The Side Effects of Stolen Innocence

I never had the opportunity to have a true, innocent, uncomplicated-by-baggage first love.

That’s just the way the cards were dealt to me this hand, and it’s something that I’ve tried not to dwell on too much, but the facts are that being raped at 13, losing my virginity that way, changed everything. I have no idea what pre-rape sex is like. I don’t know what it’s like to fall hard for someone and make the decision about whether or not to go ALL THE WAY for the first time. That innocence was stolen from me long before I had that opportunity to desperately dwell and overthink that decision and relish in the specialness that comes from sharing that moment with someone in all its imperfect perfectness.

With that loss of innocence comes a lot of bullshit. A lot of emotional issues and physical reactions that affect me as an adult even 20 years later. I’ve loved, surely. I can recall the people in my life that I’ve loved so strongly I thought I would never be able to eat or sleep again when the relationship was over. I can relive with fondness some of the better times we shared and feel a momentary swirl of butterflies when I see them somewhere unexpectedly. I’ve not been in many relationships, and not even all of those were really great, but I know in my lifetime I truly loved and was loved just as fiercely in return. The stark, laid-bare truth for me, though, is that it was never the kind of love that wasn’t tethered by the understanding of what a man could do when “no” wasn’t enough and the primal, unrelenting fear and pain that comes with that knowledge. I have never had the kind of love that is free of that robbery, free of the haunting of an assault that I didn’t deserve.

What I imagine first love to be is sort of like purring bunnies in a field of gummy bear flowers pooping rainbow cupcakes under a radiant boombox sun raining down tasty jams and pulsing glitter all over the place every time the bass hits.

Okay, so maybe I owned too much Lisa Frank shit when I was kid, but either way that image is total

innocent perfection in my mind. Maybe I’m completely off base but that first attempted relationship seems to be more pure than everything that comes after the first gut-wrenching heartache that always follows when you end something with a person you absolutely fall no-holds-barred head over heels for… (and what's more pure than rabbits that eat gummy bear flowers and shit out cupcakes? nothing. not a fucking thing). That’s not to say I think that first love is the best—better than any other relationship you experience in your lifetime, but it’s the only time you start with a clean slate, the only time you don’t bring the good, the bad, and the ugly of every other relationship with you. It’s less weighed down by everything that came before it. In a lot of ways, it’s a fantasy world at least to begin with…people have yet to turn out to be the exact opposite of what you have imagined them to be or break your heart or cheat or lie or fuck with your head. And then when the other shoe drops, it’s perhaps one of the biggest reality checks you face in life.

My shoe dropped before I had a chance to experience the naivety of it all.

I rail on so often about rape culture on social media, in person, on the phone….anytime and anywhere the conversation is appropriate and even when it’s not. The fact that rape goes largely unpunished in our society and that the blame is often laid upon the shoulders of the victim to carry as if she (or he) was not already carrying a heavy load just by way of being victimized means that the big picture of what a person loses and the insecurities a person gains after being raped is ignored. I didn’t suffer a momentary, fleeting fear that resolved itself after the event was over. My entire being was violated and my existence was forever changed while the perpetrator of that death—the murder of my innocence—has gone on to have a life completely unaffected by the fear, the pain, the anger, the shame, and the guilt that has so often peppered the very essence of my being. It has been 20 years since that night, and I still can’t answer the door when I’m home alone without panicking. I never had my innocent, vibrant, Lisa Frank-esque love. I have never been able to set foot in my father’s house without reliving it. And, that will never change… None of it. It’s with me for as long as I live and breathe. We, as a people, have to stop and consider the toll that this takes on 1 out of 5 women (sometimes multiple times) in our lives. Think of all the women you know and how many might have been victims. How many have to live with that memory and all the side effects that come with it? Until we start recognizing how serious the act itself is, how damaging in all manners of life for the length of time the victim lives rape is, it’s always going to be about changing the behavior of the victim because that seems easier…because the act itself seems horrible to the imagination but so few people seem to consider just how depraved and far-reaching it is. Here’s your chance through my words, as vulnerable as they make me here today, to see just one of the many things my rapist robbed me of…. It’s not just a horrible act that can be prevented through modifying potential victims; it’s essentially a murder. The person who existed before the rape is lost and someone almost completely different rises from the ashes of the former self. Like a phoenix with an anxiety disorder and a guilt-complex that keeps it from soaring as high and freely as it could otherwise.

97% of rapists never spend time in prison according to RAINN. Isn’t it time we change that?

And, as always, this is me taking a seemingly light hearted Sunday Confessions prompt and being all preachy about it. That's what I do. But, please check out the rest of the contributions at More Than Cheese and Beer and the always interesting anonymous confessions on the MTCAB Facebook page. 

What Regrets?

Someone asked me not that long ago whether or not I would go back and do the whole marriage thing over again (if Evan were completely out of the mix…I’d still have the kiddo but not the divorce).

I thought long and hard about that. The whole key to a life well-lived is that on our deathbed we don’t look back with regrets, right? That’s what they say anyway, isn’t it? That when you reach that point where life meets death, you shouldn’t have to think about all the things that you could have done but didn’t and all the things you did do that were a bit on the fucked up side. So, I had to ask myself is that really how I see life? A life well-lived is one without regret? Do I have regrets?

