It’s been a long time since I’ve found the motivation to write. I’ve been more into practicing art lately. The discovery of Fresh Paint on Win 8 has been a lot of fun. I feel like it’s a bit like cheating with the eraser and all. Anyway I am not sure what I plan to do with this website. Not even sure if I want to keep it come February next year. The few people who still care about my updates should let me know what you think. I don’t have the emotional strength to address politics anymore. I might be able to do some personal updates from time to time (I still haven’t been able to sit and write the one hard post I’ve wanted to write for over a year now). I could post art stuff as I make it. Or possibly stories if I manage to write one outside my head. After reading a comic for the last week I’ve considered trying to draw a comic (probably won’t happen as my drawing skills suck). Help me with some ideas and maybe we can keep this thing going.
I play few games from time to time. You may have heard of them. Some are quite popular. Bejewled Blitz, Fruit Ninja, Angry Birds, Typing Maniac, and a few others I don’t get into as much anymore but I used to love (ahem..Farmville).
But those don’t count do they? At least I never thought they did. When I pictured “gamer” I pictured someone playing WOW, Skyrim, Halo, Assassins Creed, or any other of those games they market to the stereotypical “gamer” market.
Other than my love of Zelda (and sometimes Super Mario Galaxy), I don’t fit the pattern. I am not marketed to. I don’t count. I am not someone they can make money from. I am a girl and not one of those “fake gamer girls” who buy your games in droves despite how rarely companies choose to represent our gender in a positive, non-objective light. Since they are obviously fake, companies don’t seem to market to the “gamer girls” either. They will obviously just follow whatever the boys are into anyway (insert sarcasm button here).
Except I spent $ on a game a gazillion years old because I remember loving it in college (turns out Myst doesn’t work so well on modern systems). I bought a used Nintendo 64 way outdated so I could play Pokemon Snap and Zelda Ocarina of Time. I re-bought those games on the Wii when I realized that was an option. I dream of owning a $300 machine because the new Zelda looks that amazing but know it won’t be a reality since I never could justify spending the $ on Skyward Sword (poverty is to blame here).
Except that some companies do market to me. Every time I consider buying coins for a Bejeweled power-up, It is because I am a customer. Every time I watch an add in the middle of a Text-Twist game, I am a customer. Every time I hunt for games like Myst and Riven, I am a potential customer.
There isn’t a big message in this post, only a realization. I am not a gamer, but only because I didn’t believe I counted.
I’ve been thinking about this one a couple of days now. Finally sat down to write it. I hope you enjoy.Manic Pixie Dream Girl Tomorrow is a ghost of herself Never fully present Indecision kept her distant, cold On the brink of ascent Tomorrow’s suitors always seem Biased to her best Each driven mad eventually In pursuit of all the rest Tomorrow is an honest girl Whose promise is a lie It never is her fault That we imagine enough to try
I read this post/cartoon a while back. I’ve been too afraid to write this ever since. I am going to try now.
Trigger warning cause this one’s going to be fucked up, but I don’t know how else to say it.
Ever look at your child and wonder, “Will I rape him/her one day?” I have.
Ever scrutinize all your snuggles for evidence that you are turning into him, the man who stole your childhood, your trust, your future? I have.
It wasn’t so hard with my son. He liked a quick hug and then to do his own thing. It is harder with my daughter. The scrutiny that is. Not desire, because I don’t feel desire for children. She likes her belly/backed rubbed, her under arms tickled, raspberries on her belly. Am I hurting her somehow? She clearly wants to be snuggled, but maybe I’ve done something and don’t realize I am touching all wrong. Is that a question normal people ask? Or maybe it is her age that makes it hard. Seven. One year younger than I was the first time he raped me. One fucking year. Staring at her, I can’t fathom the size I was then. I can’t imagine why, what happened to make me an object. To make me a victim. To make him a predator.
And I wonder, will it happen to me. Did he infect me with his poison? Am I irreparable? Is the question alone proof of my disease? That I can even ask that first question makes me terrified.
Is it only child rape victims that ask this question? What about child rapists? I wonder if they ask the same questions before their first victim. Is it a parallel we will always share and no other? Unless we cross the line of course. Become both.
I thought for many years that being a victim increased my likelihood of being a perpetrator. Believed it. Feared it. Questioned it. The cartoon’s premise gives me hope but hope isn’t enough. Because some victims do grow up irreparable. Some victims become the monsters in their own closets. Maybe not most, but some.
