Month: November 2017

 

 

Thanksgiving alone was difficult. I was the family Thanksgiving hostess for decades, and this may have been my first solo Thanksgiving since my late 20’s. In the course of my day, I recited the traditional litany of things to be thankful for at least a dozen times; children, grandchildren, all family and friends, the loved ones who touched my life and are now gone, thankful for my health, thankful for a bountiful life, thankful to be buoyed by gratitude—and still…

But as the day and subsequent days passed, as I exhaled, as humor came back, I realized there are many little things, things that are seemingly unimportant, things that do not get the attention they deserve, that I am deeply thankful for. My list below, in no particular order.

 

I’m thankful for programmable coffee makers. Java junkies do not pick up their first cup on the way to work. Coffee comes before my eyes are fully opened.

I’m thankful for Hershey’s chocolate syrup; an emergency hit of chocolate when there are no cookies in the house. I have never run out of Hershey’s syrup.

Silver hair rinse; which allows me to think of myself as a silver fox rather than a woman with gray hair.

My playlist; mostly “girl power” songs, which ALWAYS salvages a bad day, a bad mood.

My vibrator; if you are a woman, and not just a woman alone, you should have one. Period.

Excedrin p.m.; a consequence of all that coffee but it keeps me off of prescription meds. Along the same lines, I am thankful for a dark bedroom.

The side-view mirror on my bike; I could never ride in traffic without it. Frankly, I am thankful for everything my bike represents and for what it allows.

I am thankful that my weed dealer delivers.

I am thankful for Big Bang re-runs.

I am thankful for CVS. Key West has a mega CVS, it could pass for a Walmart. Only thing missing is meat.

I am thankful for the games on my phone. Don’t know how I lived without them. They successfully fill in all those times when I don’t want to think (and that’s a whole lotta filling in).

But perhaps this year, I am most thankful for, literally, the roof over my head. Hurricane Irma was an event I was not at all prepared for or equipped for. A major hurricane headed your way is unlike any challenge. Think about it—a marriage, a new job, a new baby, enlisting into a branch of service—they all come with some idea as to what you’re in for. But not a hurricane. It’s a big, fat, black hole, a question mark as to where and how you will land. I landed on all fours. I am so, so lucky. And thankful is too generic a word to express how grateful and fortunate I am.

 

photo credit: odyssey

 

 

 

Seriously. We are witnessing a phallocentric movement taking center stage. Deconstructed dicks, limp dicks, dick legislation, so many dick photos passed around they’ve become passe. I know a gentleman whose dick was bent from excessive masturbating (Peyronie’s disease). And every week there’s some breaking story about a fat bastard wagging his wang—inappropriately. Followed by some douche bag wagging his Bible. Seriously? Gentlemen. I don’t mean to be flip about a serious and far too prevalent issue, but get a fucking grip on this penis thing.

The profile of the sexual harasser is typically a power psychopath, often an unattractive man who (in my mind) would never find himself engaged in consensual sex and therefore must force himself on a subservient. While much has been written about the connection between power wielding and sexual inappropriateness, male dominance, etc., there are also studies that suggest that the (male) sexual abuser often thinks of himself as being far more attractive than he actually is, blinded by his own special light, no doubt. Really? If the likes of Harvey Weinstein or Bill O’Reilly ever approached me, I would be sitting in the HR’s office before the little fucker could get his zipper up. I cannot imagine the hideousness of their bloated, old bodies. What psychological fuck up is going on in the minds of these men that they think they are desirable and deserving, entitled? And what psychological fuck up brings men to literally turn their penises into weapons, to hold one at bay, to intimidate or to do harm?

Priests, presidents, senators, CEO’s, old farts, please, enough already with the sexual abuse, you neanderthals, you Bible banging perverts. How dare you ruin lives, how dare you use your dick for harm, for your own sick satisfaction. You’re spoiling penises for me and others who enjoy and practice healthy sex. Check out the links below, good reads, especially the HBR article on Weinstein and his kind.

 

harvard business review

 

an older article but still relevant – power paradox

 

photo credit: the federalist