They seem like such simple questions, but in reality, they’re anything but…

Looking back over my life, there are certainly some questionable choices. If I hadn’t, for example, let that kid in my house when I was 13, I never would have been raped. If I hadn’t moved back in with my dad, I never would have been alone in the first place. If I had chosen to go to Georgia State University when I was accepted at 17, I would have gotten out of Small Town, U.S.A. If I had chosen that path, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up getting my heart broken at 21. If I hadn’t had my heart broken, I wouldn’t have taken my first pharmacy job. I wouldn’t have met my ex-husband. I wouldn’t be sitting right where I am right now typing these words.

So, that begs the question…

Do I regret where I am right now, who I am?

I’m supposed to say “no” here right?

      HA. The answer truly is a no, but it’s more complicated than some heart-felt, meme-worthy inspirational

jumble of Eckhart Tolle and Deepak Chopra quotes about living in the present and embracing the now and all that cosmic universal bullshit that makes me roll my eyes so hard I swear they’re going to fall right out of my skull and continue rolling across the ground until they come to firm stop at my cat’s feet.

Truthfully, the whole thing of it is, we are, in part, a collection of our past experiences. When it comes to coping with a fucked up past, people like to tell you that you, as a person, aren’t the sum of your past. You aren’t what happened to you. You’re more than where you’ve been. And, in a way, I suppose, that’s true. The entirety of your being isn’t based on your personal history. But, I can tell you from quite a lot of personal experience in my arguably short 33 (in September) years , that the events of the past, all those questionable decisions and even the parts of my life that I had no deciding power over (like the parents I was born to, the area I was born in) have all shaped the me that I am right now sitting here pondering the concept of regret. As much horror as was involved in some of the darkest memories of my childhood, in that memory of being tackled on dirty brown carpet and pleading “no,” as much pain and sorrow as has pervaded my life at times, I can’t say I regret the way things have gone. I don’t even know that I would go back and change anything if I could.

I suppose from the outside looking in that might seem a bit on the insane side, but each of those events made me stronger, made me a fighter, gave me a voice and a passion to make change and work for social justice. I look back and sometimes I’m amazed at myself. So, I think, perhaps, a life well-lived is one full of lessons that could, from some angles resemble regret if you’re in a pissy mood. And, when you’re on your deathbed, I assume you look back at that life and all the things you learned about yourself along the way and you think maybe it wasn’t perfect but damn was it one hell of a run.

Would I go back and do the whole marriage thing over again knowing the way it ended and the way I lost myself in those years? You bet your fucking ass I would. I learned a lot about myself after it was all said and done—about how strong I really was to make it as a single mom on my own. I learned more about who I want to be, what I want from life, from a partner. It may not have been a fairytale romance, but it certainly gave me a new respect for myself that I wouldn’t trade for anything honestly.

When the time come, I’m pretty sure the last thoughts in my head are going to be full of love…for everything that was.

This has been another edition of Sunday Confessions. As you may have guessed, the prompt was "regret." I hope you'll check out More Than Cheese and Beer for the rest of the link ups and her Facebook page for anonymous confessions. 

Jeopardy J Style

It's Secret Subject Swap day for September hosted by Baking in a Tornado. There were 11 brave bloggers that joined in today. We each submitted a prompt and were given another in secret to be interpreted in our own way and posted simultaneously today. See the end for the links to all the others and to check out the interpretation of the prompt I submitted :)

For now, my prompt was submitted by http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/ and is: Having a chance to be a candidate at the Jeopardy show, what excites / scares you the most? If you could chose the categories, which would you feel comfortable with?

I’ve never really been a big fan of Jeopardy unless the skits on Saturday Night Live with Will Ferrell as Alex

Trebek count as fanship. So, that might be my biggest concern being on Jeopardy—the overwhelming desire to make my name “Turd Ferguson” a la Norm Macdoanld as Burt Reynolds or maybe to make jokes about sleeping with Trebek’s mom as was the running gag on those skits when Darrell Hammond played Sean Connery. Who could help it? Celebrity Jeopardy were some of my favorite skits on the show.

I have a bit of stage fright and nervousness being in big crowds. I’m painfully introverted; I’m not an in-the-spotlight kind of girl. So, that, in and of itself, would likely make me a piss-poor game show contestant. I’m not really squealy or jumpy or too excitable.

All my *girl screams* are mostly internal.

I don’t know that I would really be all that excited, but I’d certainly be afraid I’d trip, fall, and show my entire ass to the audience since I always wear dresses. I’d most definitely stutter, forget to phrase my answers as a question, and make those goofball, idiotic faces when I talk like always especially when I’m nervous. But, it could be fun if I could choose the categories. There are some things I know far more about than others. For example, I don’t know a fucking thing about sports, ballet, or opera which are common categories (according to my limited Google research). There are times I’d like to completely avoid Facebook during football season just so I don’t have to see the idiotic “Let’s Go Dickheads” and “We nailed them (even though I never left the fucking couch!!!!!!!!!!)” posts. And, quite honestly, I live in a town of 297 people. Seeing a ballet or opera isn’t really the easiest thing, and if I’m even more honest, it’s not even a thing that I’d make that much of an effort to do. The closest I really want to be to an opera is watching reruns of that episode of Looney Tunes where Elmer Fudd runs around singing “I killed da wabbit….I killed da wabbit…”

So, what DO I know about then?

Classic Rock History: if you ever want to know the history behind Layla or who was even IN Derek and the Dominos, I am your girl. “These classic rock artists all died at the age of 27.” “Who are Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Brian Jones, Alex.” I can answer questions about Woody Guthrie, Bobby Fuller, Duane Allman, Skynyrd…When I love something, I want to know more about it. it’s just my thing. I grew up on classic rock and some outlaw country but mostly classic rock, so of course, it has always stuck with me and continues to be a big love of mine today.

