Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Pulling The Trigger

Trigger.

It's a word that once only had to do with the name of part of a weapon.  Pull it and bad shit happens.  These days it has transitioned to include the feeling, sensation, and/or response experienced when something happens that immediately activates a memory, a trauma, a wound that never truly heals.

A little over a year ago, triggered by the coverage of Trump's foul Access Hollywood ramblings, the literal trail of tears and fears he has left in his pussy grabbing wake, and the astonishing non-reaction of his supporters, I sat down and put words to the rape I experienced 34 years ago.

34 years in which I swallowed it, pushed it down, tried to ignore it, claim some dominion over what had happened.  In the year since, I have repeatedly examined why that particular series of events with Trump finally triggered my trauma hard enough to make me expose my assault - something even my husband, my kids, even my sister had never known about.

The best I can come up with is the reprehensible degree of excuse buying so many engaged in to keep any accountability off a self admitted, morally unfit, serial piece of shit like Trump.  So eager were they (and they still are) to poo poo away all his accusers, to call them liars, whores, gold diggers - to diminish the very real traumas they experienced, it cut way too close to home.

In the past year I have also exchanged stories of being triggered with many other abuse victims.  The sensations they describe echo my own - fear, body going cold then hot, staring off into space, getting sucked down the memory rabbit hole, bad dreams, sleepless nights, and anger.

Jesus, so much anger.

That last one is hitting me over and over and over recently.  With every outing in the press, every disgusting detail of overreach, harassment, molestation, and rape, every memory I have is being kept at a rolling boil.  So much so that I apologized to Rudy at bedtime last night for going on yet another rant - this time about Lauer's behavior and the sordid details coming forward.

And no, an apology was not truly needed as Rudy is more than willing to listen to me vent as long and as many times as I need, but it kept me up last night, thinking about how many other people find themselves vomiting out their decades old anger over something they could not control.

I am angry at what was done to me.  I am angry at the piece of shit who did it because I would not give him the time of day.  I am angry because I worry about my children becoming victims.  I am angry that they have all, at their still young ages, written their own scripts to gently diffuse the ego of a male aggressor when one makes unwanted advances.  I am angry that so many men still don't get it.  I am angry that I wear my wedding ring when alone in public, not because I have to, but because it tells males to stay back, that I "belong" to another man.  I am angry that victims are disbelieved if they did not come forward immediately.  I am angry that when a victim does speak up they are often blown off, their experience marginalized, downplayed, questioned.  I am angry that the men being outed and finally held accountable release statements that reek of "I am sorry ... I got caught."

This morning Lauer's statement is making the rounds. He begins with this, As I am writing this I realize the depth of the damage and disappointment I have left behind at home and at NBC.

Oh, you didn't realize you were a huge stinking sexual shitpile when you gifted a coworker with a sex toy and then described what you wanted to do to her with it?  Her reaction of disgust was not enough of an indicator for you?  "Damage and disappointment" does not quite cover pressing that hidden button at your desk to lock your door and then sexually assaulting another coworker to the point she passed out and your assistant had to take her for medical care.  And I am sure your third wife is experiencing more than "damage and disappointment" to find her fears about you were all valid.

He winds up his pity-poor-me press release with, "The last two days have forced me to take a very hard look at my own troubling flaws.'

As I wrote on FB this morning, Assaulting women, locking them in your office, constantly cheating in your marriage - these are not "troubling flaws".

You are a reprobate who used his position to intimidate, harass, and take what you wanted. You are far more than "flawed." You are garbage.

Spacey, Trump, Moore, Ratner, CK, Weinstein, Toback, Savino, Affleck, Besh, Halperin, Oreskes, Lauer, and every other name sure to be added to the list - these men are not victims.  They were not clueless about their behavior and how it was being received.  They are not stupid.  What they are are men in positions of power who took full advantage of that power and brandished their penises with abandon because they did not fear those they accosted and abused.  They touched, groped, kissed, masturbated, raped, and made one lurid comment after another with impunity.

Only after they were finally outed did they begin to express "understanding" and "remorse".

Spare me.

What they did, and the subsequent fallout, goes far beyond them losing jobs and reputations.  There are real people attached to the fallout of those heinous behaviors, actions, crimes.  And by extension, their victims' lists grow because countless people are dragged into reliving their own worst moments on this earth.

So yes, I am triggered.  And yes, I am angry.

I still stand by what I wrote here yesterday, that we must be careful to protect both the accuser and the accused.  That investigations must be thorough, and that the response must be proportional to the facts at hand.

But when those facts bear out every accusation and worse?  

Then I am happy to see the "trigger" finally be pulled on them and watch their careers be snuffed out. 

Society's Sexorcism

This morning opened with the bombshell, read live on air, that NBC's long standing quarterback and team captain, has been fired for sexual malfeasance in the workplace.

Where in the world is Matt Lauer?  Apparently in the unemployment line of now hairshirted men who have been outed and ousted for their inability to act decently.

OK, ok, truth be told, this information was swirling through the internet ether a full week ago, that a prominent media personality was next in line for a public sexorcism, and Lauer's name was at the top of the list.  The NYTimes has been investigating him for quite a while, as it turns out.  So "bombshell" really only applies as a means of emotional hyperbole.

As for the speed of this firing - according to the reports the woman reported the sexual assault on her by Lauer during the 2014 Sochi Olympics on Monday of this week - an NBC insider is quoted this morning as saying, “This happened so quickly. She didn’t go to the media, she made a complaint to NBC’s human resources, and her evidence was so compelling that Matt was fired on Tuesday night. The victim says she has evidence that this has also happened to other women, but so far we don’t have evidence of that.”

Evidence.  Pitchforks, torches, and mob mentality aside - it's kind of important.

There is no question that society has entered a new phase in regards to sexual impropriety, and that's a long overdue, GOOD thing, Martha.  But while we perform this wide sweeping sexorcism from the body politic, the entertainment realm, and our own piddly offices, there is a tightrope we must endeavor to walk.

