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Yes All Women Cont. (TRIGGER WARNING)

Yesterday’s story was pretty clear cut, a father doesn’t rape his daughter. It’s “easy” to be strong in that case. It’s CLEAR where the lines of right and wrong, lines of BLAME are, you know? But when it’s not? What then? Because a lot of the stories I am reading are of women who have been raped or molested or groped or abused, in short VIOLATED, but because of circumstances feel doubt, feel culpable in their own attacks. Here’s what I know (now obviously) the lines are always clear. Even if you feel they are fuzzy because you were in a relationship, you may have just wanted the guy, you may have been drinking, you may even have come on to him, you may have been drunk. It doesn’t matter. It reallly doesn’t because in the end no one WANTS to be violated. NO ONE wants to feel these things after sex, to have these questions PLAGUE THEM. No one wants to have future sexual relationships and reactions TAINTED. Going a step further when you are no longer making your own choices, either through alcohol, being drugged, coercion or force and someone else is still in control? THERE IS A LINE.

But sometimes even when you see the line, when you know the line is well trampled over, when you hate yourself and him, you stay.

Especially if you are already “damaged goods” (thanks mom) the cycle of abuse is a thing people discuss for a reason. My therapist called it my “freak beacon” It’s real and overwhelming. It starts small. A boundary crossing RIGHT FROM THE GET that is disguised as a romantic gesture. It’s a test, they always test how far they can push you once they have you, but they have to know if you are one of the ones that can even be pushed in the first place. In my case a senior who had been picking on me in photography class, broke into my locker and removed all of my possessions. But. That’s obviously fine, right? Because he left me a rose. SO ROMANTIC. Me now wants to shake past me SO HARD for this moment. Even then there was a little voice wayyyyyy back screaming at me but all my friends were soooooooo jealous. Sooooooo completely over the moon for this move and he was a SENIOR. Plus and lets be honest, given my past I was pretty damn desperate for “love”. The boyfriend I had just prior to this situation was also older than me, had tried to have sex with with me but was thwarted by a tampon (because NO didn’t slow him a bit) and yet I didn’t dump him for that, I dumped him because I found out he was repeating a grade and lied about it. To 15 year old me boundary crossing and having no respect for me? JUST FINE. Being a dumbass? NOT ACCEPTABLE.

But back to “the high school boyfriend” aka pyscho, he eventually won me over and we were a solid item. We dated for 3 months before the first time we attempted to have sex. He got ANGRY AT ME because I “didn’t bleed” which of course meant I wasn’t a virgin, that I was a LIAR. So I explained what happened to me. I explained that I still called myself a virgin because until I CHOSE to have sex with someone for the first time, it wasn’t the same thing. He was instantly apologetic and caring and SO ANGRY at my father but looking back? I think that was the moment he knew he had me. I was “weak”, I was “tormented”, I could be manipulated and abused and all he had to do was act like he cared. Act like I mattered. Pretend to not be that guy.

There was a lot of stupid teen drama and stupid teen desperation in our relationship. We broke up and got back together a lot. But I also ended up pregnant at 16 by him and I KNEW that it was a bad, bad thing. I was willing to let myself be treated like shit and possibly (definitely) be hurt but there was no way in hell I would let a child be damaged. I had an abortion and it didn’t go well for me. I got very sick after. I was bleeding A LOT and since I was keeping it all a huge secret from my mother and my step-dad and all of my friends, I trusted him to take care of me. Which is how I ended up in a bathtub at my boyfriend’s house, trying to bring my fever down, and being raped.

He stopped when I screamed out in pain but I was weak and defenseless and he took advantage of that situation. His apologies were immediate and profuse. “He lost control of himself” “He’s just been so overwhelmed with our situation that he doesn’t even know himself anymore” “He just loves me so much and is so WORRIED ABOUT ME that he NEEDED TO BE CLOSE TO ME” “You’re just so beautiful that sometimes I can’t take it” “It will never happen again. I will be so perfect, you’ll see”

At some point in all his attempts to “make it up to me” he started working in his fear about leaving me when he graduated from high school. His fear of leaving me with my mother who obviously hated me and that my father was still out there and could hurt me. How he wouldn’t be able to protect me. (PROTECT ME) Always these nagging fears. Always these reasons I NEEDED him.

