Posted in Uncategorized

Personal Cost of a Rapist President

Trigger Warning/Length warning – Rape, Trump, Kavanaugh

Waking up the day after the election 2016 was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The heartbreak and disbelief were huge and real, but what was even worse was articulated by my best friend from a message late into the night of the election, “This is how much they hate us.” The us she was referring to was women.

My husband kissed me before he left for work that day and said, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Hey, you didn’t vote for him.”

“I know. It’s just this has to be so much worse for you.”

And it was.

Our nation had just shown it would elect a rapist over a woman, even if the woman had more votes. Even if she could speak in complete sentences while her opponent was barely cogent. To say it was soul-destroying is not hyperbole.

Not unlike many other women, a man raped me. It caused trauma that I worked through and yet still deal with. I worked as a sexual assault counselor and advocate for a while, too. To have a rapist as the president was horrifying – and then again to have that rapist put another on the Supreme Court made me physically ill.

There were a few times during Brett Kavanaugh’s rushed through weak-ass vetting process that I really thought about suicide. Or becoming an ex-pat. But men being rapists is a global problem and as much as we’d like to think differently, I doubt they were the first two rapists in those lauded offices.

Still, every single defense of Kavanaugh felt like waking up that morning in November to the realization that yes, they do indeed hate us. They hate us so much they are putting known rapists in positions of power and laughing about it.

When Dr. Blasey Ford gave her testimony there was no doubt in my mind or hers or any woman who had heard that kind of laughter before. They hate us so much I’m pretty sure Dr. Ford is still getting death threats.

When they confirmed Kavanaugh we heard it again. Lindsey Graham’s hate filled face mirrored that of the rest of those old, white, rapist-assisting men. They showed that it doesn’t matter how brave you are, how truthful you, they will still win. They will still laugh. And your life gets ruined again.

I’ve never been able to watch Trump speak. It makes me want to vomit. Not in an “Ew, he makes me sick” I mean literally it makes me physically ill. I stopped watching Colbert and Seth Myers, too. Colbert used his fake and frankly BAD Trump voice more often than his own and Myers played clip after clip of our rapist in chief.

It was soul destroying.

People who knew me voted for this rapist. People who knew my history and voted for Trump anyway said I needed to calm down. Chill out. He wasn’t that bad. Who cares that you were raped and he was accused? Why should anyone care about that? The accuser is probably lying, anyway.

Who cares that the accuser was 13 or that Trump bragged about walking in on girls that age in dressing rooms?

A whole four years of being gaslit. By more than just one person, by a loud vocal part of the nation as a whole, by the news, and by every single Republican in Congress and the White House. It felt like being silenced every single day and watching the same happen to others.

I didn’t really calculate the entire toll this had taken on my mental health until Biden’s swearing in ceremony. It might take me years to realize the complete mental toll.

The inauguration was like water after a drought.

Oh, the women!!

They were there in beautiful clothes with beautiful words with beautiful support for each other with beautiful confidence and attitude. It was like a balm to a soul that had been tortured for far too many years in a row. And every outfit had layers of meaning. It was awesome and while I’m not into fashion, women can say more with an outfit than any of the male politicians in attendance.

I wasn’t alone crying during the inauguration and the main feeling of relief was so intensely acute it was damn near painful.

Andrea Hall, Fire Captain, and her inclusion (oh, hooray for inclusion) of sign language.

Lady Gaga with her defiant performance and wonderful outfit. She sang the national anthem with the “we are patriots and we are still here” that the song inspires and she did it perfectly in the exact spot the insurrectionists failed to take our flag. She gave it the fuck you energy it required and did it with class.

Katy Perry with her white clothes and blue and red buttons.

J.Lo claiming this land is hers just as it is mine in a way that brooks no argument.

Amanda Gorman with her beautiful words and wonderful yellow sunshine presence – with a ring of a caged bird reminiscent of Maya Angelou that was gifted from Oprah conveying so many layers of pain and triumph. What a gift of hope she was to our nation.