First, all accusations must be accorded seriousness, probity, and a commitment to a thorough review and investigation.  Without this, victims will continue to hide in the shadows with their personal horror stories.  I cannot underscore this strongly enough - when a person has been violated, male or female - there is shame, shock, embarrassment and fear of repercussions for daring to step forward.  In terms of being heard, society has not been stellar in this regard up to this point.

Next, there must be mechanisms put in place to protect the accuser, and yes, protect the accused, as an investigation moves forward.  Kneejerking a firing for sexual misconduct is hard to take back.  Once it is out there, the stain stays on the person, and all the exonerating evidence in the world will not fully remove it.  

As we have seen just this past week, there are certain elements who are hard at work attempting to insert false accusations into the narrative - Project Veritas, headed by Martin Shkreli act-alike, James O'Keefe, tried to get the Washington Post to publish the story of one of their operatives, Jaime T. Phillips, that she was impregnated as a teen by Roy Moore and that he took her for an abortion.  WaPo does not publish anything of the sort capriciously, regardless of how many times the Child-In-Chief tweets "Fake News!".  They investigate.  Thoroughly.  And in doing so, they were able to quickly suss out that not only was the lady a plant, but that Veritas was backing her play.

Their whole angle was to get the story published then do an "Ah ha! Fake news!" on WaPo, thus throwing every sexual assault accusation in the conservative sphere into question.  That is reprehensible on so many levels.  It immediately devalues what actually happens to so many people in this world.  It reinforces that they should keep their mouths shut when assaulted or harassed.  And highlights again that they are only interested in helping their conservative gropers.

A couple points for O'Keefe and his pathetic posse:

1.  You're not very smart and definitely not very good at what you try to do (see easily discredited Planned Parenthood shitshow and Phillips GoFundMe page set up to finance her move in which she details, "I've accepted a job to work in the conservative media movement to combat the lies and deceipt of the liberal MSM." as Exhibits A & B.  Um, Ms. Phillips?  What exactly is deceipt?  No matter.  WaPo has the REceipts on your DECEIT, you complicit imbecile.)

2.  Sexual assault is not a partisan issue.  I do not care how badly you want Roy Moore in a Senate seat, or how much you want to keep your Orange Fuhrer in the Oval, your defense of them at the same time as your wholesale condemnation of Franken reeks of the hypocrisy that is the lifeblood of the conservative side of the aisle.

Donald Trump is ON THE RECORD for decades bragging about his reprehensible behavior.  There are nearly 20 women who have come forward so far with their stories of assault at his hands.  There has been a rape charge that made it into the court system, and was assigned a court date before the woman (who was 14 at the time of the alleged rape) was driven out of court and into hiding by death threats.

Roy Moore was banned from the mall, for God's sake, because he constantly trolled young girls.  His exploits in this arena were common knowledge.  He frequented high school games and was always pushing up on young girls.  The police knew all this and were charged with keeping him away from cheerleaders.  He pursued a young girl to the point of calling her school and having her pulled out of trig class so he could ask her out over the phone.  

Yet for all this smoke and in many cases, evidence, you refuse to admit there must be a fire in your own house.  While at the same time you throw gasoline on the embers across the aisle, calling for immediate firings, prison time, accountability of all sorts.

Listen up - this is a societal problem, not a political football.  The ghouls, the demons are not party specific.  And the sexorcisms must take place regardless of how much you hate abortion or love that you "won" in 2016 or how many good things your Senator, representative, boss, or co-worker may have done in the past.  Taking care of Gram Gram does not grant a man a free pass to pull his dick out.

And while we reach for the "holy water" we must be careful to understand that there are shades of sexual misconduct.  And those shades deserve proper, measured response and repercussions.  We don't sentence someone to the chair for stealing a candy bar.  By that same token, we must acknowledge that there is a Grand Canyon's worth of difference between a co-workers sexist comment or intentional ass brush in the 80's and physically assaulting a workplace subordinate, masturbating in front of an unwilling audience, or raping someone whose career you hold in your hands.

There is.

I could write a book filled with the number of unwanted sexual encounters I have been subject to in my adult life.  Touching my breasts, grabbing my ass, making crude passes at work, telling sexually explicit jokes, being sexually harassed on every level. But all of them added up do not hold the massive spot in my soul that having been raped does.

In all of those harassment instances, I have been irritated, disgusted, but they did not devastate me.  They did not take away my ability to breathe.  They do not haunt my sleep 34 years on.  In fact, in many of those encounters, I came away having cut off at the knees the male who made the unwanted advance/encounter/grab/innuendo.  They walked away embarrassed because it had happened in front of their peers, when they had counted on those peers having a laugh at my expense.  I did not need them fired or imprisoned.  What I needed was a proportional response.

Which is what we need to remember now.  Anyone who thinks telling sexual jokes in the workplace is cool needs called out, reported to HR, and put on notice that it must cease immediately.  And if it continues?  They have been documented and they are OUT.  Now, if that person is grabbing ass in the workplace?  They need removed from that workplace immediately.  

And if someone has been proven to have used their position of power to entice an underling into sex, a jerk-off show, or unwanted touching - they need fired.  Period.  End of story.

This must apply to the Trumps, Lauers, Moores, Weinsteins, CKs of the world as much as it does to the Joe Blow at the Apple Store or ACE Hardware.

This public sexorcism must make it clear that what was once simply tolerated as status quo in the workplace - endless innuendo, grabbing, harassment, assault - has gone the way of the beehive and the boss knocking back the bourbon neat at 10am.  

Look, I realize we are, at our most basic level, animals.  We just are.  And as such, we have drives.  Especially in terms of procreation.  That drive has insured the survival of the species.  That's what that drive is there for.  But that drive can be controlled, contained, reserved for the appropriate time and place.  And the time and place is not in your office, on the subway, in the halls of Congress, in the Oval Office, in a church pew, etc.  And the recipient of that drive is not someone who is making it clear your advance is unwanted.

Seriously, is it that difficult to behave?

Rhetorical question.  Of course it is, as we are seeing revealed daily.  