Obscure bands: Yeah, some people say this would make me a music snob, but I just like to say that I love what I love, and I listen to what I love. Once a true, self admitted music snob told me that I didn’t know a fucking thing about real music. It really pissed me off... In fact, I can’t tell you at the time how angry I was. I have to say it was a good thing he was all the way in Boston while I was here in Georgia on the other end of the phone. He insisted. I argued. Music had always been a huge part of my life, so how could this person say this absolute garbage to me? He told me to listen to a band named Baroness, a song called Couer. So, I did. I downloaded the first couple of EPs and their first full length album. I liked what I heard. I did. I didn’t love it at first, but then the song Red Sky came on. Right from the start, it captured me. Something sparked. A minute into it, I leaned back in my chair with my glass of wine and the whole house around me just faded away. I closed my eyes and felt something stirring in my that had long been asleep, coiled and waiting for the right moment to live and man, did it fucking live that night. It started a musical evolution, maybe revolution is the right word. So, no, I don’t really listen to whatever or whatever comes on the radio typically, but it’s because I worked for it. My asshole friend was completely wrong. I did know a lot about music already, but he set me on the right path to find things that meant more to me….that hit all the right notes, so to speak. I’ve expanded on that quite a bit on my own to include so many genres of music, but I found those on my own, listening, opening myself up to it, and caring about more than a catchy tune… So, I reserve the right to be picky. It’s not really a bad thing.

Death penalty statistics: Having written and helped a person on death row for 7 years does not come without knowledge. Well, I suppose it can. If you’re in it for the wrong reasons, if you only care about yourself then yeah, sure, you’re only going to write. You’ll never get informed. And, you’ll move on to the next one like some execution conveyor belt. I’ve seen it happen. But, for me, at least, writing and helping hasn’t come without knowledge. So, I can tell you exactly what the costs are, how much certain states can save. “$90,000 per inmate, per year.” “What is the cost of housing on average for a death row inmate over that of someone given life without parole, Alex.” Correct. I can tell you the projected error rates and the number of people who have been wrongly convicted who were later exonerated. “145.” “The number of death row exonerees up to September 2, 2014, Alex.” I can tell you about the people who aren’t included in the error rates because they’ve already been executed. “The Texas man wrongly executed for the arson murder of his young children which forensic evidence now shows was not arson.” “Who is Cameron Todd Willingham, Alex.” I live and breathe these statistics. Every time I look down at the callous on my finger from writing so much, so often, I think of them in complete and utter horror. It’s amazing what a country can fool itself into believing is the right thing, isn’t it? (Read more of my writing here and here and here.)

Counseling Theories: I’ve been fascinated by human behavior for decades. Analyzing, wondering, interpreting… It was my friend’s murder and the way I eventually dealt with all of that which eventually shaped my career goals to include counseling inmates. And, it’s not *just* about the counseling…it’s about social advocacy and preparing these individuals (who are often thrown in a cage and forgotten until they’re returned to society and pretty much given zero chance to make it) to come back to their homes or make new homes without returning to a life of crime. It’s not going to be easy. I’ve spent the last few years attempting to earn my master of science in forensic counseling, and much of that time is spent learning counseling theories and how those theories apply to every aspect of the field. We’re expected to develop a theoretical orientation while still in school—a theory or combination of theories which form the foundation of our theoretical approach with clients—so it’s important to know the ins and outs of each before making the kind of commitment that will shape the way you conceptualize every case that you ever encounter and with the fascination that comes so naturally to me, the knowledge of those theories has stuck with me especially since I know how important it is to treat the client as an individual and not stick inflexibly to just one theory. There is no one-size-fits-all approach.

Cult Movie Quotes: I suppose this applies to any movie I love and not just the ones that have developed a cult following, but most of the ones I do love end up being cult films. Did I mention I’m an ordained Dudeist priest? Yep, I love The Big Lebowski that much. So, it’s no wonder that I often have a movie quote at the ready in almost every situation to lighten the mood or make things awkward. And then even more awkward as I explain that it’s a line from a movie and I’m not completely incapable of normal social interaction which truly shows that I’m completely incapable of normal social interaction. “The snozberries taste like snozberries” was uttered in the back of a police car.” “Well, meow, that would be What is Supertroopers?” Pretty much any Coen brothers or Tarantino film, Guy Ritchie films excluding Sherlock (D’ya like dags?), SLC Punk, Dazed and Confused, Grandma’s Boy, anything with Will Ferrell except that shitty buddy cop film he did with Marky Mark, Scott Pilgrim, Taxi Driver, Rocky Horror, Kubrick films, Pineapple Express, High Fidelity, John Hughes films…oh god John Hughes films should have their own category. I won’t bore you with all the films I love, but the fact is that sometimes when my words fail me, I don’t mind stealing others’.

WatchMojo.com lists: WatchMojo has a youtube channel. I hate this fucking channel. I really do. I don’t even like youtube as a whole. But, my best friend got me started watching these lists. Top 10 Musical Acts of the 90s. Top 10 Cult Action Films. Top 10 Cash Cow Films. Top 10. Top 10. Top 10. What can I say? I’m a sucker for lists. So, that part of me--the sucker, the lover of High Fidelity, the mental mistress of one Rob Gordon--craves her lists. The rational part of me knows that every.single.time. I watch said lists I get pissed off and yell at the TV screen “you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about!” and then I say, “I’m never watching this shit again.” And then I do. The very next day.