And Kamala Harris. At last, Vice-President Kamala Harris. Finally, in my lifetime, MADAME Vice-President. Finally, finally, finally, finally…

Thank Goddess for these wonderful women who have shown a strength I myself do not possess but completely wish to emulate.

It is hard to explain how freeing it is to not have to look at the face of a rapist destroying my country everyday. I had no idea how much of a mental toll it was taking in the first place. Everyone I knew has been depressed the past four years.

I just never knew how heavy the trauma of having him in office had become until he left. And keep in mind I’m white and I’m straight, so I had it relatively easy in comparison. He erased everyone LGBTQIA+ on day one and waged war on every person of color for 4 years, destroying lives irreparably.

And you can bet I sat watching to make sure he got the fuck out of the White House.

Out of OUR House.

Good riddance.

Posted in Uncategorized

No Screen Wednesday

Last week Will suggested we have a day without electronics.  Since that is very broad and includes things I really like such as lights, stoves, etc we narrowed down what he meant.

No screens is the basic idea and no internet.  A regular Kindle on airplane mode for reading is fine.  I hate wearing cheaters and can make the font bigger in Kindle and have tons of books only accessible via Kindle.  Cellphones, due to the barrage of messages is not ok and must be turned off.

Deciding which day proved more difficult as I work from home and need both computer and internet to be able to work.  I get a lot of clients from Facebook and Facebook Messenger, so I try to always keep a window to messenger open if possible.  My trade-off for being able to work from home without co-worker interruptions and the ever present evil of fluorescent lights is that I am mostly on call all the time.  But I get to wear pj’s at work, so I’m ok with it.

Even when I’m not signed in at Psychic Center, clients I have that are local or who know me personally tend to reach out at random times throughout the week.  I tend to try to drop what I’m doing to do a reading or whatever the client/friend is wanting.  Lately though, I haven’t really been much good past 4 or 5 in the afternoon.  I’m tired, my brain is mush – I’ve said Will more than a few times that I’d answer or try to help the person but at a certain point you have to recognize when you aren’t going to be helping.

I reach a point of brain-tired where I can listen, and I can take in what is being said, but that’s about it.  If someone wants a tarot reading when my brain is mush I feel like they aren’t getting what they are paying for.  To paraphrase Miracle Max, you have a tired tarot reader, you get shitty tarot readings.  Shitty as in inaccurate, not helpful, repetitious.

With the whole Covid thing, I have the same brain fog everyone else does.  I’m lucky enough to work from home, so I haven’t had to worry about being out of work, but I’m still suffering through the Covid-fog that a lot of us are dealing with.  Talking to a friend online about how we are “getting nothing done” and I realized, she and I are getting nothing done OUTSIDE of work.

We are still actually working.  Which is doing something.  But we are so ingrained to think that we have to work every single day until we die that we don’t even count it as productivity.  It’s a given.

Picking a day to be completely out of reach was difficult.  I finally came to the conclusion that there wasn’t a single day that I could be out of touch.  I have a book video chat on Sunday afternoons, which is my usual day off.  Since this chat is with people I am not quarantined with it’s pretty important to me because I need some fun.

“I don’t think we can do this right now.  I talk to clients every day,” I said to Will.

“I know,” he said grumpily, giving me that pointed look of his.  Ah, so we are doing this in part because Will – have I mentioned he has been home all of the time since mid-February? – thinks I am working too much.  Which basically means telling him that this won’t work due to work is going to be a failing argument.

I picked my slowest day, at least lately, Wednesday.  And we turned off everything but Will’s phone.  My mother took exception to this, but Will doesn’t get as many phones calls/messages as I do and we both feel like we should have one line open for emergencies.

Wednesday was interesting.  First of all, doing this type of thing while actively grieving a loss (we miss you, Ray, like you wouldn’t believe) is pretty painful.

There’s nothing to really distract you from it so you have to just deal with the fact that reality sucks a bit more, and that someone that should be there isn’t.  The first part of the day we cried a lot.

Second part of the day, Will got a lot of stuff done.  Cleared out his office looking for the players handbook for the first D&D module.  He wants to have me play it in the same order they came out to see the progression.  He cleaned and organized for hours and it never appeared.  However, he got a lot done and that was nice.