That's fine.  But make no mistake, the tide is turning, and it won't be the power of Christ compelling you to desist, to behave.  This sexorcism is being conducted by a fed up, done being felt up, fired up society.  Lauer is just another brick in the wall - a block removed from the societal Jenga that is going to eventually fall.

To quote a line from The Exorcist: “The sun sinks to rise again; the day is swallowed up in the gloom of night, to be born out of it, as fresh as if it had never been quenched.” 

A new day is dawning, and we have work to do.  Let's move forward.  But let's also endeavor to get it right.

Making Spirits Bright

Through the amazing kindness and generosity of this blogmunity, elfing has been going strong, and today, Cyber Monday is no exception.  Deals abound and this elf is making every penny count.

We are currently buying toys, getting great deals on winter coats and mittens, and buying grocery gift cards for several families in need.  It's always that last one that breaks my heart every year.  Easing food insecurity simply should not be a holiday Wish List item.  That it appears yearly during our elfing?  Well, I am so grateful to you all for reaching out so we can help put food on their tables.

While all of the families we are helping are special with amazing, deserving children, we have three little ones who have been added to the DGMS sleigh this weekend who have been through so much. I received a request from an aunt in the states who is taking care of her brother's three children from Puerto Rico. 

We have all seen the horrendous pictures of the devastation in PR, and attached to those pictures are very real people who are still hurting, suffering, aching for the basics of life.  These children and their parents lost everything.  Having been there and done that back in 1992, I can tell you that unless you live it, the concept of "nothing" is a hard one to grasp.  While their parents are still in PR attempting to put their lives back together, they sent their children to the mainland where they could escape the constant fear, sadness, lack of resources, and health concerns.  It's the kind of sacrifice that is at once awful and beautiful.  They love their children, but know they are better off where they are for now.  

For now.  Two words I have invoked for over ten years as our family has missed so much because of distance, commitments, life.  But at least through our separations we have known security, stable roofs over our heads, electricity, water, etc.  Their "for now" is scary, heartbreaking, and has no time table attached.  Thinking about their situation, the words of this song have been repeating in my head...

As they all attempt to "muddle through" this uncertain time, the aunt reached out asking if it is possible to help make their Christmas a little brighter.  I promised we would do our best.

And when it comes to DGMS, our best is always AMAZING.  Making spirits bright is our trademark.

Please donate if you can - the link is on the left side of the page and always open, and if you or someone you know needs some help keeping the twinkle lights twinkling, please email me.  Confidentiality is guaranteed.  [email protected]  

 

51 & Thankful

It seems to me that, more and more, I run into profound, revelatory moments as I get older.

That is a good thing as far as I am concerned.  

It means I am still learning, still growing, still finding out who I am.

I had one of those moments tonight.  In fact, it lasted well over an hour.  And left me with a wet shoulder...on my new sweater.

Let me explain...

I am adapting.  Adapting to living with my husband of almost 28 years.  Adapting to a new town, a new environment, a new definition of ME.  These are all exciting.  These are all scary.  

Today, as our kitchen is still hidden beneath boxes and sundry items that have been unpacked, Rudy made reservations for Thanksgiving dinner at one of his properties.  It was lovely.  From the pear salad to the turkey to the duck confit, to the bottle of Barolo, he, Toby & I enjoyed a great repast.

Post dinner, as it was almost 60 degrees today, we decided to walk through Mountain Village.  As Mother Nature is still off enjoying the southern climes, they have been busy making snow so people can at least go sledding and do some ice skating on the Village rink.  As we walked past the rink, we took pictures with Toby - a good sport who ended up drinking with his parents at the bar of a local.popular establishment.

Rudy and I both acknowledged what a good sport T was, 21 and hanging with Mom and Dad at the pub on Thanksgiving.

Finally, we walked back towards the resort where we had eaten dinner so Rudy could do a final check on things before heading to our new home.  T and I stayed put at the end of the bar while Rudy made the rounds.  The timing was such that one of his managers and his friends from out of town were finishing up their Thanksgiving buffet dinner. 

Rudy came over and got us.

The friends included a young couple and their four month old baby, Gavin.

Gavin was soon in my arms and riding my shoulder.  And I quickly fell into the "mommy rock" - a dance I have not done for at least 20 years.

Back and forth I rocked, Gavin happily on my shoulder gurgling, smiling, playing with Toby, who secured his place as a Funcle - Fun Uncle - within minutes.

I spent well over a hour talking to Gavin's mom, then his dad.  Young, beautiful, earnest - they wanted to say the right things, do the right things, and were awestruck that their typically stranger shy 4 month old, had found a happy place on a strange shoulder.  As we talked, I imparted the wisdom born of 25 years and three babies worth of parenting.

Nuggets like "you will always love him, but it is ok to not LIKE him all the time" and "go, f*ck and be young" (when the subject of a potential travel opportunity came up) - fell easily from my tongue as I rocked their precious child back and forth.

As we spoke, I felt waves of thankfulness wash over me.

I am thankful to be 25+ years down the parenting road.  I have survived the hardest stretch of my life.  I have been blessed with three of the most amazing creatures I have ever met.  And I have raised them well.  They are smart, kind, compassionate, giving human beings.  And I know that is as much NURTURE as it is NATURE.

I am thankful to hold a stranger's baby on my shoulder and look across the room at my husband, a man who still loves me after all these years together and apart.  A man who will be as much an amazing grandfather as he has been a father - loving without measure, question, limits. 

I am thankful for my children, now adults, who are making this world a kinder place.  Anyone who strays into their orbits immediately feels nurtured, LUCKY.  That two do not want to have their own children is fine with me.  They will be incredible as aunt and uncle when Culley moves forward in life to being a mom.

I am thankful that, as I rocked precious Gavin to sleep, I showed his young parents that it is OK to let other people help you.  I watched as I spoke to the mother, watching the relief in her eyes as she listened to me tell her it is ok to pursue her own desires, to maintain her own identity.  That Gavin will be the best thing she has ever done, but not the ONLY thing she will ever do.

I felt wave after wave of emotion wash over me.