Dating Profile Dos and Don’ts: I’ve had dating site profiles for a number of years now on both Plenty of Fish

and OkCupid. In fact, I have a blog project with More than Cheese and Beer at DoucheArt where we take messages we get and reader submissions to make kitschy art. It’s been sort of a social experiment for me in many ways even though I have met some great friends that way. If I honestly expected to meet the love of my life on a dating site, I’d be sorely disappointed, I’m sure. But, after so many years of this, I can truly say that I can no longer be surprised. “This is something you should never send in a first message to a woman on Plenty of Fish.” “What is ‘i no i dnt no u but wld u kcik me in the balls as hard as u can, I lik ur tats.’”

80s and 90s Cartoons: On OkCupid, one of the sections of your profile asks you the most intimate thing you’re willing to admit. Most people skip over this entirely which always kind of bothers me. I mean, why go on a dating profile if you’re going to be so secretive that there’s nothing that comes to mind to add here. Anyway, my answer is that I cannot escape the comfort of the cartoons of my youth. It’s true. I still watch Ducktales every chance I get. Scooby Doo. Pee-Wee’s Playhouse (it still counts). Tailspin, Batman the Animated Series, Tiny Toons, Darkwing Duck, the Wuzzles, Wacky Races, Gummi Bears, the Smurfs, Animaniacs, Doug… I love sharing these with my son and knowing that he loves them just as much as I do no matter how different they look than what’s available today. We laugh at old Looney Tunes and both find comfort in old Scooby movies. I have an entire cabinet full of DVD seasons of cartoons from this time period, and I would own this category. Like a boss.

Third, Fourth, and Fifth Generation Video Games: So, maybe I’ve played a lot of video games in my time even though there have been occasions in my life when I’ve criticized the video gaming industry for being a bit misogynistic and one-directional. The time period mentioned extends from the original and unbeatable

NES to the original Playstation. I still love games, but these days I watch more than I play. I stay too busy to play many myself and watching someone else play allows me the opportunity to multitask, so I think, even though my knowledge extends to current era gaming, I’d feel safer with the generations I’ve played myself. I actually read Game Informer, watch a couple of video game channels on Youtube, and learn a lot from those stupid mojo.com lists that end up pissing me off. And, no, I haven’t fully revealed my nerdery….To do so, I have to admit that I have a pair of Super Mario Bros 3 earrings that look like actual NES cartridges. My love is mighty and would serve me well in such a category. Unfortunately, my bias is strong, and I would probably get into a fist fight with Alex over my beloved games and turn the real Jeopardy into some awful parody of an SNL skit. If any question asked the number 1 NES game of all time and the answer was not Mario 3, it would be on like Donkey Kong.

Stephen King Novels: I have been a constant reader since the age of 13. I preorder them, devour them, complain when the story lines seem similar to prior works, absorb the insightfulness of the characters, reread them—something I can’t do with most novels, and get inspired by them. He’s one of my favorites not because of the genre he so often writes in but the way he uses these insane plots, these horror and sci-fi worlds, to talk about humanity, to reveal something about a person—a commentary on humanity overall at times—that would not have been revealed through every day, mundane life. Is he the greatest writer? No. And sometimes that side of his humanity makes me like his work even more.

Non-chocolate Candies: I get cravings for chocolate like anyone else, I guess. Ok, maybe not as strong as some people I know, but I have zero will power when it comes to fruity or gummy things. If it’s in one of those categories, I’m all over it. “The combination of Haribo gummies that is like an orgasm in your mouth.” “What is Happy Cola and Twin Cherries,Alex.” Correct.

4th Wave Feminism: I don’t think anyone ever has been an expert feminist. That may sound at odds with including this category for Jeopardy. But, what I really mean, is that feminism is a different experience for every woman. We don’t have to agree on every little tidbit. Some people love that Beyonce has embraced the feminist title and I do agree wholeheartedly that she has pushed it and pulled more women into understanding that feminism isn’t the dirty word we thought it was. I had to learn that the hard way myself. But, do I agree with a big fraction of feminists who think that the way she shakes her ass on stage is her display of radical feminism and embracing her sexuality without fault? No, I think it sells more records than it would if she relied solely on her intellect, and I think that’s a sucky image to give to her younger audience. So, there’s no right way to feminist, but there’s no way to come to some sort of agreement enough that any of us are experts. Or maybe I’m the only one that sees it that way. ha. But, I do know enough about the basics that I would love for this category to be a part of the epidode I’m on. “The aspect of modern society which consistently puts blame for rape and other sex crimes solely on the victim and rarely puts responsibility on the rapist.” “What is rape culture, Alex.” I know what feminism is and isn’t and what the myths are. It’s one of those labels I use to identify myself and my beliefs and something I feel strongly about, so while it may be more serious than a lot of my categories here, I think it’s necessary to shine an intelligent light on the truths in a more mainstream light without the interference of those godawful Jezebel writers.