Mostly it was kind of boring.  I read a book on how to play Mah-Jongg and wrote some letters, but just didn’t do a whole lot.  I enjoyed not having the constant anxiety of “am I supposed to be doing something?” that I usually have.  It was nice and we are going to try to do this on Wednesdays for a while.

Posted in Uncategorized

Cage the Cats

The road in front of our house has a 25 MPH posted speed limit, but few people go less than 45 MPH on the street.  This street has been awful to cats – we used to have a next door neighbor who had an outdoor cat.  This cat had kittens and the road ate them all.  My sister worked as a vet tech for years and said that the life expectancy for a cat is around 10-15 years, unless they are an outside cat, then it is 2 years.

When we first moved here, our cat Gremlin was allowed outside, but this was due to vocal torture.  We tried to keep that dude inside, but he really wanted to go outside and if he couldn’t go outside, he would just sit at the door and meow.

Gremlin, Meow King


For hours.

Never stopping.

Will once tried to outlast him, and Will is impressively stubborn about some things.  After about 6 hours of nonstop meowing from Gremlin Will realized that Gremlin had nothing on his schedule, nothing better to do all day than meow at the door.  Meanwhile, Will had school and work and sleep and couldn’t just listen to a very loud cat screaming all day.  So Gremlin was allowed outside and we just made peace with the fact that he might die sooner because of it.  When he passed at 9 due to kidney failure we decided that all future cats would be inside cats.

He would meow to be let in and out so often friends would open the door for him.  It took Will a while after Gremlin to not just open the door when he heard a meow.

Will created a cat balcony for the cats, so they can go outside without getting hit by a car or attacked by another animal.  They love the balcony, even in the rain and during winter.  Our thought is that they should have a secondary balcony that allows them to see the backyard.  Will got two very large animal cages from somewhere, and we are trying them out to see how they like them.


They love them.  Well, they love going outside, and if that means being inside a cage, then ok.  Well, Cecil and Joey Bear Scarface are pretty content with the cages.

Shadow is not a fan and is pretty sure that we are going to murder him.  He doesn’t like being in the pet carrier when going to the doctor, either.  I feel like this little dude has a fairly traumatic backstory of being put in a cage and dumped.  Will did find him at the side of the road.

Will & Shadow

The thing is even cats cats have FOMO (fear of missing out) and when two out of three cats get to go outside the third cat has strong feelings about it.  When we do let Shadow outside he goes to the side of the house, he keeps the door in sight, and he runs back inside if there are cars anywhere around.  Will put the cage by the back door, and sat next to it, with his hand inside the cage, so that Shadow knew we were not going to murder him.  The first few times, he just freaked out so we put him back inside.

Then waited a week.

Dramatic Joe

A week of all of the cats, both human and furred, going outside without him was too much.  He started following me everywhere (which he does anyway, there’s a reason for his name beyond him being a black-ish cat) and sitting on me.  He was very underfoot until we allowed him back outside.  This time, after a week of watching the other cats in the cages, he was more mellow.  Will put the smaller of the cages behind some tall grass, and he hunkered down, basically hiding in the grass.  With the grass as cover, he had a pretty good time – as long as someone pet him when he meowed.

JoeyBear in the Sun
Joey, enjoying the outside air

And I get it.  I wouldn’t want someone – even someone I liked and trusted – to put me in a cage unless I could get out on my own again.  And even then, probably not going to happen.

Several years, I had low vitamin D and so I was told to go outside and sit in sunlight a couple times a day.  I bought a cat harness to see if one of the cats would even wear it.  Out of 3 cats, only Cecil would wear it.  So Cecil got to go outside with me until it became apparent that no harness could hold him.


I don’t even know how he does it.  I’ve been staring right at him when he Houdinis out of the harness and I STILL don’t know what he does.  My leading theory is he phased out of it.

When it became apparent that he was going to jump out of the harness and hide under the front porch, I stopped letting him go outside with me.

It has been over 4 years, but the cats have not forgotten that they were once upon a time allowed outside and therefore should be again.  The quarantine has made this true.