Some. One. Even the tiniest possibility is terrifying.
Please don’t let me be part of the some. Please don’t let me be broken.
This is a recipe of my own invention. It comes from my general love of cake pops/cake balls (even if I can’t make them as pretty as others seem to manage). I didn’t come up with the recipe for the rum glaze. It comes from my family’s recipe they use for their rum cake (which is delicious by the way). Anyway I got the idea in my head for rum cake balls and those kind of ideas get stuck till I find a way to make them happen. I hope you like them.
Yellow cake mix
All the other ingredients based on box instructions, typically water, oil, and eggs
1 cup of sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) of butter
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup Dark Bicardi Rum
2 bottles of Caramel Magic Shell ice cream topping
About 2 cups chopped pecans. I buy them already chopped into cookie piece size
Toothpicks (for dipping)
Foam block wrapped in plastic wrap (for putting the dipped balls into harden)
Make the cake according to directions for 9×13 inch pan size. Allow to cool. In a large bowl crumble the cake into very fine crumbles. There may be some corners that are too hard to crumble fine and you can throw those out. Set aside.
In a sauce pan melt butter and slowly add water and sugar. Bring to boil and boil for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in rum. Mix glaze and cake crumbles (I only needed about 3/4 of the glaze I made) in to a dough like consistency (I wear gloves and use my hands.) Chill for about an hour or so. This makes it easier for roll into balls. Roll out approximately 1 inch diameter balls on wax paper or plastic wrap using the entire mixture to do so. Put one toothpick in each ball and place them into the freezer till at least mostly frozen. This helps keep the balls on the toothpicks when you dip them.
Take one of the bottles of Caramel Magic Shell and dump it into a narrow bottomed bowl (easier to dip in). This may require some heating to get entire contents into bowl. Microwave 30 seconds and stir till even consistency. in another wider bowl have pecan pieces ready. Take about five cake balls at a time out the freezer. Dip one at a time using a spoon to help coat if necessary. Drip excess of the the ball and then sprinkle pecans over the pecan bowl so as not to waste falling pecans. Coat entirety of ball in caramel and pecans then place toothpick into foam to harden. After the fifth one is dipped the first 3-4 are hard enough to remove the tooth picks and place on a plate or platter. Repeat this process adding more pecans and other bottle of caramel as needed. Doing only five at a time will keep the ones frozen while you work and you will have less balls dropping off the toothpicks. Basically it makes life easier.
That’s about all there is to it. Many of the steps allow for breaks in between so this is surprisingly easy to make based on a schedule. If you try it out feel free to come back and tell me how you liked them. They are alcoholic but barely so keep that in mind when serving.
I think I made it fairly of clear in the past that I lived with several families growing up. I was too young (what does that even mean) for the sex talk when I was raped by my step father. Too young to talk to about sex but not too young to be raped. I had already caught glimpses of porn flicks on the television though. I remember an orgy train sort of scenario that I had to piece together in my head many years later. Nonetheless, my mom never gave me the talk. My step father gave me the wrong talk. Then I was shipped off to my aunt’s and uncle’s house. They must have thought I knew enough or was too sensitive to talk to after my ordeal. I wasn’t even properly talked to about periods before I had one but that I learned from “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margret” by Judy Blume. I was prepared enough to expect bleeding out of my cunt when it happened, though no one is prepared for it to happen with movers in the house on moving day (embarrassing).
Everything else I learned about sex and my body came from my friends, their parents’ porn, and fiction books. I never had sex education class. I never had a parent sit down beside me and explain what parts go where. I never knew what to expect really. These are some of the things I wish someone had told me. Not the pain, everyone and their brother told me it would hurt at first. No, the little things. Things most people seem to take for granted. Things the movies try and hide because they aren’t pretty enough to show.
I wish someone had told me that my cunt would be inexplicably moist sometimes and dry others.
I wish someone had told me about lube (for those inexplicably dry times).
I wish someone had told me that a guy’s cum will leak out of you for like 24 hours after sex.
I wish someone had told me about the wet spot or why a towel was important (believe me it wasn’t enough to have read “Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy”).
I wish someone had explained the important stuff about anal before I tried it my self.
I wish someone explained masturbation was more than penetration with a brush handle or my fingers before sex.
I wish someone had told me what/where my clit was before sex.
I wish someone had told me about how and why to use a condom.
I wish someone would have explained that hair also grows in your ass crack.
I wish that someone would have told me it that my general cunt smell was normal (and pretty sexy to non assholes).