And since we need 13 picks to include final jeopardy, I’m throwing in Privilege: Privilege has become a big deal topic to me. It’s not something everyone likes to discuss, and it surely makes a lot of folks angry to even so much as see that word. Privilege. Privilege is one of my son’s 3rd grade level homeschool vocabulary words…simple yet so misunderstood in the context of sociology. The idea that we’re born into a lot in life that makes it easier for some and harder for others is a concept that people continually try to deny but that has been irrefutably proven to exist in study after study after study. It’s sort of the climate change of the sociological world. All the experts agree but people have such a hard fucking time changing their world view to align with the evidence thrown before them that they shout and scream and rail against it like somehow being loud and obnoxious suddenly makes the truth no longer true. Privilege is not guilt. It doesn’t mean you have to feel guilty for being born White or male or into a wealthy family. You don’t have to feel guilty for not having mental or physical disabilities. The whole point of the matter is that it’s important to recognize that we aren’t all born on the same playing field. We don’t have the same capabilities when it comes to succeeding by whatever definition we think success is measured. Some of us absolutely cannot just pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and work our fingers to the bone to make it out of whatever dire situation we were born into… We were sold that idea a long time ago…the American Dream. It seems relatively impossible for people to give up that idea that working hard and buying more stuff is the answer to everything. But we have to and until we acknowledge that systemic racism and sexism and other biases are holding people back from reaching their full potential, until we acknowledge that people are targets of the police and the justice system, this country is going to continue to polarize and divide until we absolutely implode into civil unrest, war, and destruction. So, it’s an important topic to me, a vital one really. And I think it’s one that I would treat seriously on the show…

So, it’s not categories like Shakespeare or Before and After but I think it would make a hell of an episode.

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

http://www.BakingInATornado.com                             Baking In A Tornado

http://themomisodes.com                                           The Momisodes

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                         Spatulas on Parade

http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/                    Stacy Sews and Schools

http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/                              Sparkly Poetic Weirdo 

http://www.eviljoyspeaks.wordpress.com                   Evil Joy Speaks

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/             Confessions of a part-time working mom http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com                       Someone Else’s Genius

http://dinoheromommy.com/                                     Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com                       The Bergham’s Life Chronicles

There Can Be Pleasure Without Guilt

Chuck Klosterman has taken a hard stance on the phrase “guilty pleasures” calling it counterproductive to feel the need to be embarrassed by something you love. If, in fact, you watch cheesy 80s movies like Sixteen Candles and gorge on candy every time you feel awful like I do, according to his logic, you should never feel guilty about doing so because you did, by all accounts, enjoy yourself.

I have come to the conclusion over the last few years that Klosterman, though entertaining, is pretty fucking pretentious and full of shit.

Is it really so unbelievable that a person can recognize how terrible something is yet love it anyway? Take the Rocky franchise, for example. The acting is terrible. The plots are, well, terrible after the first one and basically just a repeat storyline that just keeps happening over and over again. But, I still watched them all back to back over the last week. Somewhere, some part of me knows how fucking godawful these movies are in terms of their artistic value but I can’t help myself. They HAVE to be watched.

As a feminist, I know with every fiber of my being that music that objectifies women is inherently a bad thing and contributes directly to certain aspects of social inequality between genders (normalizing negative attitudes), but I still know all the lyrics (almost) to Dr. Dre’s The Chronic 2001. Even the song about not making a ho a housewife. That one. yeah. And, yes, it’s a bit fucking embarrassing that at times I still listen to it.

So, by definition, if I feel guilty for something that I simultaneously enjoy, does that not make it a guilty pleasure? I’d have to say so and that maybe, Klosterman, King of the Hipsters, just likes bucking mainstream trends enough to make an asinine comment about something that everyone experiences but that, in his pretentiousness, he thinks he can rise above and apply some sort of new logic-defying spin on.

Chuck, it’s okay, man. Let us have our guilty pleasures. We kind of like that phrase. Deal.

But, that leads me to another question. What happens when our feelings of guilt about something we want or something we want to enjoy gets in the way of pleasure? I think that’s the problem with women and orgasms.

According to meta-analyses of 80 years worth of research on the subject, only about a quarter of women consistently have orgasms during vaginal intercourse. One fourth. That’s all. About half of women have orgasms some of the time. 20 percent or so have orgasms never or rarely during sex. 20 whole fucking percent (no pun intended). And 5% never have orgasms period. 

It doesn’t matter the size of the man’s penis, how attracted the woman is, the relationship the two have, or what feelings she has for him…these stats still apply across the board when these factors are controlled for.

My brain can’t even begin to comprehend what life would be like for the rest of the world if I couldn’t have orgasms. There is no known apocalyptic scenario which could compare to the sheer amount of destruction and rage that would rain down on this place if I didn’t have the ability to achieve that sweet, sweet release in multiples during sex or on my own. That’s just the way it is.

The difference between the small 25% of women who do have regular orgasms is in the brain.

There’s a major nerve running from the brain to the cervix connecting female sexuality directly to brain activity. This “superhighway” of nerves is unique to each woman and changes what each individual is stimulated by…but the thing that remains the same is that the brain is directly related to the way a woman experiences sex. For men, it’s quite a bit more simplistic. There is a similar grid of nerves in the pelvis that creates a web of pleasure that circulates the penis. No brain to dick direct connection.

There have been many theories based on such statistics and the findings about female sexual anatomy. Women need more mental stimulation, she needs more foreplay, she needs to be touched, she needs clitoral stimulation, she needs this, she needs that. We’re not all the fucking same, okay? The science tells you that. It’s right there in black and white—we each have our own maze of nerve connections that is different for every women. We don’t have the same wants and needs and desires. Every female expressive person doesn’t suddenly became one big blog of Stay Puft vaginas called SHE that can all be tickled the same damn way just because some “professional” wants to write a shitty little article for The Huffington Post.

