The Cleveland murders of 11 black women who were buried in the back yard of a previously convicted sex offender chill me to the bone. How could 23 women be murdered, almost completely unnoticed by the local community, media or the police. My gut feeling is that is was racism and sexism, even class that came into play, as some of the victims family members have accused the local police of ignoring their missing person reports. Whatever the reason the lack of media coverage is disturbing.

Also the throwing aside of reproductive rights to get the health care bill passed has really ticked me off. The Hyde Amendment, one in which has to be passed every year, was used as a reason for why women under the health reform bill will be unable to use any government funds to get a insurance plan that covers abortion. Not to appease just Republicans, but so called Pro-Life Democrats, even though the platform of the party still claims to be Pro-Choice. Yet despite this not every Democrat voted for the bill and only one Republican did.

One of the things I really miss about being a college student in the U.S is access to reproductive healthcare. A year or so ago, I could simple walk down to the health centre in between classes, pay little or no money and within a few minutes of waiting, be ushered in to see a friendly and understanding nurse practitioner. This non-judgemental and knowledgeable woman, would not blink at answers to questions about the number or gender of previous sexual partners. She was happy to recommend a free trial of the latest in contraceptive innovation like the Nuvaring (which I am sure had been asked to punt by pharmaceutical representatives). She even left me voicemails of my test results or mailed them to me on a cheerful card so I did not have to come into the centre a second time. Going to see the gynaecologist is rarely a fun experience, but it really should always be so easy.

Now, the Jon and Kate soap opera is admittedly disgusting on both sides, and watching the media and two parents assist in tearing a family apart is repulsive. But I just came across a comment that was truly infuriating.

Jon, who seemed to regress into childish behaviors before recently appearing apologetic, offers up this explanation for his actions:

“It’s hard for a man to stay home for two years and change diapers and make meals and deal with doctor’s appointments and all the stuff that you expect your wife to do.”

Huh? And it's not hard for a woman to do all of those things? Family frustrations are universal for any sex. Why did he agree to have children at all if he wasn't prepared for a burden? To expect for his wife to take care of kids jointly created by the two of them is selfish and sexist.

A) HAD to share this:

Condom Commercial FTW

B) Yeah, so... Sorry for the MIA... Sitting here with an injured shoulder, which was immediately preceded by an adductor injury... and I've been training through both of them with more than a fair share of stress since I found out that I had to test out to keep the job I just got--again.

After almost 4 years, living in 3 different places and countless fights, I'm so finally done with my relationship with Nik.

Everything had calmed down for a little bit, but then we got into a physical fight where I was thrown on our tile floor. Two days later I was physically attacked for laughing at him.

Maybe, just maybe I would have considered making up with him (because I have a high tolerance for this b/s growing up in an abusive home) but thankfully, I had someone who I could tell about what happened, which made it impossible to stay. The Friday after he threw me on the floor one of my co-workers started asked me how I was doing. I had every intention of lying to everyone, even though I felt sick and dizzy, even though every bone in my body hurt and it was almost impossible to do the physical aspects of my job. For some reason I showed him my bleeding and bruised arm. "Drunk?" he asked. "No..." I didn't even have to tell him what happened. He knew. His smile turned into the most pained and sad look anyone has ever given me. "Oh honey, you have to do something about that. Let me know if you need anything." He walked away for a few minutes, but returned to ask me if I had money saved up and my basic plan for leaving.

We are the snails,
Slow in our approach, hindered by such a weight upon our shoulders.
Predators swoop upon us as we retreat inside our shells, silence, darkness, and for this we are labelled obedient.

Or perhaps we are the spiders silently twisting up and down a flimsy thread; foolishly hoping those we lust after will become tangled in our web, and for this we are labelled delicate.

Could we be the fantails? Beautifully formed, flitting graceful in and out of sight, watching, and adored for our beauty not our song.

Maybe we are the lizards, shrugging off old skin tempted by a new life, abandoning our memories of a harsh dry existence.

Over the summer, I saw a play in which a woman in a rocky marriage asked the audience how it was possible that one man could affect her so much, that one man could make her feel so bad. Admittedly, the collective patriarchy and general opinion of men seems to be the "backbone" of sexism, so to speak. But in my experience it's the personal that becomes the political, and that it is indeed that one man that can make a difference.

We read into our personal experiences a lot. I find myself questioning my behavior and even altering it based on the reactions that I get from boys, trying to please them. After a break up, I feel my thoughts don't veer towards "Why didn't it work out?" or "Why aren't our personalities meshing?" or "Why did we have that fight?" Rather, I'm immediately thinking about what I must have done wrong, what actions I could have taken to prevent it, why I drove him away. It's really very hard to find one's self when one is trying to mold into someone else's idea of perfection.