I wish someone would have explained an orgasm without the terms “explosion,” “bam,” and “OMG” as the primary descriptors (seriously peoples descriptions will make a girl wonder her whole life if what she is feeling is a “real” orgasm).
I wish someone would have told me it was normal for my clit to be super sensitive for a long time post orgasm when I was young and for that to suddenly change in my thirties.
I wish someone explained the term “multiple orgasm” and why that wasn’t achievable at first (see above) (also I thought it meant “at one time” which was very confusing).
I wish someone would have explained that sometimes your cervix can get in the way of a good banging.
I wish someone would have told me that sometime you get horny as fuck while bleeding.
I wish someone would have told me that rimming was pretty nice.
I wish someone would have told me that handcuffs hurt a bunch but soft ropes, wider cuffs, and neck ties are all pleasant ways to be bound.
I wish someone would have told me how to get around the jaw pain of a long blow job or how to give really good head.
I wish someone would have told me what a yeast infection was before I spent that night with a cold washcloth fills with ice cubes between my legs (seriously had no clue what the fuck was happening to my cunt).
I wish someone explained to me it was normal for my clit to be to sensitive to directly touch but that indirect stimulation was very nice.
I wish someone had explained how to have an orgasm.
I wish someone explained that not feeling a g spot was normal (then suddenly feeling it when older was normal too).
I wish someone explained how to use my hands during a blow job and tip vs shaft technique.
I wish someone had told me to pee after sex to avoid a urinary tract infection.
I wish someone would have warned me that just when everything is going good you might get a awkward foot cramp that kills the mood.
I wish someone would have explained that sometimes five minute sex is far better than five hour sex.
I wish someone had told me that water is a terrible lubricant and that piv sex in the water is not as hot as it seems.
I wish someone had told me that sex on the beach is a terrible idea.
I wish someone has explained that nipples on women are greatly varied in how they look and size.
I probably missed some of my questions that I had at one time or another. I hope as a parent I do a better job of explaining sex and their bodies to my children. Maybe this will help you to do the same with your children, nieces, nephews, and friends. Tell me some of the things that you worried most about because no one told you.
Just so everyone knows, I started a new job at the prison as a Corrections Officer (CO). It probably doesn’t surprise anyone that the overwhelming majority of new trainees are men. Even more so that there are even fewer women CO’s that have been there for a long time. I won’t say it is in the hiring though. Right now they are hiring all the fresh bodies they can get. Much the gender gap is in the recruiting and the perceptions that CO is a “man’s job.”
But the retention of competent females is another thing all together. I bet part of it has something to do with the story a woman CO told us as a class yesterday. The story tells of her own harassment in one particular area at the prison. The basics boiled down to men CO’s making sexually explicit jokes pointed at her and in front of the inmates. That last bit is important. The other CO’s were making the offensive and harassing jokes in front of inmates, some of whom are guaranteed to be looking for exploitative opportunities. One time that someone violates a boundary to that degree in such a dangerous manner is inexcusable. However, the jokes and harassment continued after she requested they stop.
She went to her superiors and asked to move and explained why. She specifically did not want to file a sexual harassment report about it but didn’t not want to be in the same department with people who were hurting her. She was moved as requested and nothing happened to her harassers (not that I am sure anything could have happened without her request).
All would have been fine if the woman telling the story had stopped there. Everyone in the room could have imagined her reasons for not reporting officially her harassment. But she didn’t stop. Instead she proceeded to recommend to the few women and sea of men that women think twice before officially reporting their harassment. Her reasoning was clear. That anyone who brings in outside help in handling their harassment, risks being ostracized from the group. That “everyone will treat” us “different” if we don’t handle this under the table. That our coworkers will be afraid to cut up and be friendly.
She basically told us not to report our harassment. She basically told us to run from it and do what she did so we won’t be friendless. She basically said let the next woman who works in that department handle it.
The funny thing is that probably everyone knows that last damaging nugget of info she chose to share. As women many of us have always had to navigate the very narrow corridor of what is considered the “proper way” to handle such things. Most of us women don’t report, know how much we risk by reporting. Most of us women don’t need another reason to hide our harassment.
We need a reason to bring it to daylight.
This is an especially pertinent topic right now in the atheist/skeptic movement. People in our movement have far too long been stifled, silenced by all the reasons to “keep quiet.” The status quo fighters have done their duty in hiding harassment from the delicate eyes of everyone else. Now however, women and men in this movement are speaking out about this. One person risking it all and giving her peers a reason to talk was enough to start a mini chain-reaction.