The problem, to me, runs deeper than figuring out what women want, and I suspect it’s inherently cultural.

See, when we live in a society where women’s sexuality is demonized, where women live by this double

standard where they are prudes for not fucking and sluts when they do fuck, where women are called sluts for sleeping with a man while the man is awarded with status and praise, the brain to vagina connection is warped, distorted, severed for some apparently… Social norms dictate that women are not supposed to enjoy sex. It’s a running gag in sitcoms and movies—wives don’t enjoy sex; they don’t have sex. It’s a common joke on the Internet. Our entire belief system has put so much pressure on women to live by this strange, morbid way of thinking that says we’re obligated to have sex but we’re sluts when we do.

Is it no wonder so many of us have issues with having sex? How is a person supposed to get over that mental roadblock that tells them they aren't supposed to enjoy what she's doing because it's "naughty" or "dirty" or "slutty?"

It’s a cultural mindset which is not going to phase itself out anytime soon, but it starts with ourselves. By “ourselves” I mean with women, but in the same grain, it is with all our partners and our friends and everyone reading this blog. The idea that a woman, to put it bluntly, a woman who loves to fuck is simply that—a woman who unabashedly loves sex (or making love if that’s your thing). There’s nothing wrong with that no matter how much society demonizes and victim blames and backs us into a corner where we are “supposed” to and obligated to give ourselves but not supposed to love it, to really feel ourselves let go and let our toes curl, to nurture our fantasies.

There’s nothing wrong with making love to your partner.

There’s nothing wrong with a one night stand as long as you’re safe.

There’s nothing wrong with having a friend with benefits and loving every minute you spend naked and sweaty together.

There is absolutely no guilt at all that should be inherently tied to sex for women. I would hope that every woman has the chance in her lifetime to navigate her own labyrinth of sexuality and discover every little nuance of herself…to find that direct connection to the brain and figure out how to make that superhighway light up over and over and over again (4 or 5 times in 15 minutes is a great goal. trust me).

I love Ash over More Than Cheese and Beer for putting up with the crazy way I interpret these prompts some week. Who knew I'd be talking about the female orgasm this week? I didn't until I sat down and the words came (no pun intended). Thanks for reading and I hope you'll read the rest of the link ups today.

The Problem with Denial

In the wake of Michael Brown’s death in Ferguson, Missouri and subsequent protests demanding answers for the death of the unarmed teen, it is painfully obvious that much of America is still in denial about systemic racism in this country, the role that racism plays in societal dynamics, and how much damage is done by that denial.

I have, like everyone else, had Facebook and Twitter feeds that have been so often full of opinions on the matter of Michael Brown’s death. Many people feel it was unwarranted and have made solid judgments about the force used by this particular police officer. Many have felt the need to scorn the reactions (labeled riots and looting) by some community members (a very small segment of the population) afterwards as if being a White person in Georgia or Pennsylvania or Oregon suddenly gives us direct insight into what it’s like to be a minority in a place like Ferguson. Reading a few news articles is the equivalent of miraculously pulling an Eddie Murphy and Dan Akroyd style Trading Places bit, right? And then there are still others who have spoken out against “black culture, fatherless homes in the black community, erosion of the family, thug culture” or have outright blamed Micheal Brown from making conjectures about his behavior that day to sharing pictures of the wrong kid to prove a point to talking about Brown’s alleged marijuana use as if any of these somehow excuses what Officer Darren Wilson did that fateful afternoon of August 9, 2014.

No matter what your stance on the death of Michael Brown, the thing that all these talking points and opinions have in common is the blatant skirting of the issue of systemic racism and how that is so intertwined with this issue that there is no way to separate the two.

Nearly every time I mention the fact that systemic racism exists and allows a position of privilege for White people, I get told by someone at some point that he or she will absolutely not apologize for being White and that it has been hundreds of years since slavery existed so people should just get over it by now instead of expecting White people to keep on apologizing for things they didn’t personally do.

Everything about this is wrong. Every. Single. Thing.

I made a Facebook status recently about the whole White apology thing that I’d like to reshare here. No one is asking for any White person to apologize for being born White just like Feminists aren’t asking for men to apologize for having been born with dicks. If you were in a cafeteria and noticed that the person next to you received 25% less food for the same price you paid and that everyone in the room that looked different than you, a small group, had the same problem, no one would ask you to stand up and apologize for what you were given. You aren’t in control of that. But, it would be fucking nice if you asked management, “why does this keep happening?” By showing your solidarity and admitting that you see the same issues as the people claiming that they have less than you, you actually bring the problem to light so that it can be fixed. When you represent the majority group, when most people in positions of power look like you, it takes your voice and your input to help level the playing field for all human beings.

To deny the existence of systemic racism when you’re in the dominant group keeps disparities happening and stalls progress.

Post-racial America isn’t post racial. In the past several years, the country cannot go even a few months without a black male being shot, erroneously, by police. That’s not to say that it is only black males. It’s not. Women of all races are getting raped by police and the poor are repetitively targeted. But the chances that you’ll be shot by police or even arrested for ACTUALLY committing a crime when you’re a financially sound White male are very slim. Meanwhile, Black guys are shot for looking at air rifles TO BUY in Wal-Mart. They’re stopped on the street and frisked for being Black because racial profiling continues to be allowed and continues to be considered good policy. In fact, in NYC where minorities (combined) make up around half the population, those minorities make up 80% of the stops police make. Of all the frisk searches conducted during these stops, only 8% happen to Whites. Check out this study by the ACLU, for example, that shows Black people are more than 3 times more likely to be arrested for marijuana even though both Whites and Blacks use the substance at approximately the same rate. The numbers are out there. It may be easier to ignore them, but the facts are painfully clear when you take the time to research them.