I am 51.  My life has been, and continues to be, full - full of adventure, unknowns still to be discovered.

I am in a new place.  I am carving out a spot for myself.  I am adjusting to living with a boy again, albeit one holding the title of spouse.  I am alive and happy and ready for my future.

Most of all, I am still able to love a baby into slobbery oblivion on my shoulder.  

Bring on the future, I am ready.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

 

A Rose By Any Other Shame

Shakespeare wrote that "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."  He meant that no matter what you called it - daffodil, daisy, rhubarb - if the intrinsic characteristic was there, it would still be what it was.  

That sentiment seems to be carrying over as name after name - Weinberg, Spacey, Ratner, Trump, Moore, Louis CK, and now Charlie Rose - all share the same intrinsic characteristic - being overbearing, power drunk, molesting shitheels.

It seems we have entered a phase wherein each day is destined to expose yet another public figure who has not been able to control themselves around women.

(And yes, I am suspending the inclusion of Al Franken as more information is coming to light about that USO tour, the circumstances around the kiss / photo, and his accuser's increasingly questionable motives.  Seems his calling for an ethics investigation is a pretty smart thing to do as it appears the two were in a skit witnessed by many.  See additional photos. For the record - if she has warped this for personal/political gain - she deserves all the fallout that comes her way.  If he is proven a gropey shitheel - he deserves all the fallout that comes his way.  My view of sexual assault does not change depending on the side of the political aisle in which it occurs.)

Talking about it with my husband this morning, I explained that I found the online outpouring of "shock" over Charlie Rose to be laughable.  Frankly, I find any surprise in this arena to be funny.  Not funny - HA HA, but funny - SAD.  The reality being that a full half of the world's population is NOT surprised by the revelations that have been coming out.  Why?

WE LIVE IT.

WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IT.

WOMEN SINCE TIME IMMEMORIAL HAVE LIVED IT.

Hell, an entire TV series encapsulated a grab assy, bourbon while dictating, leering generation of sexual harassers of women - Mad Men nails how women were regarded, treated, marginalized, felt up.  Lauded for how it realistically captured and portrayed a period in our not-so-distant past, Marie Wilson of The Washington Post once wrote of the show, "Our daughters continually get the messages that power still comes through powerful men. And unfortunately being pretty is still a quality that can get you on the ladder—though it still won't take you to the top."

Sadly, as many "daughters" as there are who still believe this, there are far more predatory men who bring it to life, perpetuating a sickening cycle.

Women have always had to fight for recognition, rights, protections, and decent treatment.  And any uprising was/is always met with fear, condemnation, and aggression by the men who believe in their superiority, their right to decide, their choice to catcall, grab, take, demean.  Whether it was wanting the vote, equal rights, bodily autonomy, the ability to apply for a credit card or mortgage, or simply the desire to get from sunrise to sunset without running a gauntlet of sexual advances - women have, and still have, to fight.

So when someone like Charlie Rose is outed as having been a sexual harasser, groping his staff?  Sorry, not surprised.

I am especially nonplussed when it is someone of Rose's age.  Again, he came through that "Golden Age" of ass grab, before Anita Hill took on Clarence Thomas and his pubic hair laden Coke can, adding the term "sexual harassment" to the public vernacular.  Men in positions of power, whose power is unchecked, and who view women first and foremost as objects of gratification, have always behaved badly.

They did so because they knew their targets had little to no recourse.  Hell, even Anita, who bravely testified during Thomas's Supreme Court confirmation process had to watch as this poor excuse for a man went on to be sworn in, for life, to our nation's highest court.  His advances, lewd suggestions, and graphically expressed desires still ringing in her ears.

It is bad enough for women that we cannot walk down a street without being harassed.  We cannot go for a jog without whistles and catcalls being shouted.  We cannot go for a night out without having to worry about having the right words to gently extricate ourselves from an unwanted advance.  Yes, gently.  How many of us know firsthand the speed at which we go from "Hey, sexy, lemme buy you a drink" to "Stuck up cunt" when we say no?

Men may not realize just how their bad behavior, even when it is confined to verbiage, is frightening.  How their catcalls send a Bat signal to our brains.  How their "accidental" grope on a train makes us go cold inside.

But when it happens in the workplace?  When the balance of power is against us?  When our boss makes it clear he prefers a "pay to play" route to our career advancement?  When he knows we are largely at his mercy?

We are fucked.  Sometimes literally, always figuratively.

[SIDEBAR: Many readers know that my husband was once my boss.  So I understand how romance happens in the workplace.  ROMANCE.  Rudy was not a harasser, did not make promises about my job, nor did he pressure me in any way.  We evolved.  Carefully.  Slowly.  And kept our private life OUT OF OUR WORKPLACE.  We did not touch, did not kiss, nothing while at work.  There is a massive difference between falling in love and being harassed/compromised in an out of balance power scenario.]

But back to Rose...

Spare me the shock.  Maybe if Tom Hanks is outed as a serial molester I will experience that feeling.  Maybe.

Then again, probably not.  If bridge trolls like Louis CK and Harvey Weinberg thought masturbating in front of a series of captive women was hunky dory?  Nothing will surprise me.

Power constantly manifesters itself this way.  And yes, women are guilty, too.  Just not as often, and not near as many.  Teachers use their power to bed their teenage male students.  Female bosses put the pressure on their male subordinates.  And every year there are always a couple stories that make the news about women who have kidnapped a man and subjected him to sexual horrors.

And do not even go to the "you cannot rape the willing" joke about that last one.  Rape is rape.  A body's response to physical stimuli is wholly, mutually exclusive from the brain's trauma at being assaulted.  If what you are doing to someone is unwanted - you are a criminal.  End of story.

Look, flirting is fun, sex is great - WHEN IT IS CONSENSUAL.  When we are jogging down the street, your whistles are not being sought out by us.  That is not consensual.  Rubbing up against my breast or grabbing my ass is not consensual.  And pulling your dick out?  Puh-leez.  