I wish the woman teaching us yesterday would have been like like you all who are fighting harassment tooth and nail rather than passing it off to the next victim. I wish she would have at least said that she had our back in however we choose to handle our own harassment.
This one requires a trigger warning about suicide. I have suicidal ideations. You can read some of my thoughts on suicide here. I wanted to talk more about this today since this seems to be a hot button discussion recently. I have thoughts and I want to get them out.
I think about suicide on most days. I consider myself committing suicide in such a variety of ways. But it is all the time. Sometimes it is worse. I don’t just think about it. Sometimes suicide isn’t just a crutch. Sometimes it is an urge. A drive. A desire. At those times I want to talk about it. I usually do talk about it. Unsurprisingly though the urge springs up at the worst times. When things are bad in life. The various stresses that cause fights to arrive in the family are also triggers for urges to commit suicide.
And that’s when I am afraid.
I can’t just talk about it. Then I am manipulating. I know it. I feel that dirty feeling deep inside my core. That sensation that I am a fucking horrible human being. Those are the times that I end up holding on to knives in the bathroom. Or the times that I punch myself in the legs till the pain makes my head less swimmy. Bite my knuckles till I can’t think of anything else but the sensation I feel.
The anxiety I feel when talking about my suicide when I most need to talk about it is the worst. Sometimes I still talk about it. Sometimes I don’t. I get to a certain point and I have no choice. Talk or risk.
I say all this because I am absolutely terrified that every time I talk about suicide I am using it as a weapon. I am terrified that the fact that I can think about it this much even when I want to kill myself means that I am definitely manipulating those I love. I am absolutely terrified I am the horrible person in my head.
But my sane self. The one who checks up one me and shares the rumination capacity of my crazy self, is there to remind me that this is always in my head. Suicide isn’t just there as a tool for manipulation. No suicide is real and present even when there is nothing and no one thing making me sad. Those are the times I need to remember when I need to talk about my thoughts.
That was a lot of rambling for the point I am going to get to next.
I am not the only one who does this, who deals with suicidal thoughts and fears talking about them because talking about it means you drag everyone else into your own horrible web of manipulation. A lot of people experience these thoughts and feels.
So keeping that in mind, accusing someone of using suicide to manipulate is a dangerous thing. Maybe they are using against others. Doesn’t mean they don’t internally struggle with the pain of doing so. I kinda don’t care if a person has a history of manipulation. I have “friends” like that. For them I don’t vest myself emotionally too much, but I would never accuse them of rigging the game.
I’ve only had one time where I confronted someone with their own threat of suicide. It was direct. It was public. That time took it to a whole new level of wrong. That time the person attempted to cause harm and did cause harm with their words. Even then my confrontation was such that I merely gave him outs from that which was causing him difficulty and explained the unfairness of his accusations.
And yes there are those who abuse through manipulation. But they don’t do it once. It isn’t an isolated incident. The threats aren’t “I can’t handle the deck life has handed me” but rather “I am going to kill myself if you don’t fix this.” There is a difference. It is surprisingly clear to an outsider even if it isn’t clear to the victim.
Maybe that was a longish point after all. Suicidal brains are tricky. They prey on our vulnerabilities. They make us shut up when we want to talk and visa versa. They convince us to do the thing we fear slightly less than what we fear the most.
I hope that people consider a little more the risk we play when we accuse someone of manipulating through suicide. Publicly no less. I am not saying that horrible people shouldn’t be held accountable for their horribleness. I just don’t think that questioning the validity of their depression, their suicidal ideations, is in anyway helpful to the person or the further reaching audience of your public post.
I don’t know if I have a good solution with all this but rather to ask people to try to be a bit more empathetic. Even to our enemies. Certainly to our friends and admirers.
This isn’t one of those “I know something” posts. So tell me your thoughts. Help me weigh the risks of pointing out perceived manipulation.
Today my instructor at the prison said that he didn’t like the term minority as he saw everyone as equal. I thought about it for all of a second and proceeded to write this tidbit down.
The fact that we see a disparity between PoC inmates and PoC employee makes it obvious that we engage in systemic, damaging, cultural discrimination against PoC. To say that you can’t see color or that everyone is equal is a lie. We all see color. By choosing to ignore it under the guise of proclaimed equality is to perpetuate injustice against PoC.
It was a short thought but immediate reaction my part.
Internet, you’ve taught me well. Thanks.