When it comes to looking at the numbers in black and white, no pun intended, of who police are killing more often, it is almost impossible to determine. The FBI crime statistics are reported on a voluntary basis and are not examined in any way. There’s no way to incorporate data for police shootings that aren’t deemed “justifiable” homicides in which the police officer was determined to have used an appropriate amount of force, and the numbers of justifiable homicides only concern felons. But, when this data is examined, it shows a telling pattern. When the reasons for shooting a “felon” are less clear, the likelihood of the felon being Black is far disproportional to the Black population. It’s a scary thought…that being Black makes you a target for people who are supposed to serve and protect.

So, regardless of what you believe about the culpability of Michael Brown as we await the results of an investigation on the matter, the real point is this—the situation never would have escalated this far if Michael Brown had been White. Had he been White, the officer in question never would have told him to get the fuck back on the side walk and act with aggression the way Officer Wilson was said to have acted. There never would have been a situation where there was any kind of struggle through the window of that police cruiser. There never would have been a situation where a kid was gun down with his hands up in the middle of the street if he had been White.

The denial so many in this nation have about that is preventing this country from moving forward, and I, for one, am tired of regressing towards Jim Crow days…

And, as with every Sunday, this has been part of Sunday Confessions with More than Cheese and Beer. Check out the other link ups today. I imagine some of them will be far less political than mine. ha. Most of us need a break from it, so be sure to give them a read and check out her Facebook page for anonymous confessions! 

Why Be Resistant to Change?

This one is a guest post by my friend Ryan. He sent me the blog in a letter, and I typed it up to post here. Enjoy!
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I'd like you to ask yourself a question--why are human beings resistant to change?

Sometimes we fight tooth and nail to oppose change. Sometimes, though, change can be a beautiful thing.

There are 2 stories that come to mind when I think of change. The first is longer than the second so bare with me. I consider myself a romantic. Yeah, I wear my heart on my sleeve. Some would call me a sucker. I don't care. That's just me. Having flings and all that is fun, but I'd rather share more. When I was in high school, i got a job at a fast food place. The first day on the job, I walk in and when I meet the eyes of another girl who was working there, it was like gut punch. You know, that instant connection. Come to find out we went to the same school and everything. We were both seniors. At the time I already had a girlfriend. I've always been the faithful type of guy. I wouldn't leave her for a girl that I may have had a stronger connection with... Did we flirt? Sure, I'm not going to lie. But, it never led to anything. I ended up not working there very long. We saw each other around school.

Time goes on. I graduate, go into the Air Force, and get out after a couple of months. Long story for another time. When I got back in town, I ended up going to the place that the girl (now woman..Hey we were 18!) from the fast food joint was now working. I see her and BAM, there's that connection again. It never went away. So began the whirlwind romance. I fell for her quick, and everything was great...in the beginning. As time goes by, I ask her to marry me. She says yes. Granted there were people in my life (my mom, sister, etc.) who told me that she was no good for me. I didn't listen because I thought I was in love. She started to become verbally abusive. I let it happen because I thought that she loved me. Why didn't I make that change and just leave?

The change came when I decided to leave her. She got physical and not in a good way. At the time, I had recently coughed up blood due to what may have been cigarettes. She told me that I shouldn't smoke. So, I'm outside at our apartment smoking a cigarette. She notices this, comes outside, and slaps me in the face. I'm stunned because I've never been slapped by a woman. I have never hit a woman nor would I. I was raised to respect women. Anyways, she goes inside, comes back out with a glass of water, and throws it in my face. Seriousy. It wasn't enough that you slapped me?? That was it though. I was done. After she tried to apologize, I accepted it with a straight face, but I was finished. That night when she went to work, I packed my stuff and left. let me tell you it was probably one of the most freeing things that I ever did.

Like I said, long story, but it's crazy that it took me  that long to leave, that it took her getting physically abusive to make the change that needed to be made. It was well worth it.

The second story is more of a personal change that I made. You want to talk about change-how about having the freedom of choice everyday as a free person to then become incarcerated. When you make bad choices, bad things can and will happen. Circumstances place me in incarceration, yet I never realized how my choices affected those who loved me. It was never fully realized until I got my first visit in prison by my parents. When my parents laid it out for me and told me from their perspective how my actions affected them, it hit me hard. I don't cry very often, but damn if that didn't make me break down. They weren't telling me this to hurt me but to help me. It made me realize that I needed to make some changes. I wasn't nor have I ever been a bad person, but it made me look deep and think about what's important.

Let's look at another example. I can't even count how many times I've heard people who say they hate their job. Hell, I've been there. Most people say they can't quit or they won't do this or that. I'd rather work a job that I made less money at until I found something that made me happy. It's all about choices and making that change.

There are so many situations in life where we get comfortable. We like routine. Why? Because we're used to it? That's a crappy excuse. After being incarcerated for a period of time priorities are made clear.. Freedom is life. Some people say they have been meaning to do this or that but don't. Why? Because you're too busy? That's just a crappy an excuse. No matter what the reason, time can be set aside to do anything. It's all about choices and making that change.