Let's make it really simple - unless your genitals have been expressly invited to the party, they stay in your goddamned pants.  If you have invited a woman to a meeting about work/career?  Masturbation is NOT on the agenda.  Your dick is not some gift, and we are not flattered by you wanting us to see it.  Trust me, if we want to engage you on that level, you will know.  And it won't be while we are being interviewed for a job, while we are discussing a court case, or interning for your TV show.

I shed no tears as another career/reputation log is added to the public fire.  And I actually take a little pleasure in knowing how many men of regard are sweating and losing sleep as they review their own past or current behavior, just waiting for the shoe to drop on them.

I take great pleasure in knowing that, as heinous as are all these stories, the majority of men are taking a closer look at their own behavior, and finally having their eyes opened to what the women in their lives have endured all along.  I am especially heartened by that last part.  The number of men I see who have stated how the #MeToo campaign was an eye opener to them?  I'm glad.  What we face is not a joke, a punchline, an exaggeration.  It is our daily reality.  So daily, in fact, that you probably don't know but a fraction of it.  Your daughter, your girlfriend, your wife, your mother, your friends - we are so used to having to fend for ourselves that we don't bring it up.  When something is just your normal, it takes something truly egregious to make us erupt and tell you.

Me, for example, I like to joke about how I can "take care of myself" - and yes, I am gifted with a brain that works fast and can verbally castrate a man in very few words, but the reality is, it's not funny.  And Rudy doesn't know about all the times I have to do this, how many times I am frightened when out alone, how many times I have been touched in public.  Because it is just my reality.

But my reality is also that I am a small woman, and easy to target.  The reality is that I am never NOT afraid.

That should not be my reality.  Or my daughters'.  Or my son's.  Or yours.

A painful conversation has been started.  It is long overdue.  As is the reckoning for so many who have abused so many.  

Charlie is just the latest.  Yet even as the next name inevitably is brought forward, the intrinsic characteristics will still be the same.  

A Rose by any other shame still ... stinks.

Yes, Virginia Update

As we are now in the third week of November, requests for help have been coming in.  Unfortunately donations have not.

Chicky has applied for our efforts to get a small grant again through her employer and Rudy and I will do everything we can to help fill the wish lists that come in.

I know times are tighter than ever for people, so if it is simply not possible that we do this on the scale of past years, I completely understand.  We have done great work for many years keeping Santa alive.  And we have used the fund this past year to help several fellow DGMS family members in need.

If you can donate, I promise, as always, to pinch every penny till it begs for mercy.  And this came up in my memories from last year, but it applies to this year as well:

This morning I would also like to ask for your help in reaching out to families you may know of who are hurting.  To parents who face this time of year with tears instead of joy because the struggle to even put food on the table takes precedent over toys and Christmas cheer.  Perhaps your family could use our help.

While our funds are never inexhaustible, this blogmunity has proven year after year (tear after tear?) after year that we WILL find room in the sleigh for all those who find their way to my inbox.

Asking for help is never easy.  It is embarrassing, soul crushing - it should not be, but it is.  So please, reach out to those you know, assure them that their privacy is paramount, and that our help is real.  And if you need help making Christmas happen, please do not hesitate to email me because I know who you are from your years here at DGMS.  Our fund has helped MANY in our blogmunity family through the years.

If you are new to DGMS and are unsure about what the fund is, what it does, or how to donate, you can read all about it HERE.

Sex & The Shitty

Sex is good.  Let's get that out of the way up front.

When two adults, hell, make it three, four, even a baker's dozen, get together and all acts are consensual, sex is a fantastic way to connect romantically or pass the time purely recreationally, no romantic strings attached. 

Serious mutual attraction stoked by a beverage or two that leads to a one night stand?  Go for it.   

Long term relationship where you know and trust each other so deliciously well?  Mmmmmm...

An orgy of latex covered bodies, feathers, whips, swings, and plastic sheeting?  Whatever turns you on.

Again, as long as all parties are adult and consenting - climb into that harness and let your freak flag fly.

But when sex is wielded as a power play, a threat, a weapon by shitty, awful people? 

NOT THE SAME THING.

We are currently (and FINALLY) experiencing a cultural tidal wave of sorts.  People from all walks of life, all genders, are bravely stepping forward and sharing their stories of abuse at the hands of men and women who used their positions to exploit those who could not fight back.

And those being outed are FINALLY being held accountable, at least in the court of public opinion.

Over the past month, we have watched as that repulsive sewage with eyes - Harvey Weinstein - has been outed repeatedly as one actress, journalist, assistant after another has exposed his heinous abuse of his power in the entertainment industry.  A foul troll who would normally have a hard time getting laid in a blind brothel, exploited person after person because he held the keys to their careers.

And as we have seen, his absolute power in that regard, corrupted ABSOLUTELY.  It did not just stall or ruin burgeoning careers, it also inflicted emotional damage that will never go away.

Kevin Spacey has gone from being a lauded, multifaceted performer to being ostracized, cut off, and canceled after Anthony Rapp stepped forward to share his story of abuse at Spacey's hands when Rapp was only 14.  More stories followed and Spacey's legacy is swirling the commode.

As it should be.

Louis CK, a comedian I have long loved, turns out to be a giant piece of shit as well.  His penchant for power abuse manifested by masturbating in front of women who did not consent.  As opposed to the usual stance of "I cannot remember that" or "They are all lying" - he actually released a long statement admitting that what he has been accused of is true.  And acknowledging that he did wield his power and position over these women.

While I appreciate seeing someone actually accept their blame and shame, it will never erase what he did, why he did it, or the memories he inflicted on those who endured his self gratification.  And he deserves every cancellation coming his way, every ounce of derision, every moment he must now understand he is a pariah and punchline, not a paragon.

In the entertainment field, the "casting couch" has a long and storied history.  Sexual coersion, molestation, even rape are not new to the industry.  Young men and women have always found themselves trapped in a "pay to play" encounter in Hollywood.  And many have endured horrendous treatment at the hands of fellow actors, producers, directors - too weak to defend themselves, no one to turn to in the face of such power.  From Judy Garland to Tippi Hedren to Rose McGowan to Reese Witherspoon; from Anthony Edwards to Corey Feldman to Anthony Rapp to Alex Winter - marquee names and bit players - sexual abuse is rampant.

