Celeb Safety Patrol

Not cool, man. 2016, you’re doing us wrong.
Prince? Really?
All these icons of my formative years, just dropping like flies…I can’t like it.
I was a little sad when MJ died, and of course Whitney – but let’s be honest, we all kind of had that feeling immediately afterwards of being surprised she hadn’t a few years sooner.
~ But Prince?
I always assumed he’d be around forever, I guess. That tiny little man with more talent in his pinky finger than most of us could ever even dream about. What a tragic loss.
I just want to know one thing. Has anybody checked on Billy Joel lately?
He doing alright? ‘Cause he needs to be wearing a helmet when he’s on those motorcycles. I know ya love ’em, Billy, but PLEASE be careful! Like, extra, super careful. Give us at least another 20 years of your brilliant musical mind.
I feel like we need to band together, and have a fan club/safety patrol that just keeps track of certain celeb’s health. There’ll OF COURSE be a committee to decide which stars we guard, because … well… I’ll just say it. Some of them might not be such a tragic loss.
We can divide it into camps or districts or whatever. A team in place for each musical icon, and then a team member or two in charge of each aspect of their lives – because I feel like their own staff(s) are seriously dropping the ball.
Someone to watch what they’re eating. Someone’s keeping an eye on safety gear and precautions when they’re in the car. Someone doing a drug & alcohol check of their homes and vehicles.
Like stalkers, for health & safety purposes.
“Stevie Wonder hasn’t been eating his veggies, y’all. Somebody get on this! I don’t care WHAT you have to do, blend it up and put it in his cheeseburger. Just blend it somewhere else so he don’t know you’re there, man.”
“What’s that? Madonna went skiing? Who’s on the safety gear patrol? Sharon? You got this? I don’t want to hear about a sprain later today. You get down that mountain and blow up one of those emergency landing bouncy things – NOW! Mike – go cut down all the friggin’ trees, or find a way to wrap those bouncy things around them! GO!”
“Hey, y’all, Cher is hitting the bottle a little too often. I need someone from district 5 to get on over there and water her sh*t down – STAT. No, just water it by a third. We’ll run to half next week. Gotta wean her off slow.”
Let’s do this. Who’s in?

Target, You Missed The Point.

Lots of buzz today about Target’s big decision to make sure everyone feels included by allowing anyone who identifies with their opposite gender to go into said restroom and dressing room. This is to make sure transgender folks don’t feel left out. The rule also means that they don’t have to dress as the opposite sex. Just identify inside…

They did this INSTEAD of creating a unisex bathroom and dressing room in their stores.

Okay, look. I get that “inclusive” desire. I do. And I’m seeing soooooo many angry posts from both sides of this fence. The one side is upset because of the perverts who now have access, and the other side is upset because if you have that fear, you must be a hateful bigot against transgenders.

But here’s the deal. I think a lot of the folks who are screaming about hateful bigots are missing a very real point that should have been considered by the powers that be.

No one (that I have seen) has called real transgenders “perverts”.

We’re not afraid of transgenders. Well, I’m not. I’ve met a few. They’re living a very hard life. Can you just imagine? I personally don’t believe that any person who has dealt with life-long emotional torment and has (or is currently) going through really scary hormonal therapy and surgeries to whatever degree, are the people to be scared of…and I have yet to see anyone arguing against these new policies that is afraid of them, either.

We’re afraid of the actual sexual predators. We’re finally at a place in our society that makes us aware that the predator isn’t always the creepy looking guy in the white van (but seriously, stay away from the white vans, y’all). They’re completely normal-looking people.

We’re afraid of the guy who walks into a women’s restroom and sticks his cell phone under the stall he’s been in for a while, next to your child who is expressing her independence to go potty all by herself like a big girl.

We’re afraid of the guy who walks right into the locker room while we’re changing clothes or getting out of the shower, where it used to be just girls and we didn’t worry that someone was staring at our boobs, and snapping a photo discreetly, or even just standing there, or maybe changing clothes himself and decided to rub one off because he’s in a room full of half-naked, sweaty women.

Now, those guys can get away with it. The alarm that goes off in your head when your child goes to the bathroom in the restaurant, and a man walks in right after her – no one will listen anymore. No one will call the cops. No one will force him to leave.

Why?

Because all he has to do is LIE, and SAY he “feels” like a girl inside.

Oh, looky there. He just made it okay for him to be a pervert, and no one will question him or even ask if he took any photos while he was in there. Even if they did ask, can they confiscate his phone to check, if he (surprise!) LIES about that too? NOPE.

Nobody’s really all that worried about the actual transgenders, dimwit.

We should ALL be worried about predators.

Predators, by and large, are a different group of people altogether. And if YOU aren’t worried about that, enough to agree that another solution should be reached, you’re incredibly naïve.

Am I full of hate? Absolutely. I HATE sexual predators. I have been sexually assaulted, and I know others close to me who have as well – adults AND children. You’re damned right I hate those bastards. None of them were transgenders. Just your average, run-of-the-mill rapists and child molesters…and here’s a newsflash for you: THEY LIE.

Do you think its beyond the scope of possibility that a pervert would also be a liar? Really?

THESE are the people everyone’s upset about, y’all.

So quit name-calling and getting your feathers all ruffled. I don’t know anyone who HATES transgender people. Lots of people don’t understand them? Sure. That’s a reasonable assumption.