I'm not trying to sound like some self-help dude or something like that. Freedom is precious. Make those changes in your life and do something. We live this one life. Yeah, we have to survive, but you can and should live life to the fullest. Accept no substitutes. You would be surprised how sometimes the smallest change can make a world of difference. Humans are resistant to change, but screw that. Open your mind and do it. What are you waiting for?

If you can change your mind, you can change your life.

Sunday Confessions is hosted by More than Cheese and Beer. Check out the other linkups on her blog and anonymous confessions on Facebook!

Life Is Evolution

Since at least the time of Socrates, there are records showing that older generations detest, criticize, and lament the actions and norms and beliefs of the next. It’s a given. It’s going to happen, and I guess it’s a coming of age sign that spans centuries of history.

There are a million memes online about younger generations that are no different than centuries’ worth of old curmudgeons’ quotes about the matter. Socrates himself said:

“Our youth now love luxury. They have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for their elders and love chatter in place of exercise; they no longer rise when elders enter the room; they contradict their parents, chatter before company; gobble up their food and tyrannize their teachers.”

Which looks remarkably like:

And: 

So, it’s really no surprise to me that this same type of judgment is passed on the whole marriage/divorce thing with memes like this: 

It’s a cute quote, I suppose, but it doesn’t take into account the historical context of marriage. It was a business arrangement or at least was more a matter of money, power, and survival than about love. It evolved, eventually, to have a more intimate sentiment, and now, we find ourselves in another time yet again. And, like every generation before it, old people can’t understand that shit changes.

Marriage really didn’t become about anything remotely resembling love until the 20th century. And, it wasn’t until the 1950s that marriage became something that symbolized normalcy and was equated with the ultimate expression of commitment. It still wasn’t necessarily always about love, though. For women, it was almost impossible to survive without marriage and considered neurotic not to marry. It was still, even in the most iconic decades of the century, little more than a means to financially and socially make it in this world. Today, through media depictions of marriage and love, that image has changed into something that symbolizes the greatest act of love imaginable, but it is no longer a type of social contract that literally means forever through better and worse the way it began…it’s not a financial arrangement. It’s not about survival. It’s not business.

The 70s and radical feminism began to give women more freedoms and power, and while it is still an uphill battle to equality, marriage is not the necessary arrangement that it first was. Love reigns supreme and most people still get married at least once. But with those freedoms came the power to marry solely for love. There is no longer a need to be married. It’s a choice that two people make as an expression of the way they feel for one another and, often, a label for the benefit of others. It was these same freedoms and resulting empowerment that also enabled people to get out of marriages easily for the first time causing divorce rates to skyrocket and to remain high over decades of time. Forever vows no longer mean forever. Forever just sounds better than “for as long as I can stand the sight of you.” Marriage by choice instead of marriage to profit and survive is the new norm and with that norm comes the ability to change one’s mind. As it should be.

That’s where memes like the one above with its quotes about fixing something that’s broken really bother me. I don’t mean that I truly believe love can never be eternal. I don’t mean that marriage can *never* work in the long term. But, marriage isn’t a contract anymore. It can be unfixable, and there should be no stigma associated with that. There’s nothing inherently weak about two people changing in ways that are no longer complimentary and saying things no longer work.

My grandparents stayed married for more than 60 years. My grandmother is now a widow. Divorce, to them, was never an option. They slept in separate beds my entire life. They bickered and fought like any other married couple, but there was never any affection between the two of them. They were hardly even friends much less still in love. The two of them stopped being compatible long before I was born and stayed that way, living under the same roof resenting each other and honoring their vows, until the day my grandfather died. Is that really what love is about? Honoring your commitment? I’m sure they thought they were fixing what was broken, too, but there’s only so many times you can glue a leg back onto a table before you have to decide that maybe you’ve wasted all your time fixing something that repeatedly breaks for a reason…

Life is evolution. It’s change, growth, trial and error. In our lifetimes, we wear so many faces trying to figure out the one that really fits with who we are and who we want to be. Sometimes, when the dust settles and we’ve found out what we’re really made of, that person we promised ourselves to for the rest of our lives has evolved into something we no longer recognize or perhaps that person is still exactly the same as the day we met them. The latter is what happened to me. I grew and changed and evolved and realized that the person I was married to was absolutely stagnant. Maybe he’s happy being that person…maybe at 20 years old he had found himself because he’s still that same person 9 years later (though the chances of that is highly unlikely isn’t it? and I can tell you from experience in this case it’s a big resounding unlikely).

I changed. He stayed the same. And, the person I became wasn’t the one he wanted forever from nor did I want to give him forever. We didn’t fix something that was broken because what we had was unfixable. It’s like dropping your favorite coffee mug onto the kitchen floor and watching it shatter into hundreds of pieces... It’s clear from the start that the mess you’re looking at will never again resemble what it started as and will never work the way it was supposed to. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t intentional. Sometimes life works that way, and you have to roll with the changes. You might get a new favorite mug. You might like a little more variety in your life than the same old mug day in and day out and that’s more than fine. Beating yourself up over not trying to pick up the shards of your broken marriage and super glue them back together is not an option, though, especially because some old assholes try to pass around an Internet meme that is pretentious enough to assume there’s only one right way to do things…

The only right way to do anything is to let people live the fuck out of their own lives and to realize that societies evolve and people change and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it but enjoy the ride. And, if you can’t do that then do the rest of us a favor and shut the fuck up.

Sunday Confessions is hosted by More than Cheese and Beer. Check out the other linkups on her blog and anonymous confessions on Facebook!