“It’s a very taboo subject,” said Alex Winter, an actor and director who said he was sexually abused as a pre-teen child actor. “I don’t know of any boys in any pocket of the entertainment industry that do not encounter some form of predatory behavior. … It’s really not a safe environment.”  

Those with power know how desperately young people want to get ahead in their careers, and they are very cavalier about taking what they want and knowing their victims cannot fight back, no one will believe them, they can easily blackball them.

The same happens in the political realm.  Anthony Weiner just entered prison to begin his sentence for sexually texting with a minor.  And disgusting human Roy Moore of Alabama has apparently had a lifelong love of very young ladies.  Four of them shared their stories with the Washington Post in an exhaustingly researched write up that has over 30 corroborating witnesses.  One of these young ladies was only 14 years old when he targeted her outside a courthouse and groomed her for his sexual desires, which included taking her to his house in the woods and removing her clothes and forcing her to touch him.   

“I wanted it over with — I wanted out,” she remembers thinking. “Please just get this over with. Whatever this is, just get it over.” 

She was 14.  He was 32.

That is called pedophilia.  

The fallout of this particular case (and the other stories researched by WaPo) has fully revealed the moral rot in the Republican party.  While GOPers have no problem mounting their moral high horses and pointing their fingers as liberal actors go down in flames, as Democrats like Weiner get their criminal comeuppance, hell, even believing that Hillary ran a child sex ring out of a pizza parlor - they are literally defending this garbage sack, calling the women all liars, and vowing to vote for him whether it is true or not.

Let that sink in.

We saw it with Trump - a self admitted piece of shit and molester - be voted for by 62 million fellow sewer dwellers.  Did not matter to them that his history was not only out there for all to read and listen to, but that the list of accusers was longer than the line for tickets to Dear Evan Hansen.  They proudly donned "He can grab my pussy" t-shirts and did not waver in their support.  They showed they are the shit they supported.

And now we have Roy Moore, who has not denied activity with young ladies, not lose support, even being defended by people saying "it was so long ago" and invoking the Mary and Joseph story from the Bible to sanction his penchant for pedophilia.

New flash:  There is no emotional statute of limitations for sexual abuse.  It happens and it sticks.  FOREVER.

Why are ALL accusations against Democrats or liberals immediately accepted by these wetbrains, but when the fingers are pointed at their representatives, all those people are liars?  

Rhetorical question - they are all more interested in power and party than any form of actual accountability.  

So yes, the GOP has now firmly embraced pedophilia.  And Moore still stands a really good chance of winning a Senate seat.

Again, let that sink in.

But back to that tidal wave...

I am heartened to see so many people stepping forward to tell their stories.  I am also disheartened by the chorus of "why did he/she take so long to come forward" that meets so many.  

I was 50 years old before I told my story of being raped.  FIFTY FUCKING YEARS OLD.  It happened when I was a teenager.  It lived in me all those years - mired in shame, confusion, hurt, and fear.  And it is not the only instance when someone used their position of power, proximity, or arrogance to intimidate or molest me.  I have been flashed, touched, and spoken to without my desire or consent by men throughout my life.

AND I DO NOT KNOW A WOMAN WHO HAS NOT BEEN.

Digest that.

From crude advances to unwanted touching to being raped, it is a daily gauntlet we run.  Always on guard, and what we will endure in an attempt to not get hurt by someone?  It is sickening what we will do to try to diffuse a situation or assuage a male ego as we try to extract ourselves in one piece.  And still yet, we go from being advanced on to being called a cunt when we don't fall to our knees appreciative for the attention.  It is scary.

My kids have been victims on various levels.  My friends, their children, colleagues.  It is insidious.

And here's what I have to say to men and women reading this whose first stance is to disbelieve someone - STOP.  It is incredibly hard to find the words, then build up the bravery to utter them.  And when someone finally does - NO MATTER HOW LONG THE TIME BETWEEN THE ASSAULT AND THE VERBALIZING - you need to listen to them.

Yes, some people make false accusations.  Some.  Not the lion's share of what you hear.  Some.  A few.  And those people are heinous and wrong and should be held accountable.  But the vast majority are not lying or making shit up or embellishing.  There is nothing to be gained by admitting someone violated you.

For men and women who think it is hunky dory to pull your shit out unbidden?  It is not ok.  Guys, your dick has no business being brought out into the daylight unless you are taking a piss, privately masturbating, or it has been expressly summoned by the person across from you.  Your dick is not a joke, it is a threat when you pull it out in front of someone who has not asked to see it. 

Pulling your dick out and playing with it is not a turn on to the shocked woman sitting across from you.  It is threatening because women move through life constantly having to watch themselves and their surroundings because we don't want to get raped.

Your dick is not a puppet or a punchline.  And it certainly should not be pulled out a la Louis CK or Weinstein because you get excited by knowing the woman is trapped by your power or proximity or her frightened wish to "just get it over with."

Women, same for you.  Your sexuality or dominance of someone younger, weaker is wrong.  It is criminal.  Keep your pants on, your breasts in their shirt.  

Anyone in power who turns sex into some unspoken currency that needs exchanged or endured in order to move ahead deserves everything that comes their way - both personal and criminal.

Again, consensual, adult sex is great.  But when it is used by shitty people as a means to a very selfish, personal, criminal end?  

That's not sex.  That is abuse.  

Let the tidal wave continue to drown all those who have been riding the sticky wave of their own power for far too long.

When We Will Say "Enough"?

I should be packing.  I should be organizing.  I should be excited about tomorrow and the arrival of folks from United Van Lines.

But I'm not.  

I have spent the second half of this day numb, wandering from task to task, not quite finishing one before I find myself staring off into the distance and moving to a different spot to stare there.

There is so much I still have to do tonight, but it has to wait.  I have to sit down here.  And I have to, as I have often described this process to my sister, "vomit my emotions onto the keyboard."