There is a toy mousie RIGHT THERE but shredding paper towels is just more fun

We do not leave them outside alone.  A cat in a cage by itself seems very vulnerable in my mind, and people do talk about pets going missing from the backyard.  Growing up, someone poisoned our dogs more than once, so I pretty much never leave them outside alone out of deep paranoia.

Also, Joey Bear Scarface is already studying the cages, looking for weaknesses.  The entire reason he has a scar on his nose is from escaping one of the previous balconies.  Will secured it and Joey was so determined to escaped, he cut his nose on the chicken wire.  Balcony 2.0 doesn’t have chicken wire for Joey reasons.


ALL of this is to show some pictures of our cats enjoying the spring, eating grass they will later puke up on the carpet inside, and smelling the air while watching birds.

Oh, and Cecil will meow at us if it is too sunny until we either move the cage to some sun and some shade, or we put a board on top of the cage giving him the shade he needs.  I think I may have spoiled him.

Posted in Uncategorized


In 1985, Matthew Broderick, Michele Pfieffer, and Rutger Hauer starred in a wonderful movie called Ladyhawke.  Matthew Broderick plays a thief who escapes his medieval prison and teams up with Navarre, a warrior with a hawk.  Adventure ensues.

*******SPOILER ALERT*******




Ladyhawk 3


As a kid, I watched the movie with my dad because I loved Matthew Broderick, but I came out of this movie with a deep affection for Rutger Hauer as well.  Navarre and Isabeau were cursed – he to become a wolf and she, she to become a hawk during the day so that they may never be in human form together, because someone else basically wanted Isabeau and couldn’t have her.

Anyway, the movie plot is about the quest to kill the bishop who cursed them.


Now, as a term, “Ladyhawking” is basically when scheduling means you don’t see each other.  Will and I have worked and gone to school at the same time throughout our marriage and we’ve both worked a variety of jobs.  Sometimes these jobs create a Ladyhawk situation where one of us is awake during the day the other is awake during the night, and we don’t see each other except in passing.

In short, Ladyhawking sucks and as soon as we realize we’re stuck in a Ladyhawke scheduling situation we try to alter things so that we can see each other more.  Lots of couples deal with this kind of work scheduling and it really puts a strain on a relationship when you don’t have the opportunity to see each other.

Anyway, go see Ladyhawke.  It’s a fun movie and Rutger Hauer is a badass, per usual.  😉

Posted in Uncategorized

HVAC and Cats

This summer our air conditioner bit the dust, we we ended up having to get a whole new shebang, included duct work.

As soon as we lost the air and it became hot inside, the cats would walk into the room and melodramatically drop to the floor to show us they were hot. You can tell temperature by looking at a cat and the longer and more spread out they are, the hotter they are. Cecil, my oldest orange cat, started walking on us at night, which is not unusual, and would meow a lot and paw my face, which is unusual. I figure he’s just hot and he will be ok when we install a window unit.

This is Cecil.  He’s the orange cat we have with a long nose.

We install window units in a few rooms to combat the heat. One of the rooms is the bedroom and we had a window unit blowing constantly along with the fan blowing, too.

This does not diminish Cecil’s night time meowing. I start to worry something is wrong with him, but outside of being loud and annoying, nothing else looks wrong with him. I figure the week after they install the new furnace and AC I will take him to the vet.

Cecil, Joey (Scarface Joe,) and Shadow watching the new window unit being installed.

The very first night with the new AC he did not meow at me and paw my face until I woke up.  He walked on us and then slept on us, like normal.  It’s been a week or two and he hasn’t done it since.

He was waking us up because he didn’t like how windy it was. I mean, first world problems, dude, but at least he isn’t sick.

Scarface Joe – he’s not too hot in this pic, he just likes sprawling in the middle of all pathways.


Posted in Uncategorized

Open Letter to Louis CK

Dear Louis,

I was a huge fan of yours.  My husband and I watched your stand-up and your television show.  I thought of you as somewhat of a feminist ally, simply because you seemed to recognize power inequities in your act and would make fun of them.