My junior year all of my friends pretty much abandoned me. Wouldn’t even talk to me in the halls. Wouldn’t look at me. I was alone. Except for him. How perfect for him! He didn’t even have to work to alienate me from people, they did it for him.

My senior year my mother kicked me out of the house and then he had me all to himself. We had an apartment together. I worked full time and went to school. He was always scheming. He was gone a lot late nights and never really telling me what was going on. I was working my ass off trying to keep us afloat and not fail out of school so he got away with a lot and I felt all the more isolated and lonely. And then his day in court came up. In the early days he told me that he had this “thing” that may or may not end up going to court that stemmed from a fight he got into with some dude. That they were fairly certain they could get it dropped but “just in case” I needed to know what happened and what might happen. See, he was a child of privilege and his mommy and step-daddy were doing everything they could to get this “taken care of” because obvs he’s innocent.

Cut to court when they read the charges and the plaintiff is not a man. NOT A MAN. A woman. A WOMAN. Court turned into a huge goat rodeo. He fainted on the stand and actually had to be taken out in an ambulance because of the history of heart disease in there family (his sister got a pace maker in her 20’s) and while I’m standing there with his step-father trying to parse what the fuck just happened, it dawns on Gary (the step-father) that he didn’t tell me it was a woman. That I DIDN’T KNOW. In that moment of shock and confusion Gary could’ve told me the truth, he could’ve cut me the fuck loose but instead he took that opportunity to convince me it was a lie. To use his medical evidence (that’s what he was doing there and what he did for a living) to sway me back into the fold. Gary knew what he was, they all did, hell later on when I finally did end it for good the psycho’s own FATHER told me he didn’t blame me and he felt bad I stayed so long because they loved me and knew it was bad for me to be with their son.

Part of me feels bad that it took me another year. I stayed while he went to jail. I stayed when he basically cut out on me, our apartment and bills to go run some scheme in California. I stayed knowing he cheated on me. I moved to Texas to be with him (likely more to get the hell away from my family). I stayed after another rape. I left when I found the crystal meth addiction started, the paranoia started, the threats escalated, the hate escalated. That even after I “left” I was stuck living with him for a month because I didn’t know ANYONE here but his family. That even after I left for good he stalked me. He stole my car (more than once). That he slammed my head into a car window one of the times I got my car back from him. That he told me he was HIV positive so that I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else. That he told me he had cancer to try to get me to come back and take care of him. That when NONE of that worked, he went and found a girl that looked so much like me my brother (the one here, not biological one) mistook her for me at a record store and then called me to warn me because it freaked him out. That he took out his residual shit about me on her, I know this, she called me. He kept a box of all of my photos (he took them when I left him) clothes and UNDERWEAR under their bed. UNDER THEIR BED.

The other part of me? Well. If I didn’t move to Texas, would I have my Sprog? If I didn’t go through all that with him, would I still be in the headspace from my childhood that would allow someone else to do this or worse? If I didn’t go through all that, would I have had the strength to leave Sprog’s father when I did? If I didn’t stay in Texas, would I have ever met Willy?

Either way, I can say this: my freak beacon is off. That cycle is done and those days are OVER. The “cycle of abuse” ended with me and if I had to go through all of that so that my son is kind, healthy, happy, respectful, loved and loving? So be it. I am my experiences but I am also the knowledge that I am more than they ever were.


You know by now about the UCSB shooter (he doesn’t get his name here) about his entitled bullshit rants and woman-hating manifesto, about the tragic murders he committed, about his completely ridiculous and just beyond the pale videos. What you may or may not be aware of is a hashtag on Twitter #YesAllWomen where woman have responded to this event by sharing stories of living with abuse, fear and misogyny. Women have posted on their blogs sharing their stories. Friends have shared their struggles. And it’s been hard. And it’s been uplifting. And it’s made me angry because these woman have been trolled. The internet once again proves itself by anything good being a call to have it sullied by the anony hiding behind their keyboards and getting a good laugh out of being giant fuckwads. Thanks for proving the entire reasoning behind the hashtag in one go, really, we didn’t need you to prove it so well, so fast, but thanks for that.