This afternoon, in a sleepy small town about two hours south of where I live, people gathered for church.  The First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs only held about 50 people.  It is the small, storybookesque type structure one sees throughout the small towns that freckle this massive state.  Filled with people of faith, people with faith in each other, people whose lives are intertwined by time and proximity and potlucks.  Babies up to grandparents - generations who wave, say hello, fly the flag daily, and enjoy the simplicity that living "small" affords them.

Sutherland Springs is exactly the type of town where the refrains of "I never thought it could happen here" will echo.  And as I have written countless times before, Here, USA is a moving target.

Today, Sutherland Springs, Texas is renamed Here.

Because this piece of shit, a formerly court martialed ex-Air Force member, Devin Kelley - 26, took aim and killed 26 people.  26 people whose crime was simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He murdered children as young as 18 months and adults as old as 77.  No method, just madness.

 An armed citizen tried to defend against him, even chasing him as he fled in his vehicle.  Details are still being gathered - no clear word on if this citizen shot him dead which caused Kelley to crash his car, or if he killed himself.

No matter.  Those details will not bring back those lost, nor give solace to those loved ones drowning in grief and shock tonight.

And before anyone starts with the "See?  There ARE good guys with guns!" Don't.  In a country with over 300 million firearms, of course there are good, responsible citizens who own and carry.  Hell, this happened in Texas - sometimes it feels that at least 200 million of those guns live here.  But as we have now seen three times in a month, lots of guns are in the hands of lots of people who should not have them.

The Las Vegas gunman shot over 500 people.  Another gunman walked into a Walmart and killed three people this past week.  And now this one who turned a church from heaven into hell.

And I have to ask, when we we finally say ENOUGH?

When will our leaders stop with the empty "thoughts and prayers" bullshit and set to the business of pissing off the NRA and saving their constituents?  Because make no mistake, this is their fault.  Just as it is our fault.

For every shooting that takes place - large or small - every drop of blood that stains the ground as another innocent life bleeds out, and as we do little more than hold our heads in our hands, scream into the void of Facebook or Twitter, and allow the dead to be forgotten - we are all culpable.  

A week ago we watched as an alleged ISIS groupie rented a truck and mowed down 8 people on a bike path in New York City.  Within hours, Trump was calling for immigration changes, placing blame, demanding an immediate end to the program that allowed that killer into the United States.  One man.  Who was vetted out the ass, as they all are, but whose mental twig swayed in the breezes of radicalization over the past 7 years, finally snapping as the internal winds whipped up.  One man and immediate changes are in the works.

Yet here we are, another horrific mass shooting, and there will be silence, there will obfuscation, and we will be reprimanded for even daring to bring up gun control as if talking about it sullies the memory of the dead.

The difference?

That killer in NYC was brown and plays into the narrative of fear, panic, and demagoguery, while the three shooters of late are all white men, born and bred right here in the good ol' USA.  

Oh, and guns.  We cannot dare to attempt even a conversation about what we could possibly do to make it even a skosh more difficult for people WHO WERE COURT MARTIALED TO GET THEM.

There is so much truth to the sentiment that once we allowed Sandy Hook to come and go without effecting change, we never would.  The horror of so many innocent 5 and 6 year olds dead hurt our hearts, of course it did, but WE DID NOTHING.  We allowed our politicians to DO NOTHING.  We continue to allow the NRA unfettered access to the halls and pockets of our representatives.  And in doing so, we allow more people to die.

I want you to look at this child.

LOOK. AT. HIM.

His name is Rylan Ward.  He is five years old.  He was shot four times in that church today and is in surgery tonight.  Will he survive?  One can only hope his tiny body can fight as hard as the surgeons who are working on him.  If he does pull through, he is lucky.  In a church of roughly 50 people, nearly all were killed or injured.  Young, old, pregnant, infirm - it did not matter.  Devin Kelley took aim and repeatedly reloaded.  

Little Rylan's face should haunt your dreams tonight, if you can sleep at all.  And in the days ahead, as we learn the names and see the faces of the children, teens, and adults who did not make it to surgery, may their faces be the final straw, the tipping point, the critical mass that has us all stand together.

Because not a single one of us is immune to this rampant lead poisoning.  Church, the movies, a concert, Walmart to buy toilet paper - the next pool of blood could be yours, could be mine.  The only guarantee is that it will be someone's.  Who are you ready to bury?

It is time to join our voices, face Washington, and scare the shit out of our leaders as we finally say, "ENOUGH!"

Yes, Virginia - We Need This Feeling Right Now

The Facebook On This Day feature is one of my favorites.  There really is never a day where I am not transported back to a smile, a tear, a moment, through a picture, a quote, a tag, or something I sat down here to write and share.  

This morning was no exception.  Or maybe, it provided the exception to the emotional ennui we are all feeling.

I wrote the piece last year as we stared down the barrel of the national election.  I tried to see through the divide this country was experiencing; tried to go deeper than our political misgivings and differences; tried to remind myself and everyone else that we are each more than one thing.  

I needed to read it this morning.  

While it does not erase the fear I feel for so many who have been targeted, it helped me find my way to this space again.  To opening my heart to embrace the opportunity to again do what we do, what we have done for so very many years.  

It led me back to Yes, Virginia.  It helped my heart smile.  And it reminded me that Yes, Virginia, Sometimes Rose Colored Glasses Are A Good Thing.

Please read it again, look back, and then don your own rose colored glasses as we join hands, open hearts, lift spirits, and look forward to making another year merry and bright for others.

I am ready to squeeze those pennies and elf as much as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, Virginia, Sometimes Rose Colored Glasses Are A Good Thing

In politics, as in most areas of life, "you win some, you lose some."

Whether Tuesday night will find you cheering or crying in your beer, I'd like to offer up an alternative to the gloat or mope parade that is coming.

I admit, this election season has had everything in me pushing my fingers towards the keyboard to rant, to vent, to prognosticate.  I know what I want to get out, what I want to say.  But often I have made myself do other things instead.  I run errands, and I think.  I make flarfs, and I think.  I paint, and I think.  I pack a box for one of my kids, and I think.