Then the rumors about you masturbating in front of female comics started making the rounds.  I didn’t want to believe it, but from your stand-up alone it was clear that you had some issues with sex.  Eventually, after YEARS of rumors, the #me,too movement caught up with you.

You apologized and I thought, “Louis gets it.  He’s taken responsibility for his actions and he will make this right.  He’ll show Hollywood how to do it.”  Then I actually read your apology, and it was lackluster, man.  Just some passive aggressive attempt to apologize without taking responsibility.  I was disappointed in you but still had some hope for your redemption.  “If anyone can do it, Louis can,” I erroneously thought.

Then I heard about your recent stand-up where you bitch about having to say “they” to accommodate trans people, complaining about having to call them what they would prefer.  Fuck you, Louis.  I bet you didn’t know that trans people have one of the highest suicide rates in the country.  I bet you also didn’t know that calling trans people by their name – the one they say is their name – and their preferred pronouns reduces the risk of them committing suicide.

But then I realized, you don’t really care, do you Louis?  You are so busy feeling sorry for yourself and the fact that you lost millions in the space of the hour (boo-fucking-hoo, man, most of us never see the kind of cash you are sitting on in our lifetime and the women whose careers you destroyed certainly don’t have the luxury of weeping over $30+ million lost), that you haven’t really taken a look at real ways to make a comeback.  You know what would be a good start?  Helping the people your manager blacklisted and threatened.  You still have the power to open doors, to help them with their careers.  You stole their opportunities from them so you could creepily get off and you haven’t done shit to fix that.

Why haven’t you done anything to fix it?

If you’d gone out of your way to not only apologize but make legitimate amends to them, you’d be surprised how well received you would be the next time you go up on stage.  Instead of doing the right thing, instead of being an example to other Hollywood people in similar circumstances, instead of being who we thought you were, you’ve done nothing but feel sorry for yourself and then trash trans people like a bigoted asshole.

It’s not only sad for the women you victimized and silenced, but it’s sad for you and your fans.  You could have made this a moment where you actually made amends.  Where instead of giving lip service to taking responsibility, you actually did it.  You could have restored our faith in you, a flawed, but good man.  Instead, you sulked for a few months and then came to the stage with anti-trans bullshit.  That’s not what good men do.  It’s what opportunistic assholes do.

I’m done thinking that you will eventually make amends to those you’ve harmed.  Your self pitying bullshit shows that you don’t actually care about those you victimized.

Fuck you, Louis.  And while we’re at it – fuck you, too, Janeane Garofalo, you apologist bitch.




Posted in Uncategorized

Believe Women – Guest Blogger

Written by guest blogger Perditax

Believe women. It seems like such a simple phrase, but to so many people resist the notion, muttering darkly about due process and suspending belief until all allegations can be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. But belief doesn’t require absolute proof. If it did, could anyone believe in God? No. They could not.

