts some show of defiance or independence in an attempt to remove herself from the situation at hand only to find that she is really in love with the man and thus succumbs to her fate proving that love makes everything better. Apparently, even Stockholm Syndrome.

Tell me this doesn't send a message!

Tell me this doesn’t send a message!

So why do so many women read these things? I think the bodice ripping romance has become the modern parable in that it reinforces for women the lessons we are taught as small girls about accepting rape culture. That’s a bold statement, I know, but hear me out. Remember being very young on a playground and a boy teases you, pulls your hair, pinches or hits you? Remember crying because either your feelings or actual body were hurt? Remember being told by an adult that the boy did that because he liked you? Remember thinking that made no sense at all? I’m pretty sure we all remember that.

This is probably our first indoctrination into rape culture. Being told to accept physical and emotional abuse from a peer as a sign of affection is ludicrous. If an adult woman said a man was hitting and belittling her we wouldn’t say it was because he loved her. We would tell her she deserves better and to get away from him. But little girls are taught to accept that kind of behavior and encouraged to do so with as little objection as possible. Not only does this encourage girls to internalize that boys will cause them pain if they are admired, but also that boys are not capable of processing emotions. Has anyone ever stepped back and thought about how insane this is?

This is just one big self-fulfilling prophecy. Boys will be boys is a permissive encouragement to young boys to continue to be more physical and less verbal in their expression. Not only does it give boys license to be more physical it also discourages them from verbal expression. Additionally, it enforces a sense of male privilege in allowing boys to solve their problems by corporeal means. Girls are taught to accept this as not only a matter of course, but a compliment. They shouldn’t cry or make a fuss when they are hurt or bullied by boys. That’s just what boys do. It’s how boys express themselves. Girls need to learn how to change their instinct to protect themselves from assault, be it verbal or physical, because the nature of boys can’t be overcome. And that’s just the way it is.

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This belief is so pervasive in our culture that it is perpetuated without thought. Sure, we say things like “Use your words” and “Don’t hit girls” but we don’t really back that up. “Use your words” is for situations when being combative is frowned upon. Like the classroom or the grocery store, places even children know they have to fall in line. But once they are let loose on a playground, the natural habitat if you will, those rules no longer apply. “Don’t hit girls” is generally given to mean don’t hit them in anger. You can indeed use physical force to express your superiority, because boys will be boys after all. And children understand this, even if they can’t articulate it. They see hear what we say and see what we do. They learn the lesson by witnessing who gets rewarded for what specific behavior regardless of what the rules are explained to be. They learn very early that the game is rigged.

Sooner or later people become more self-aware and gain critical thinking skills and the ability to question. Here is where the romance novel comes into play. It’s not alone and I don’t mean to get down on a single genre of writing. There are several cousins that assist romances in reinforcing the cultural code of male privilege and rape culture. Romantic comedies, fashion magazines, television, music, and on and on. There is always a subset that works towards sustaining the status quo. But the general form of the romance novel as stated earlier is simply that men are in positions of power, they take what they want, women will grow to like it, and it’s sold to us wrapped up as a love story. So how is that different from telling a five-year old he punched your arm and ripped the head off your doll because he likes you?

VWW-Cavil

Cavil

to raise trivial or frivolous objections

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Hmm…kind of like the apoplectic rage over not specifying which particular holiday I hope you enjoy this season. As if I am supposed to just know what holidays you celebrate just by looking at you. I mean, if Trump has his way we will all be wearing identifying symbols. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past him to brand people. But I digress.

Point is, I don’t know your faith of choice or if you have chosen not to have one.  Personally, I don’t want to just assume that Christian is the default setting for humanity. And I don’t understand why wishing someone a joyful holy day of a different faith is so horrific. I mean, I don’t celebrate Kwanza. I don’t even have a firm understanding of what Kwanza is (something about a harvest, but before climate change what were they harvesting in the snow?) However, if someone wishes me a Happy Kwanza I say “Thanks, you too!” Because it will be Kwanza whether I celebrate or not and I would rather be happy than not.