But why isn’t it reasonable to ask for a unisex bathroom and locker room, so that the goal truly is reached and we ALL feel comfortable while at our most vulnerable?

I hope, for your child’s sake, that you aren’t so open-minded that you have traded wisdom and reason for blind faith that everyone tells the truth and that no one would ever take advantage of policies like this one.

They (the perverts, rapists and child molesters) have gone into bathrooms to actively assault others for years, you know.

Now, they have a license to do so.

 

…For A Big Girl

You’ve either said it or, if you’re me, heard it a dozen times in your life. The ultimate back-handed compliment. The flattery that insinuates a need for justification. You probably don’t even realize you’re doing it, but I’m here to tell you once and for all, kiddos – THIS is what we really hear:

“You have such a pretty face” (If you were thinner, the rest of you would be, too)

“You’re always so well-put-together” (I just assumed you were a slob, because fat people don’t care how they look)

“Where do you get your clothes?” (Do you have to get them specially made, because you’re so fat?)

“You’re so beautiful, for a big girl” (In spite of the fact that you are, by definition, repulsive, I find you to be less so, because your face is attractive)

“I mean, you don’t EAT like an overweight person” (All fat people eat garbage non-stop)

“You don’t seem to have any trouble getting around” (Aren’t all fat people immobile, like Jabba the Hutt?)

“That outfit is really slimming on you” (You’re more acceptable when something makes you look thinner)

“You get hit on more than I do” (I am stunned that men find you attractive)

That last one’s my favorite.

I’ve talked about this very thing in reference to racism that you’re in denial about. The old “He’s cute, for a black guy” endorsement I’d get from friends on a new love interest in my life. Wait, what? FOR A BLACK GUY? What does that even MEAN?

I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure you just said “Even though this person is LESS than the rest of us, I SUPPOSE he’s okay, out of a WHOLE RACE of people who are inherently UNattractive”.

No? That’s not what you meant? OH. MY BAD. Except, yeah, its exactly what you meant.

You say something like that, and you’re letting your secret bigotry cat out of the bag. This is pretty much the same type of insult when you’re complimenting a fat person.

You only THOUGHT you were saying something nice. The thing is, if you have to rationalize the approval, it loses its value to the recipient. We, the fat/black/gay/short/whatever-you’re-trying-to-help-us-get-past(-but-thanks-we-don’t-need-your-help) hear the insult louder than the applause. In fact, we know its coming. We’ve heard it all of our lives.

How sad is that? We know its coming. Be the change, y’all. Stop with the compliment. Do I look pretty? Good. I don’t need exclamations of how amazing it is that I could possibly look pretty under these terrible circumstances of being disgusting.

To sum up our lesson for today, boys & girls:

If someone looks nice, tell them. And leave it at that. Don’t appear to be amazed by it. Don’t ask questions like you’re a child at an old-timey freak show. It IS possible to say a nice thing and just shut your mouth. Do that.

 

 

 

Let it be.

The breakup is/was coming. I think I just did it myself. We’ll see if he calls to confirm. He’s already hinted at it. We hadn’t even really gotten started, but it still smarts. I admit, I pulled a preemptive strike and gave him an ‘out’ via email, before he makes the call that I know will make me snivel like a little girl.

And before you give me crap about doing it via email, he’s at work and said we’d talk when he got off, but I had stuff to say that couldn’t wait. So, sue me. You can’t say you wonder if you need to take a step back, followed with “we can talk about it after I get off work”, and expect me to sit around and wait. Wrong girl. Can’t want to.

I won’t go into detail, but there was a misunderstanding. Some innocuous thing that means nothing in the grand scheme of life, but it can derail potential very quickly. I’d rather avoid the awkwardness and just be done. Am I giving up too easily?

Maybe.

But the truth of the matter is that I’ve been just absolutely drawn and quartered emotionally so many times that I honestly prefer to just rip off the Band-Aid, tiny hairs and all. Life is too short to spend it wallowing in turmoil over what might happen or not happen.

I saw an internet meme not long ago that said “Dating after 30: We gonna do this or not? ‘Cause I got shit to do.” True dat. I like saying the phrase “I ain’t got time”. Honestly, I’m 41. I got all the time in the world, honey, because my expectations stopped being romance-novel-level years ago, and I have a “fake” job now that doesn’t require much actual work. Also, I currently have no vehicle, and since I live at my job, well, Netflix gets a lot of time from me. I got all kinds of time.

I still ain’t got time. No time for drawing things out. No time for dancing around words that hurt or heal. No time for playing games. No time for lies. No time for pretending to be or think or feel something other than the truth of who I am. I’ve been through far too much devastation to spend even one second pretending.

That tends to get me into trouble with other people’s feelings at times. My dad used to say “Tell the truth, but don’t always be tellin’ the truth”. He’s right about that. I’m still learning when to keep my mouth shut.

Anyhoo… My point is that I’m so direct and honest (sometimes brutally so) that I can appear callous. Only those who know me well can attest to the gooey, sensitive, girly, ridiculous softness that lies within. I think that’s why dating a new person usually ends pretty early. There’s no in-between – they either see the tough shield or the soft center, and both parts of me are so deeply, no-holds-barred real that it’s far too much for most folks to stomach for long.

And that’s okay. It hurts, but I get it.