What belief requires in this context is that the listener take a woman’s statements seriously. That’s all. No more. No less. Here’s an example of that sort of belief:
Think of a small child, about 4 years old. This child tells you with absolute certainty that there’s a monster in her closet. You have two choices. The first option is that you can believe her. You can believe that she believes in the monster. You don’t have to believe in the monster yourself; you just need to believe that this monster is a problem the child is having that needs to be addressed. So you investigate. You stay up with her one night and listen for the monster.
Are there any mysterious noises in the closet that sound monster-like? Is there a mouse in the walls making scary scratching sounds? Do you need to have a talk with the cat? Are there any shadows that look particularly scary when the lights are out? Or is there no “proof” of a monster at all? If there’s no proof of a monster, then the child is still definitely afraid of something, and this fear is expressing itself as fear of monsters. So, you talk with the child, ask what she’s afraid of other than the monster. Try to figure out how to soothe her fears. Try to figure out what the monster really is. Fear of a new school? Fear of the new baby brother or sister that’s on the way taking her place or taking her mom away from her? You find out what this monster is. Together, you and the child find this monster, real or imaginary, and deal with it.
The second option is to not believe the child. You tell her that there ARE no monsters. You disregard her fears and her anxieties. You scream, after the fifth night in a row that she cries about monsters, “I told you monsters don’t exist! Now shut up and go to sleep!” And you slam the door shut, ignoring her small quiet sobs behind the closed door. Far too many parents choose this option.
Which child do you think feels more secure now? Which child do you think has just been taught to fear and distrust adults? Which child was treated like a human being with thoughts and anxieties that deserve respect? Which was treated well? Which was treated poorly?
The reason women are so very angry right now is that society has been that second parent to us for centuries. Despite the fact that ¼ of us will be raped in our lifetimes, despite the fact that even more than that will be harassed or stalked or assaulted or terrorized, society keep screaming at us, “There is no monster/rapist in the closet! Now shut up and fuck off!” Because rape and harassment don’t always have witnesses. And for so many people, if it can’t be seen, it doesn’t exist.
But what would it be like if society behaved more like the first parent? What if our government and our culture acknowledged that there’s a scary monster, and we can’t always prove it, but it’s a problem we women (and men too!) are having that needs to be addressed? What if they commit to brainstorming and working to find some solutions, from changing the culture, to better law enforcement, to educating citizens?
Frankly, I believe Doctor Ford, and I believe Brett Kavanaugh. Just as you don’t have to believe IN the monsters to believe the child, I don’t have to disbelieve one party in order to believe the other. Believing both is absolutely possible, and believing women’s stories of assault does not mean automatically convicting the men they accuse. I believe he did assault her, just as she recalls, but he doesn’t remember the incident at all, both because that sort of thing was common and socially accepted back then (though still both morally wrong and illegal), and because he did drink heavily according to many of his friends.
But what if he believed her? What if Brett Kavanaugh said this:
“I don’t remember that at all, but I believe you. I believe it’s possible, no…probable, since you are so certain it was me, that I did something to harm you. After all, I did drink a lot back then, and I don’t recall every moment perfectly, so it is possible that I assaulted you. And I am so very sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt anyone. And I know that an apology doesn’t help much, but I do apologize, and I will be sure it can never happen again. I will limit my drinking, and when I do drink, I will always have a sober friend around. I will change, because an apology isn’t enough. True remorse demands change.”
I’d respect the hell out of him if he said that. If he said something like that, I could honestly say, “I don’t like his politics, but I think he’s a good person.” But he didn’t say that, because he’s not a good person. And he’s not a good person because he doesn’t empathize with others, and he does not give people the respect they deserve as fellow human beings.
Because that’s what “believe women” boils down to. Believing other people’s stories of trauma means believing that the thing they feel so strongly about deserves to be addressed in some way. It’s having some ability to put yourself in other people’s shoes, to see events through their eyes. It’s about respecting our fellow human beings and really listening to what they have to say. And it’s a courtesy we’ve denied women and their stories of assault and trauma for far too long.
Posted in Uncategorized

Believe Women – Internalized Misogyny

“It is hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head.” Sally Kempton

There are so many things I wanted to blog about in regards to the whole Kavanaugh national disgrace, but the thing that keeps coming up for me over and over again is internalized misogyny.  We all have it, but there are so many women out there commenting about Dr. Ford being a “liar trying to ruin a man’s reputation” that I’ve been pissed off and frustrated.

While the Kavanaugh hearing and debacle has dredged up so many things I thought dealt with or buried in dealing with my own abuse and trauma, I keep remembering this girl in the 4th or 5th grade.  I can’t remember her name, and I wish I could because I’d try to reach out to her and apologize.

This girl was 10-12 years old, as was I, and she said that the orchestra teacher had molested her.  Ten years later this man was finally caught and arrested.  I’m assuming no one believed the girls that came after her, either.

More importantly to this narrative, *I* didn’t believe her.

I remember quite clearly lining up to go inside after recess and me and my bitchy friends were talking about it and she overheard us.  She motioned me over and asked if I wanted to know what happened, and I said yes.  She told me about this man – who my family nicknamed Chester the Molester a few years after this incident because it became a known secret that he did this – and how he shoved his hand down her shirt.

And being a bastion of hope, kindness, and open mindedness, I went back to my friends and said loudly, “She told me but I don’t believe her.”