I have tweeted along with them, somehow avoiding trolling along the way (still not sure how this has happened) sharing stories from my life. I have so many it has been hard for me to decide how many, which ones, to not feel spammy. That sounds like I’m trying to medal in some kind of pain olympics here but it’s just my reality. 140 characters isn’t enough to tell the whole story on any of the events but oddly that’s okay. It’s been harder for me to write about them here than there. I think because laying it out long form opens the pictures too clearly in my mind. These are the things that I have been through but these are not the things on which I dwell. And also because I know that not everyone is able to handle my being so blunt about my past. I have seen it in the faces of people when I lay it out for them. I have seen the shock and the hurt (for me) and then I worry for them.

I am blunt, in part, because my rapists are both dead. They absolutely can’t physically hurt me ever again, even though they couldn’t emotionally for a very long time before either of them passed. I am blunt because I worked really hard at removing their power over me. Not by forgiving them because FUCK THAT but by realizing it’s not MY SHAME. Do I still have triggers? Do TV shows and movies still use horribly violent rapes as a “go-to”? That’d be a big ol yes. Aramis cologne and Coors Beer are two smells that are very bad news for me. But I also KNOW that they didn’t break me and neither did the people that would/did tell me to keep quiet. That would blame me. That would try to find a way to heap the shame onto my shoulders. Including my own inner dialogue. No. NO.

For every person who has looked at me like I’m the worst person in the world because I cut my parents out of my life? Some of us have monsters for parents. Some of us are betrayed by the people you are supposed to trust most in this world. Some of us are taught by the man you are supposed to look up to as an example of the treatment you should expect for yourself, that you are just interchangeable with all the rest of them, something to be used up and thrown away.

Because in normal homes a dad doesn’t accept his drunk friends making a “joke” list of who gets first crack at his daughter when she turns 18. But in my home this is the sort of thing that happens to you at the party of one of his friends. It was a lobster boil. The littler kids were putting the lobsters on the kitchen floor to race them. They had been flown all the way in from Maine and it was a huge deal. I was expected to be “beer bitch” and keep on top of everyone’s beer. And then someone made a comment TO MY FATHER about how I was growing up to be “quite a looker” and how he was going to have to “look out for me” one day. The someone else pipes up that if they “kept it in the family, that’d solve that problem”. And lo some genius demands “DIBS”. They actually bickered about it to the point that a legal pad of paper was slapped down on the pool table. I was told I should be “flattered”. I was told to “relax” and “lighten up” about their jokes. The first name on the list was my dad’s roommate since he got custody of us, a man I had known since I was four. Horrified isn’t a big enough word. Terrified that one of them was going to rape me? Absolutely.

The fact that my father didn’t stop it? That my father didn’t protect me? Maybe that should’ve told me that he was more dangerous to me than any of them. I slept with a knife under my pillow after he raped me. I almost killed myself but then my brother would’ve been left alone with him, so I got us both out. When I testified against him in family court, I stood outside with my therapist and listened to him call me a liar. Listened to him tell them that I had been brainwashed by my mother. The therapist looked me in the eye, shook his head and held my hand. The thing is, he probably really doesn’t remember. He was always drunk and high out of his mind when he came after me. He no longer saw me, he only saw his ex girlfriend, the one that left him, left us. He called me by her name. It’s unfortunate that everyone thought she was my mother when they were together. We really did look that much alike in the first place. How sick is that? Anyway. Because it took me so long to come forward, there wasn’t any physical evidence and they forced me to have supervised visits with him.

I tried refusing but they were mandated by the court so on our very first visit I baited his rage until he flipped over a chair trying to attack me. Restraining order issued, supervised visits ended. I also got a very stern talking to by the therapist in charge (different than the guy that stood up for me in court, loved that guy, loathed this one) “for the game I clearly played” and then my mother yelled at me when when my response was “come talk to me when someone forces you to visit your abuser” and when he asked if I was proud of myself and I answered “yep” she made me leave the office. I might have a strong defiant streak.