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So in order to be inclusive (what would Jesus say!!!) we have Happy Holidays. It pretty much covers everything that happens from late October to early January. Sounds better than have a happy whatever… But that isn’t good enough for some special snowflakes. Nope, they want me to be able to derive from- what?- that they are a member a of a certain religion, have knowledge of that religion’s holidays, and make the appropriate statement of well wishes.  And they say the millennials are entitled!

Listen, ain’t nobody got time for your shit! Get a grip, tuck away your privilege, and accept the well wishes in the spirit they were given. And Happy Holidays!

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Expiration Date Approaching!

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I feel like I am approaching my expiration date as a woman. Sure, we tell each other woman are attractive at all ages, but who are we kidding? In this declining civilization with its emphasis on the perfunctory aesthetic the desire for superficial expressions of worth have gained significance in the social strata. Whether the fault of changing values, the sound bites media sensationalize, or the internet and social media removing our human interaction the result remains that there is an increasing amount of value placed upon outward appearance. This is true for both men and women. Though, as usual, women bear the heavier burden as historically they were nothing more than property and an extension of a man’s wealth and status. To have an attractive spouse and /or daughters was a symbol of prosperity. Much the way we view cars today. Think that has changed? Just look at fashion or gossip magazines. It’s still all about the outer package. We may propound ourselves to be more enlightened about such things but the truth is we still judge women more harshly than men in regards to physical attractiveness. Agree or disagree, my point is that I am approaching my expiration date. How do I know this? The amount of young men who approach me for the Cougar Experience.

Young men, vital and alive, exploding with the promise of the unknown future. These men approach me with all the bravado and pomposity that their egos and some alcohol can produce. They come up to my table, they interrupt my conversation, and they think that I will be impressed by their rudeness. They know that I am older than the girls they normally approach. I am some mythic beast, a gauntlet thrown down before them, K2 that needs to be conquered. I am an “older woman.” I’m not sure what bawdy stories get passed around among the post college young adult males about the sexual prowess of older woman but I can gather from their demeanor the tales have grown to epic proportions. This is not an attraction borne out of biochemistry and pheromones. It’s not a vestigial evolutionary instinct. No, this is an entirely socially constructed bucket list challenge and I am their target. They are going to bed this cougar and live to tell the tale complete with embellishments and photographic evidence of flesh wounds endured at her hands.

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It makes no difference to these young men that I have no interest in their quest. I just want to enjoy my meal, my show, the book, my coffee. But alas, I am confronted with a fine specimen of masculinity at the height of its potential, complete with the confidence that only comes with either youth or the privilege of white male mediocrity. I am inundated with flattery and blatant lies, they pretend to fall at my feet and adore me with false worship thinking, incorrectly, that is what I want. They know my youth is fading, to their eyes it is already gone, they believe the honeyed words with make me delusional enough to believe that they have an actual interest in me. They cannot comprehend why someone teetering on the edge of obscurity and staring into the abyss of middle age and looking down the barrel of the loaded gun that is menopause would deny myself a night of adventure with an exuberant creature such as themselves.

But they know little of women. They are cavorting with what are still girls. Young women who are still playing games, who have time on their side, who haven’t yet settled into their own skin. These girls have not blossomed into women. They have they physical presence of a woman, but not the internal fortitude. The cougar hunter hasn’t developed they skills of honesty and vulnerability, they can’t balance guarding themselves with being genuine. They can only replay the schema that has generated results for them in the past. They know not what a woman wants from a man. And not a man of media construct, but a man who can vanquish his own demons as well as the demons hiding under the toddlers bed at 3 am. A man who knows how precious time is and that to waste a moment of someone’s time is a crime too heinous to consider. A man who understands that being inebriated is not having fun, who understands that enthusiasm is the best gauge of consent, who respects the space and decisions of another person. A man who is discreet.