I said it loud enough for her to hear and I said it with venom.  There is no making this more palatable – I was a fucking bitch to this girl.

Now here I want to forgive my pre-teen self for being an unmitigated bitch.  I want to talk about how my grandmother would say – any time she heard of anyone being raped that they should have just kept their legs together.  I want to say that I had internalized the culture of disbelief and was just doing as I was taught.

But honestly, that’s all bullshit.  This girl – who wasn’t popular and was often alone – told me what happened and I smacked her down for it.  I think about this often as I see clips of Dr. Ford’s testimony.  The shaking, the voice, and the suppressed panic – this girl exhibited all of this and my bitchy childhood self took it as an indication of someone lying.

So, to this girl – god how I wish I remembered your name – I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that to you or about you.  I’m sorry I didn’t believe you and I’m sorry it took so long for the man who did this to you to get his comeuppance.

I’m sorry I was an asshole to you over something indescribably traumatic.  I was shitty to you and I should have led with kindness not viciousness.

Seeing all of the women out there that as grown adults acted the same way I did as kid is pretty distressing.  Hearing all of the men out there call Dr. Ford a liar – and after the hearing, I honestly believe people who believe him over her are delusional, a Devil’s Three-way is a drinking game?  What the fuck ever, Brett – why on earth would women come forward in this culture?

My hope is that many of the women commenting this heinous stuff are never put in the same situation with a victim I was in or if they are, I hope they reply more compassionately than I did.  However, with the way Republican women came out and voted for Roy Moore, I’m not optimistic.

The #believewomen hashtag is moving across the internet and I’ve had even allies come up with problems to this.  “Oh, just believe women automatically without any proof or anything?!  That’s insane!”  Yes, I think you should believe women when they tell their stories, especially since most of these stories are being posted online and they aren’t in a court of law.

If the accused is “innocent until proven guilty” the accuser should also be considered “innocent until proven guilty” but no one thinks this way.  Believing women doesn’t mean you get a posse together and go after anyone vigilante-style.  It means be supportive to the women in your life and give them the benefit of the doubt.  Don’t just discount what they are saying as some sort of knee-jerk ingrained reaction.



Posted in Uncategorized

Hidden Cats

Woke this morning with our black cat, Shadow, stretched out on my legs and feet.  I was curled up against a body pillow on one side and Will was curled up behind me on the other side.

When I wake up, I tend to just stay in bed for a few minutes while the cobwebs of dreams clears and I get my bearings.  When I finally decide that the needs of the bladder outweigh the comfiness of the bed, I pull the blankets aside and discover Cecil the Orange was sleeping right next to me, completely buried in covers.  Had no idea little cat dude was even there.

Yes, I know this isn’t a lengthy blog post, but hey, I work from home and the people I talk to the most are basically cats.

Posted in Uncategorized

Supernatural Season 4

So in my memory, I have listed season 3 as my least favorite, but honestly season 4 is much harder to watch.  Spoilers to follow, so don’t read if you don’t want to be spoiled.

Season four has many great things about it.  Dean comes back from hell and we are introduced to Castiel, probably one of my favorite moments of the entire show is the introduction of Castiel.  “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” has to be one of the best introductory lines ever written or delivered.  Castiel is the source of much humor, but in season 4 he’s an angelic badass much more than the brother’s friend.  Season 4 gets a whole letter grade raised for it simply because everything they did with Castiel was just wonderful.

Like many other seasons, this season has it’s fair share of episodes to skip.  For example, “Jump the Shark” is one of my least favorites.  First of all, by the end of the episode we realize Adam’s been dead all along.  So there is another Winchester brother and all this angst and pathos, but they aren’t even dealing with the brother, but rather the thing that killed him.  Ugh, it’s so pointless and I don’t care.  I know we have to have another Michael sword and all that, but it was a stupid concept and all it really does is highlight the utter dickishness of John Winchester.  I’ve been re-watching even the bad episodes, but I simply couldn’t force myself to rewatch this one.  There is so much wasted potential that it is too difficult to even watch.