I only wish that streak had kept me out of the relationship I had with my high school boyfriend but to expect to come out of my childhood with no damage is ludicrous.

And apologies if I seem angry in this post. I have seen far too many trolls this morning. None of this past is raw for me but what IS raw for me is seeing woman being shamed, mocked or negated for sharing the things they have been put through, things that have been done TO THEM. For the words of the careless, attention-seeking trolls adding more doubt, questions or shame. You are not alone and you are stronger than you feel, know or give yourselves credit for.

I said this earlier: The fact that I have been raped doesn’t make ME weak. I can control MYSELF. Think about what you claim when you blame clothes.

the wilds of social media

Out of coffee

That right there is a picture of this morning’s tea from my handy dandy flickr app with the mammoth filter. It usually would be a picture from Instagram with my familiar sierra filter and possibly comments and likes from my friends but Zuckerberg in his ever increasing flexing of douchebaggery, bought Instagram a while ago and back when it happened, I was upset. I knew he would put an ugly FB spin all over it and ruin what is my go-to social media outlet. And for a while the “DAMN GINA, CALM DOWN” naysayers had their day. Things stayed somewhat the same. The app crashes weren’t that frequent.

And then. Twitter and FB, I mean Instagram, decided to no longer play nice, and Instagram images could no longer be displayed in your feed. You had to click back to the Instagram website and even then, those clicks from Twitter? Didn’t always work and on top of that? ALL Instagram images that used to be a part of your Twitter profile? GONE. Only images uploaded through Twitter directly would be displayed. SUCK.

Yesterday the big bomb was dropped. New TOS, that says that Instagram has RIGHTS TO YOU AND YOUR IMAGES after Jan 16th. They can (and will) sell your images to advertisers. FUN. Oh and btw, children and images of children? NOT EXEMPT. So, obvs people are furious. Especially parent type people and professional photographer type people and the exodus is already beginning. But OH WAIT. We have a new HARD LINE over here. Even though we are essentially FB, we aren’t going to play nice with you, if you leave, like we do on FB. If you go? You can NEVER have your same user name, if you decide to come back. YOU will never have access to your images again but oh hey, of you leave AFTER Jan 16th? We can still sell them if we wish.

There is still some doubt as to whether or not being private offers some protections like it does (or did?) on FB but I am going with the ultra cautious no, it doesn’t and likely will be gone from Instagram before the deadline. I don’t tend to use it for my professional images but I don’t want people selling pics of the kids I have taken with my phone or pics I have taken of my son.

I am trying out the flickr app, since I pay for flickr every year anyway, and probably will see what else pops up to fill the void. I also already have Camera+ on my phone.

a setback

We have been working very hard at clearing our credit card debt, again. You see, we had ALL of our credit cards paid off and then we decided to pull out the carpet and put down the Pergo floors AND THEN we went into the year of suck cycles and suddenly had more than just the floors on credit cards again…but now that we are so close to being totally paid off again?

We have this situation

Sunday, Sprog and I were driving back home after delivering some handmade bouquets and bouts (I can’t spell the word so I’m not going to attempt it) to my lovely friend Kristie and we had just stopped at the Buc-ee’s in Madisonville. Now, Sprog drove the whole way to Ft. Worth on Saturday, and done a great job, so there was absolutely no reason for me to take the keys but I insisted I drive the rest of the way and obviously I am so glad that I did. Just outside of Huntsville, where the speed limit is still 75mph, I was doing around 82 mph in the left lane when my engine just quit. QUIT. I swear it was so freaking scary. There was traffic everywhere and everyone was FLYING on that road. Somehow I had the presence of mind enough to get my blinker on and get us off the road before we totally lost speed but I could only get us off to the left hand shoulder, which isn’t the safest place to be. I had Sprog climb through the driver’s side and then we pushed my car a little further off to the side but no so far that the eventual wrecker wouldn’t be able to get us.