No, the cougar hunter will get nowhere with me. The posturing, the genuflecting, the capitulation to prescribed gender norms is usually diverting. But not enough to waste an evening. Not enough to try to get them to leave, because the youth never understand when they have overstayed their invitation. Not enough to revisit the unskilled encounter that all women remember too well from their own youth. Nor do they understand how unflattering it is to be singled out as approaching antiquity from the perspective of the youth obsessed culture. I enjoy watching them try though.

Baron Von Fruitrooster Can’t Manage People

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Everyone has had this manager

 

Your employees suck because you suck as a manager. That’s the cold hard truth. Sorry cupcake, but it’s not that they are lazy, stupid, or don’t want to work. The root of the issue is that you don’t know how to motivate people. If no one gives a shit then that is a direct reflection on you as a manager. You want people to be responsible? Show them that they matter, that the work they do matters. Treat them with respect and dignity. Shut your damn pie hole and listen when they talk.

Do you need to manage them with write ups and progressive discipline? That says more about your failure than it does your employees. Managing by paper trail is the way of the passive aggressive tyrant. You obviously haven’t trained them or they would do it correctly. Either that or they have no incentive to perform.

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Please corporations, realize this is truth!

A true leader raises up the staff. Leaders don’t step on the backs of their workers, they stand in the back ground smiling and cheering them on. You should be a coach not a dictator. These are grown ass people. They work harder than you do. They make less money and their lives are harder than yours. Because of them your life is easier. Be fucking grateful. Say thank you, give them credit, and show them that the work they do matters and that the company gives a damn whether or not they are happy and healthy. Learn the names of their spouse, their kids, and their pets. Ask them about them. Put their birthdays on your calendar and say Happy Birthday. It’s cost you nothing but means the world to someone making just over minimum wage working a 12 hour day so you don’t have to.

Allow them vent their frustrations without judgment. Take their advice. Tell them what you expect from them. Give them the tools they need to succeed. Hold them to a higher standard and encourage them to reach beyond their comfort zone. Be humble. Apologize. You will be amazed at the results.

Continue to ride your ego and stomp around on your inflated power trip and reap what you sow. High turnover, complacency, call outs, extended break times, the bare minimum, and a group of people that constantly need to be monitored. It’s your team, they are your responsibility. If they suck, you suck. Stop you bellyaching and step up your game.

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You want better people? Be a better leader. Can’t do that? Get out of the way and let someone who can show you how it’s done. Just ask anyone who has ever worked for me. You have nothing but gripes about your team. I have loyalty. People that will follow me if I ask. You can’t get people to follow you out the door at five o’clock on a Friday. My team has solutions, yours is just more problems. Face your inadequacies and do better. Not only will your team improve, but so will your work day. Or maybe you are just so overcome with the tiny bit of power and control that you need to make others feel bad to give yourself a boost. Trust me, the team doesn’t care. They have bigger things to worry about and have no time to waste on your insecurities. You are a slimy selfish bastard and the tragedy is that people like you are everywhere

 

 

VWW-Alharaca

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Alharaca:

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 Baron Sends a Minion…

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Too often is this in my head!

I recently encountered one of Baron Von Fruitroosters minions. Oh, he seemed normal enough but that was only a facade meant to draw me in.

The dialog was polite and slightly witty. He explained that he was new in the area due to business and was looking for suggestions for food, etc. That quickly devolved into him expressing his desire to attend a swinger club and demanding requests for my sexual preferences.

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Starts off well, then this happens

This loser got a strong dose of the radioactive nipples! Of course I had to monologue first.

Really asshole? You are a 55 year old man, not some college kid. Show some class! In what universe is a grown woman going to listen to your slobbering, mouth breathing demands for sex and just rip her clothes of and give it to you? Why do you think that your existence and the fact that you paid me attention should equate utter gratitude and acquiesce from me? I’m a person, not some convenient hole that exists for you to get your dick wet. Manners!!

He then became indignant. As if he was owed something for the initial two minute conversation that wasn’t offensive. Clue-by-four asshat, you are not owed pretty, or my time, or access to my body. You are owed nothing but the common courtesy you have failed to show me.