I also hate the episode “Metamorphosis” but that is more because a lot of it is gross – a rabid man eating raw meat is always visually upsetting.  “Family Remains” is another episode I usually skip, but I rewatched it again.  I think the reason I don’t normally watch this episode is because Sam and Dean are just completely inept in it.  I also don’t buy a little girl with 0 superpowers kicking the asses of men who are trained fighters and about a foot-foot and a half taller than her.  It’s stupid and it makes the Winchesters seem incompetent in pretty much every way.

These episodes loosely relate to plot as Dean tries to rid himself of his hell-guilt and Sam struggles with whether or not he should be drinking demon blood and using his evil powers.  Hint: he shouldn’t be.  You know the first clue?  Drinking blood.  That’s never a good thing.

I tried really hard this season to be sympathetic to Sam and give him excuses for his utter douchebaggery this season.  His anger at Dean going to hell, the rush from being powerful, being young and stupid, but even with all of that, the only excuse I have left for his utter assholery this season is that he was possessed by demon blood.  Which is a lame cop-out excuse.

The show works best for me when the brothers are working together.  I know writers love conflict, but with all of the external enemies to deal with, you’d think they’d at least let the brothers work together against the external conflict, but no.  This season is tedious as hell with the Sam and Dean fighting angst.  It’s exhausting.  It’s also pretty much every episode in the latter half of the season.  Even the monster of the week episodes have their fair share of Winchester angst and argument wedged in between every thing else.

Highlights of the season are “Yellow Fever,” “Monster Movie,” “It’s a Terrible Life,” “The Monster at the End of This Book,” and oh my Chuck, how I love “The Monster at the End of This Book.”  Chuck is one of the best characters for many reasons and while I know you can’t have god on every episode, I wish they had more of him. “I Know What You Did Last Summer” was also a good addition to overall storyline, and holy hot sex scene, too.

This season, Dean is very much broken.  Sam is mainly a dick about it towards the second half of the season, but during the beginning of the season, he’s pretty sympathetic.  Sam’s belief in God could have been used by the angels to prevent the rise of Lucifer, but instead, they are rabid dicks to Sam, which makes him a lot less likely to bow to their edicts.  Knowing the angels were in on releasing Lucifer from the cage helps make this make sense, but mostly it just seems like a wasted opportunity.  Sam was still looking for guidance and willing to follow whatever god laid out, but instead the angels were pretty much dicks to him and not very helpful, which helped push him down the road to hell.  After all, why listen to the other side if they are just assholes who call you a monkey?

This season is mainly about breaking the seals and releasing Lucifer and most of the stories flow into that very well.  This season is a difficult season to watch, as there aren’t many episodes that are light and funny, and normally Supernatural does a good job of mixing the dark, broody, and scary with humor and wit.  The color saturation from season 3 is gone, too, so it goes back to being visually a very dark show as well.

Season 4 is difficult to watch because it’s depressing.  The boys lose a lot, they are played by both sides, and Lucifer is ultimately released.  They are fucked from the get-go and the game is rigged and they still get blamed for Lucifer rising.  It’s a long, slow slide to the apocalypse and it’s difficult to watch.  It’s well written (for the most part) and the acting and storytelling is solid, but it’s super hard to watch and it’s incredibly depressing to me.

All of that said, the last two final episodes are pretty epic, and the hatred you feel towards the evil demon Ruby becomes so intense that when they finally kill her, it’s incredibly joyous.  Dean twisting HER OWN KNIFE to kill her is so fabulous and happy and awesome.  Now if only they’d kill off Lucifer already (Lucifer is so fucking boring I can’t even) so we could feel the joy from that.

I will say that while I hated Ruby by the end of the season, especially in the last two episodes for how much she divides the brothers, she was a terrific bad guy.  She manages to keep you guessing through most of her interactions with Sam and it really isn’t until the very end that you realize she’s been on the side of Lucifer all along.   Like all good bad guys, you want her dead, but she was really terrific at being evil.

Because I have depression, I am giving this two grades – B+ for storytelling acting and everything along those lines, but C- for depressing the fuck out of me.  You need to break up the depressing episodes with some that aren’t so heinous and this season has a string of 6 episodes in a row that are super depressing.