No one stopped. NO ONE. I called my husband freaking the fuck out. I’m not even going to pretend I was calm and collected or knew what to do. My phone wouldn’t let me dial the wrecker’s number he gave me. I called our insurance (we have road-side assistance) and they gave me a number and my phone wouldn’t dial that either! I finally was able to get my phone to contact a wrecker by looking it up on google and clicking the call button under the listing. The dispatcher was a miserable bitch to me and gave me shit about what side of the road I was on. Um, lady, cars are WHIZZING PAST ME at 85-90 mph, I can’t PUSH A DEAD CAR ACROSS TWO LANES OF TRAFFIC. A state trooper FLEW past me and I was PISSED that he didn’t stop…but what I didn’t know was that he at least had the decency to call us in so that a sheriff’s deputy eventually came to help us. The wrecker dispatch told us 45 minutes. My husband was over an hour away. The deputy checked under my hood to try and figure out something that *might* get me back on the road at least to the closest gas station and called a priority code to get the wrecker to move his ass. He was SO NICE. Seriously, very kind.

It was approximately 1 million degrees out there while we waited and since the median has all that tall grass there were bugs just flying and crawling and jumping into my car the whole time. Plus, every car that flew by shook my car. It was dicey.

Then the wrecker showed up and proceeded to tell us about the BUS that PLOWED INTO one of their trucks on the same stretch of road AND TWO OF THEIR DRIVERS not two weeks ago. So that was reassuring. The deputy walked alongside me and Sprog as we made our way IN TRAFFIC into the cab of the wrecker and then he escorted the truck out into the road so we could make it safely out of there. I had no idea where we were even going as I live 70 miles away but the driver suggested a FIRESTONE (seriously. OMG) because the “other place” which is a Chevy dealership is closed on Sunday and locks their gates so we couldn’t even leave the car there.

All told, it took us over 8 hours to get home on Sunday. EIGHT HOURS.

My car sat there yesterday without anyone even looking at it because their “lead tech” wasn’t even in (again, OMG) and I just can’t even believe this is happening. I mean yes, I know my car is 10 years old BUT it only had 74,000 on it.

The general consensus is the timing belt but we don’t know what if any damage was done to the engine by it cutting out at that speed (if that is even what happened) so we have no idea if the car is even worth fixing at this point. (given the fact that we just had 4,300 worth of work done to it in December because of the wreck-we only paid our deductible + $100 for the rental car overage of course but that wreck seriously reduced any trade-in value it had) I opened my husband’s iPad last night and the first tab was talking about when to scrap, donate or fix a car. ACK!!

We were trying to buy Sprog a car. Willy’s car is not yet paid off. This is not what we need to be dealing with right now. I am so very frustrated and upset, I just can’t even.

for the love of the pool

When you talk to anyone that has ever had a pool or known anyone who has had a pool, the first thing you hear about it how AWFUL the maintenance is. So awful, in fact, a large majority of them would never own a pool again because it’s that much of a pain in the ass.

Now, our pool is a fairly good size and it’s directly beneath about like 5 trees, two of which are Crepe Myrtles with their ridiculous feathery flowers. Which means the amount of crap that ends up in the pool is not small and that it pretty much has to be skimmed every day. I don’t mind that AT ALL. I do all the skimming while in the pool, so I keep cool the whole time and I get a little bit of exercise plodding all over the place cleaning it up. We have a fancy sand filter which runs on a timer so I just check to make sure it comes on when it’s supposed to and that nothing is trapped in the skimmer, no big deal. The skimmer holds the chlorine tablets so the chemical bit is largely handled by the filter. All of these things are seriously not bothersome to me in the least.

I have been trying to swim laps every day (doesn’t always happen) as my form of exercise since it’s the only exercise that doesn’t make me want to immediately croak right now, so all of those above things are going to be handled when I’m out there anyway.

Again, NO BIG.