I’m busy. I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with your inability to interact properly with other adults. Hitting him with the nipple lasers was a public service, really. He has been shrunk down to binary code and captured on an app on my phone. I still haven’t figured out what to do with these bottom feeders once they are in the phone. Suggestions are welcome!

Gravity is a Bitch!

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Several women in my family are rather well endowed. My sister has a pair rivaling Dolly Parton. All my life I was warned that women with large breasts had to dread the effects of gravity. Instruction was given to always secure solid foundation garments to avoid having them down by my knees by the time I was 40.

As puberty approached I, like so many other young girls, began to wonder what Mother Nature would provide me with in terms  of mammary tissue. I would alternate between what I wished for.

Did I want a  big pair like my sister? That came with lots of attention and admiration, but also back pain and the future threat of sagging. Did I want small, perky breasts? Those left no doubt you were a woman but still offered you the option of going without a bra. In the end it didn’t matter what I wanted. Like everyone else, I got what I got. Deal with it. And like every other woman before me I did not appreciate what I had until it was gone.

When I was younger were glorious. Middle sized, not too big, not too small. High, round, and firm. I would lament that they were so dense I could not get them to move together to form cleavage. When lying on my back they would disperse, but still looked divine. Well, that’s long gone.

They aren’t sagging to my knees, but the density that gave them their shape bailed around the same time my knees lost their elasticity. As a result I can now get cleavage. I can also do shadow puppets with them. It doesn’t seem so much like the effects of gravity as a rearrangement of surface area. Now the moment that my bra comes off they immediately try to take cover in my armpits. I’m not sure if they have developed social anxiety or a shifting of tectonic plates. Thankfully men have also become slightly more mature, or at least more tactful. It’s been a while, but the last few partners kept the commentary to themselves when they had to scoop the girls out from under my arms. Or maybe they found the nipple peeking out from my axilla cute. Whatever, no one is complaining.

Overall, it’s not that big of a deal. I had to make some minor lifestyle adjustments. Putting on a bra now requires me to bend at the waist while pulling the cups away from my body. This causes the girl to fall out of their safe haven under my arms and into the bra. Then I can straighten up and adjust them. I still have the concern of cup spillage, only now it’s the other side of the cup. The silver lining to this is that I have an extra layer available when the under wire pops out. It has to go through a titty before it can stab my in the artery. And it’s made sports bras easier to find. Since they lost density they compress much easier. No more bouncing.

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A few years ago this would have offended my sensibilities. Now I am the target market and I understand. Perspective.

I guess that’s what aging is all about.  Realizing that things change and sometimes it isn’t good or bad, but just different.

VWW- Exculpatory

Exculpatory:

tending or serving to clear from alleged fault or guilt

In general use this is a positive thing. Most people would directly assign this word to a situation where one was wrongly accused and their good name cleared. That was my first impression. Giving it a bit more thought I realized there is a darker side to the usage of exculpatory.

It brought to mind all the individuals who consistently causes disruption and then spins the events so they are shown in the best light. Then they twist the facts so that an innocent party looks to be at fault. Finding and applying exculpatory evidence seems to be their life’s mission. Unfortunately it is one we are all too familiar with, usually in the work place.

The worst part is that this is often done by a person in a position of power. A supervisor, manager, and hell, I’ve even seen HR do this (J nick named her Cuntalicious). It’s disheartening that there is so little integrity, so many people too frightened to step up to the plate of responsibility and admit to an error. I guess that’s why I always get odd looks when I tell my boss I made a mistake, I caught it, and here is what I am doing to rectify that error. I thought that is what adults do.

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Oh, despair.com , how I love you and your products

Silly Underboob! No, no, no! Adults waste as much time as possible at work. The higher your position, the more time you waste. The more time you waste, the more fearful you become of losing your position and the illusion of power that comes with it. The more fear you permit in your life, the more defensive you become. The more defensive you become, the more time spent trying to justify your position. The more you need to justify your position, the more you need a scapegoat.

Just writing that was exhausting! Wouldn’t it be easier to just do your job in the first place?