In 1977 Roman Polanski gave a thirteen year old girl a sedative and alcohol and raped her. After admitting to statutory rape and after spending a little over a month in a mental institution Polanski fled to Europe to avoid a prison sentence. He has finally been arrested.

Hollywood isn't happy. They have created a petition signed by everyone from Harrison Ford to Woody Allen (no surprise there). Whoopi Goldberg used her spot on the View to defend Polanski, "I know it wasn't 'rape' rape. I think it was something else, but I don't believe it was 'rape' rape". Right. Because statutory rape isn't rape?

I wanted to share this:

"Oh you can't speak to a brotha?"

Even though race plays a big part in this particular narrative, I feel that the basic message is universal. It's what I wish I could say to every guy who--daily--throws comments at me while I walk down the street.

Maybe, individually, they don't mean much by it. "Hey baby", "Ooo nice legs", "Babe you fine", "Mm-mm", "How you doin'", etc. But when just stepping out of my g0dd@mn house means a constant barrage of these things, it adds up.

I wish I could turn to every single one of those guys and say,

When I usually think about sexism I put it in terms of human rights. The rights we have lost or gained. The amount of respect we receive. I however rarely think about the toll that sexism puts on our physical bodies. Or the way in which men use our bodies to get out their frustrations.

Whether it is a woman being raped by her husband or by a soldier in a conflict zone or a woman who is being hit by her husband who lost his job or the woman is denied prenatal care during her pregnancy, our bodies are the first victims of sexism.

I see how my own body has been the victim of sexism. Short, thin, bruised, burned, scared. Starved, stressed, beaten, forced, burdened.

I have been staring at this page all day, writing and erasing, it seems that I just don't have many words today, so I will keep this short...

It is pretty sad when a (male) teacher stands in front of a class of 120 people and tells us that we women should feel so lucky that we are no longer second class citizens. We still are, and it’s still shitty. Oh shit, I actually vocalised that and now everyone is staring. Well fuck it, we are. Yeah I can get an education, but I have to make grades that are SO much better than the male students in my class so that when we both show up to a job interview they might even consider hiring me over him, but in this country, it’s unlikely. I might have a job, a job working behind a bar where I serve idiots who drive trucks that are too big for their families, don’t give a shit about the environment and think I should feel privileged that they even bother to pinch my ass every time I walk by. Sure I have the vote, but most of the time there are no women to vote for in the election now that we have lost (my dearly beloved!) Helen Clark. I can play sport but I can’t watch Women play it on television if there is men’s sport on which takes preference over it immediately. I don’t have to marry and have children but when I seek out healthcare such as asking for a hysterectomy due to chronic pain, I am denied because I am apparently giving up a womb that the world still might want to use.

Yeah I don't even know. What to say.

Right now I'm sitting in a room full of half-packed boxes, drinking a Mike's hard and trying to consolidate how utterly f-ed up the world is with any shred of optimism I have left in my achy, achy body.

"Sexual harassment" doesn't even begin to cover it. I paid thirteen-thousand dollars for this education. I can name every bone and muscle in the human body. Know what the hypothalamus is? Plantar fasciitis? How about the muscles involved in patellar tracking? You can bet your a** my clients don't, and yet they seem to think that the State of Illinois licensed me to rub their penises.

It's not even a muscle!

I have heretofore not discussed my sexuality or preferences , etc. I recently have come out of my shell and realized that yes, women are beautiful and I would like to date them too, however I agree with Dr. Kinsey in his studies where most people fall somewhere between the two ends of the spectrum Hetero/Homo. I think men are beautiful too, which lead to the above "trouble."
This past week I had a beautiful night of passion with a wonderful man friend of mine. We live in different states and accept the terms of what we have to offer each other, always a kind ear, we are both combat veterans which is a bond that is hard to come by.We're also both "queer" or "bi" so it's funny we ended up in this situation. I went to visit his area on business and things heated up. It went from the strongest most nurturing hugs and cuddling to well, something more steamy and passionate. It slipped, some of you girls/women already know what I'm talking about, the dreaded condom slip. Normally I use my nuva ring birth control almost religiously but alas healthcare and pharmacy through the VA ( department of Veterans Affairs) is slow and mostly late or ineffective.

So as you can tell my my new profile update a LOT has changed since my last blog post. Well really, my insides have not changed, but I found a different voice, a strong voice and came out and started to speak out about my experiences in the military. This "enlightenment" our "outlet", as I think of it has become one of the things I draw my greatest strength from, but suffer my deepest sadness from sharing.
I blog here under a different name because originally I was scared of the military finding out that I was giving them any negative press. BUT.....Fuck them anyway. Not the people though, just the system in which they are just cogs in the greater machine of oppression, greed, and capitol. That said... I can get on with the boys club reference.