Unfortunately, there is A BIG and it’s the back-flushing of the sand filter. We had to do it this weekend and OMFG, that sucked so severely. First, the back-flush hose is only 50 ft long. We followed our installation instructions exactly and put the freaking filter on the far side of the pool, which means that the 50 ft of hose is only just barely enough to reach to the main drain, IF it goes up and over the top of the damn pool. Second, the hose is made from some flexible material and is FLOPPY. Third, it takes a shit pot of water to properly flush out the filter. Combine those three things and you get me desperately fighting against a too-short, floppy hose, while it sprays chlorinated water in my face (and everywhere else) as I am trying to get it aimed where it needs to be AND HOLD IT THERE. Meanwhile, our already low pool is getting lower by the second and oh hey, did it occur to no one that ADDING WATER might be a good freaking idea? I can tell you it didn’t. At the time that the water level got below the skimmer, I was the one watching the filter and Wills was manning the hose (snerk) so I turned it off as fast as I could but it wasn’t fast enough to prevent water from getting into the first chamber of the filter pump, which meant that Wills had to go Google how to resolve that issue while I held the hose in the air and sweat through my clothes; which I continued to do while he came back out and resolved the issue, until it was time to fight the hose again (snerk) and continue with the process. IT TAKES FOREVER to get all the sand clear from this little observation window thing that you have to watch the whole time, so we opted to get as much out as possible and MOVE THE FUCK ON ALREADY, instead of getting it totally cleared.

After that? Rinse cycle! Thankfully the rinse cycle is only a minute long and then you get to re-attach everything, figure out how to get all the residual water OUT of the HUGE FLOPPY HOSE and turn the filter on again to ensure everything works.

Supposedly we are going to have to do this again at the end of August. Sprog and Wills will be handling the next go round.

Oh and only somewhat related but our neighbors also have a backyard pool. For the majority of the time we have had ours, no one has been in theirs, I honestly thought that they had let it get algae or whatever. Anyway, Wills and I were finally enjoying a nice leisurely night swim the other night and had the radio on when the neighbor kids came out and started blasting the stupid local pop station. Seriously? If I come outside and someone else already has their music on? I am NOT GOING TO TURN MINE ON. Wills and I both are of the “you were here first, I’m not going to disturb you” mentality but it seems like no one else is, so rude! We totally left OUR pool because we were so annoyed by THEIR pool. UGH.

3.4 fl oz in a quart sized bag

People of the world, can we discuss how stupid you are?

How do you think you can walk through a TSA check point without showing your boarding pass or ID? I am surprised he didn’t shoot you! Now they are going to make you stand there and wait while they take everyone else, to prove their point. Idiot. Wait your freaking turn, that means WHEN YOU ARE CALLED, LADY.

All liquids must be 3.4 fluid oz (the size is right there on the bottle) or smaller and fit inside your quart sized baggie TOGETHER. COMFORTABLY. Together means everything all at once. Comfortably means that the bag has to be able to close when everything is in there all at once. They sell empty travel sized bottles that you can use to transfer your items into so that you don’t hold up the fucking line, keep us in travel line purgatory and make us, those that can read and follow directions, miss our flights. By the way, I should apparently also mention that it’s ONE BAG PER PERSON, numbnuts, not ONE BAG PER ITEM. I see you carrying your military cammo jacket so you can apparently follow some directions, what happened with these? See also the size issue as full sized mouth wash and shaving cream do not follow the above regulations. I know you are at least familiar with that term.

When the TSA agents get annoyed and start repeatedly rattling off what to have out of your bags and mention toiletries? THEY DON’T MEAN MAKE-UP UNLESS IT’S A LIQUID. You don’t now have to hold me up by digging out and opening something that was fine the way it was.

Your FIVE BAGS do not qualify as TWO carry-on items. Pack that shit better or check that shit. SERIOUSLY. Also, you do not have to put all of that into a bin! YOU ARE HOLDING UP THE LINE so that your precious things don’t touch the conveyor and I’m about to drop you, some of us actually have flights to make. Which is more precious now?

Laptops must be out of your bags. ARE YOU HARD OF HEARING? They all have only said this 800 times now, across the 6 lanes of security. I am sure you have heard one of them. Lane 1 over there is completely stopped due to liquids in bags, water bottles CONTAIN LIQUIDS-SHOCKING, and LAPTOPS. Do you want to be like LANE ONE?

Oh Christ! There goes LANE THREE with a Bag Check.