And in thinking, I calm down, albeit temporarily, and I refocus on something I firmly believe.

Regardless of which side of the aisle champions your causes; no matter who you cast your ballot for; whether you "win" or "lose" - you are more than a bumper sticker.  The people I may not agree with politically are more than adversaries, people who see the world differently.  Just as I am not one thing or one issue - neither are they.  We are all complex.  I may not agree with someone's views, but that's not all a person is.

They are mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, daughters, sons, grandparents, friends.

And while this season has seen some true ugliness come forth; seen relationships ended over personal biases revealed; and the worst traits of certain humans unleashed, encouraged even, the dust is going to eventually settle.

As I always told the kids when they were referees: on a soccer field (come on, you didn't think we'd get through this without a soccer analogy, did you?), regardless of the call made by the ref, 50% of the people on and around the field are immediately pissed off and feel wronged.

But life goes on after the whistle.

Just as this country will continue to churn along.  People will go to work, look for work, enlist, go to plays, concerts, soccer games.  People will cut their grass, shovel their snow, vacation, get root canals and Botox, have heart attacks and live, have strokes and die, and they will welcome their families in for the holidays.

THAT is what helped me refocus this morning.

I started thinking about our yearly Yes, Virginia campaign to help keep Santa alive in so many homes where Christmas spirit was a candle ready to go unlit.

And in thinking back over the time we have been doing this, it dawned on me:  Not once in nine years have you asked whoyour dollars have gone to help.  And not once have I ever even contemplated the voting record of the parents who reach out for our assistance.

Because it doesn't matter.

When the chips are down, we come together.  It is that simple. 

I don't care if I am elfing for someone who votes red or blue.  I care only that someone is hurting in a profound way and has asked for help. 

I care that we have kept electricity on, provided Christmas dinners, bought beds for those who had none, shoes for bare feet, winter coats to keep kids and parents warm, pet food for hungry furry family members.  I care that we rally every time this year and manage to create smiles - not just on the little children's faces, but on the faces of their parents whose hearts had been dying at the thought of trying to explain why Santa couldn't come.

I care about what happens on Tuesday, trust me, I do.  But it will happen, and be a bell we cannot unring.  I am well aware of the challenges and even the dangers ahead, but my hope is that those who feel like "winners" on Tuesday will eventually remember that there are just as many people who "lost" who feel every bit as invested in this country as are they.  And I pray that those who find themselves involved in the governance of this country will remember that they are there to help everyone, regardless of red or blue.

Just like we here at DGMS do every year at this time.

Rose colored glasses?  Maybe.  But sometimes, that's not a bad thing at all. 

I think I'll go with candy cane colored glasses.  :)

Give if you can - the Yes, Virginia link is open - and the good feelings are free.

In politics, as in most areas of life, "you win some, you lose some."

Whether Tuesday night will find you cheering or crying in your beer, I'd like to offer up an alternative to the gloat or mope parade that is coming.

I admit, this election season has had everything in me pushing my fingers towards the keyboard to rant, to vent, to prognosticate.  I know what I want to get out, what I want to say.  But often I have made myself do other things instead.  I run errands, and I think.  I make flarfs, and I think.  I paint, and I think.  I pack a box for one of my kids, and I think.

And in thinking, I calm down, albeit temporarily, and I refocus on something I firmly believe.

Regardless of which side of the aisle champions your causes; no matter who you cast your ballot for; whether you "win" or "lose" - you are more than a bumper sticker.  The people I may not agree with politically are more than adversaries, people who see the world differently.  Just as I am not one thing or one issue - neither are they.  We are all complex.  I may not agree with someone's views, but that's not all a person is.

They are mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, daughters, sons, grandparents, friends.

And while this season has seen some true ugliness come forth; seen relationships ended over personal biases revealed; and the worst traits of certain humans unleashed, encouraged even, the dust is going to eventually settle.

As I always told the kids when they were referees: on a soccer field (come on, you didn't think we'd get through this without a soccer analogy, did you?), regardless of the call made by the ref, 50% of the people on and around the field are immediately pissed off and feel wronged.

But life goes on after the whistle.

Just as this country will continue to churn along.  People will go to work, look for work, enlist, go to plays, concerts, soccer games.  People will cut their grass, shovel their snow, vacation, get root canals and Botox, have heart attacks and live, have strokes and die, and they will welcome their families in for the holidays.

THAT is what helped me refocus this morning.

I started thinking about our yearly Yes, Virginia campaign to help keep Santa alive in so many homes where Christmas spirit was a candle ready to go unlit.

And in thinking back over the time we have been doing this, it dawned on me:  Not once in nine years have you asked whoyour dollars have gone to help.  And not once have I ever even contemplated the voting record of the parents who reach out for our assistance.

Because it doesn't matter.

When the chips are down, we come together.  It is that simple. 

I don't care if I am elfing for someone who votes red or blue.  I care only that someone is hurting in a profound way and has asked for help. 

I care that we have kept electricity on, provided Christmas dinners, bought beds for those who had none, shoes for bare feet, winter coats to keep kids and parents warm, pet food for hungry furry family members.  I care that we rally every time this year and manage to create smiles - not just on the little children's faces, but on the faces of their parents whose hearts had been dying at the thought of trying to explain why Santa couldn't come.

I care about what happens on Tuesday, trust me, I do.  But it will happen, and be a bell we cannot unring.  I am well aware of the challenges and even the dangers ahead, but my hope is that those who feel like "winners" on Tuesday will eventually remember that there are just as many people who "lost" who feel every bit as invested in this country as are they.  And I pray that those who find themselves involved in the governance of this country will remember that they are there to help everyone, regardless of red or blue.

Just like we here at DGMS do every year at this time.

Rose colored glasses?  Maybe.  But sometimes, that's not a bad thing at all. 

I think I'll go with candy cane colored glasses.  :)

Give if you can - the Yes, Virginia link is open - and the good feelings are free.