It’s not like this stuff is new! It’s been going on for many years now (as far as regulations are concerned) and it’s not like it was one lane, there were SIX and yet, the stupid of the world somehow are completely gobsmacked and totally destroy the whole thing. Do us all a favor and either 1) LEARN or 2) DON’T FLY

how not to be a southern gentleman

Scene: Costco around 12:30 in the afternoon, my friend D and I have just pulled into the parking lot and came upon a person getting ready to back out of their parking space. SWEET! This almost never happens close to the door with no land-sharking. So we settle in on our side of the lane to wait for the spot. Suddenly there is another car on the left hand side, coming towards us, but we have already got our blinker on for the spot AND they have the handicap placard, so I figure we’re golden, they stop anyway. UM WHAT? So D motions to them that she is waiting for the spot and to go around. The handicap spots are easily accessible behind us. They refuse to move, so the car we are waiting on also can’t move. D looks behind her and measures the distance to ALL the handicap spots and readjusts her car so the car can more easily get by (seriously, there was NO REASON to do this but she did it anyway). They finally start slowly inching forward and suddenly the man who had been loading his truck, during all this, jumps in and backs out, honking his horn the whole way.

THEN he pulls up next to our car and SCREAMS at us. I don’t register what he says at first because I’m so shocked that he’s screaming but then he says, “Maybe you’d be better off just taking a farther away parking space because I’m sure you need the exercise you fat ass fucking bitch!” Meanwhile, a family is walking next to our car and D responds back to him, “In front of children? Really?” He tears out of there and it’s all over. Really? This is how people behave?

As we walk to the door (shaken up I might add) I happen to look over at the gas pumps and see his 9 month pregnant self pumping gas. Interesting how he used that put down when he is bigger than both of us AND was parked in essentially the same spot we were taking, just across the way.

I’m still in awe by the ridiculousness of it all.

the ants go marching 2×2 hurrah

We here in the lovely arm pit of Texas, aka Houston, are enjoying our second week of torrential downpours, tornado watches, severe thunderstorms and flooding. Earlier this evening we were without power for nearly an hour while the storm beat us around and we watched the water level rise once again in our back and front yards and I know a certain anxiety ridden black lab golden retriever mix that isn’t going to make the cut for the whole 2 dogs on the arc thing. You may think me cruel but she’d try to dig her way right through the wood of the ship or pull some dog overboard shit and I am not going in after her stupid ass; it’s called realism.

Okay. Okay. It might also be a skosh of anger at her little show earlier this evening and consequent getting of me completely soaked by ice cold rains while my feet were ankle deep in what was surely shit water, being that the yard has not been recently cleared of their excrement. See, she started freaking out above and beyond her chicken little act that there was a storm going on, scratching at Sprog’s couch, trying to get into the tub, scratching at the storm door and even willingly going into the kitchen by herself which never happens. After asking if she needed to potty and her emphatic body language in the positive, I let her out into the storm and then she went all crazy mental and froze. So after getting an umbrella (WHY MUST THEY ALWAYS BE IN THE CAR?) I went out with her thinking that would help her go and instead she just walked me around the yard till she could dart for the other door. The rains, meanwhile, are somehow coming from the ground at this point and the umbrella is about pointless. My shoes (flip flops) are acting as suction cups and sticking into the ground or coming off entirely but really doing little else as the water is well over my ankles and the damn dog will not come back to me so we can get into the other door, the one with a tile entry and towels for drying off.

After two attempts, she was successfully captured, thanks to the boys (DRY IN THE HOUSE, MIND) closing the blinds so she would figure out that wasn’t her entrance and me huddling over her while holding the huge umbrella sideways and letting it just funnel the rain down the crack of my ass.

It’s 1:18 now and I am awake. It’s still raining, lightning, thundering. The scaredy cats are asleep in the bedroom after their barks of alarm made it clear that there was no way they were going to sleep in the kitchen with the big bad thunder out there waiting to get them. The husband is also asleep, soundly, so much so that he was snoring earlier. I on the other hand am frustrated, hurting (thanks for the migraine weather gods) and desperately wishing I had some Advil PM. BLEAH.

I guess I’ll get to a weekend wrap up on Wednesday if I don’t find something else to bitch about before then, haha.

miss manners goes to sea world and watches real housewives of nyc

It’s been almost 2 weeks since we went to Sea World. 2 weeks since we went as a little group on a little trip that surely I should want to talk about, that surely I should want to recap for this little blog. Note the use of the word little there. I like little. If only what I found there was anything but the teeming mass of humanity we encountered…I probably would’ve covered more than the many faces of unimpressed Sprog by now. As Agent K said, “A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it.”

I’ll go a step beyond that, People are rude; plain and simple. While a person may be polite, while several people may be polite, People in the extreme are not. Let me just say that Sea World, at Spring Break? That is People in the extreme. One of the first incidents happened at the dolphin feeding tank. The dolphin feeding tank is first come first served, basically, you wait your turn for a spot on the wall while someone else in your party waits in line and hopes like hell they can get some fish before they sell out. I’m not kidding about the hope, they recommend starting to wait 30 min before the feedings even start, they sell out each round because the dolphins have a strict diet. Sprog was on the wall next to Connor while my sister was in line for the fish when suddenly he popped up and walked away and some woman put her two young children down on the wall next to Connor. Of course I turned and asked Sprog what was going on and he in turn kicked my feet. Loudly, I proclaimed that I couldn’t believe that had happened to him, which then prompted the woman to finally issue a very snotty “thank you” to my son. Can you believe a grown woman would kick the feet of a child until he moved? Connor instantly started complaining that he wanted his Sprog back and asking where his mom was with the fish. I soothed him with a reminder that his mom was in line with the fish, which made the woman start to panic because she actually realized she had no way to get any, and that Sprog was right behind him still, that it would be okay. Eventually she left and Sprog was able to get back to his rightful place on the wall.

The next major issue happened as I was exiting Mango Joe’s restaurant. I had just used their facilities (bathrooms are SCARCE, which-dumb) and a man and woman approached with small children but were using those scooter things, so I held the door open for them. I thought that after they passed me, the next people would obviously take the door from me, right? No. NO ONE took the damn door. Some asshole even commented what a classy place it was that they had designated people to hold open doors? Are you effing kidding me? I should’ve let the door just slam on his stupid ass but by then it became a test, a curiosity to see how many people would just let me stand there holding the damn door. How many MEN especially in TEXAS would just walk right past me holding the door and not even make an effort towards it. Let me tell you, it was A LOT. I stood there for a long damn time. It wasn’t until a man with a kid on his shoulders and a kid in his hands made an effort towards it, that I told him no-he obviously had his hands full, that someone else took the door from me. Ridiculous!

Of course there were other issues: people cutting in the 45 minute lunch line, kids blocking the play tube on the background and screaming at the other kids, people destroying the bathrooms with their filth, people jumping in front of your pictures without looking/caring/apologizing, people with strollers mowing you down, etc.

I’m really affected by personal rudeness. It really, truly bothers me and I’m sad to say that my trip to Sea World is marred by this, shaped by this. It will never live up to what I hoped it could be, because of it. Even though Universal Studios had tons more people it was better somehow, Busch Gardens too. Maybe because those crowds are their livelihood, they know how to move them? I don’t know. Oh and another thing? Sea World is like hidden up there in the rocky outcropping. Hardly any signage to give away it’s location…has that bothered anyone else? I found that annoying personally. The picture of the kids at the sign? We had to pull off at the side of the road (in traffic) hop out of the car and take the picture. Connor doesn’t exactly move with anything resembling purpose or speed and it had me completely stressed out.

Obviously if I am going to talk rude, Kelly from RHONYC is going to come to mind. Did y’all watch last night? When she showed up 30 minutes late and her attitude was essentially oh well? I would’ve blown an effing gasket. Actually, I would’ve left a note with the film crew about my time being valuable and left but I guess that wouldn’t have allowed for her deluded “I’m up here, you’re down there” visual. UGH. Oh and I normally can’t stand the Countess, but thank goodness she said something about it not really being an attack on Bethenny’s part. I would’ve screamed if she had sided with Kelly about that situation. I think Kelly is revolting. REVOLTING.