My Favorite Time of Year

The past four days have been quintessentially perfect fall days. Brilliant blue skies. No clouds. A light breeze. It feels crisp outside. Like the first time you crack open a brand-new book. There's something special about it. So cheering. Like maybe there's something right with the world. I have to open my moonroof and roll down the windows on my commute home. The perfect weather for a bowl of chili, a beer and a good game of football. Yesterday I got two out of three. My beloved team is breaking my heart. This is not unusual. I grew up during the era of amazing Nebraska football and it was so difficult to watch them play under Solich and Callahan while I was in school there. But I've stood by them through all of that. And I continue to stand by them; I am a husker through and through. But that doesn't mean I like them very much right now. They've let me down yet again. Whenever I start to think, "Hey we're good again!" They have a game like yesterday. And I want to shake them. And I ask myself why do I care? Why do I let myself care so much? Why can't I stop watching and caring about college football? Possibly for the same reason I can't completely right off my attempts to find a boyfriend. Despite the mountain of evidence from my past experiences that boys are unreliable and just cause trouble, I continue to search for "the one." In the past few months, my single friends have been increasingly getting boyfriends and it's making me feel more and more like a crazy old spinster. Except that I don't even have a cat (Allergic!) or dog for companionship.
In the meantime, I'm hoping for more beautiful fall days; I've had enough rain to last me for quite awhile.

A Literary Look at Abuse Rhetoric

A few days ago, Citizen B posted a story on abuse and it made me think of Stephen King's Rose Madder (woman tries to escape from her abusive cop husband who turns psycho and then lots of weird shit happens...it is a Stephen King novel after all...but all in all it's a happy story because she does get away from him). Then today I'm reading Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment and come across the following defense of this reprehensible man's actions (he propositioned Raskolnikov's sister when she was working as a governess in his house, she refused him but his wife blamed her and fired her):

I pursued a defenseless girl in my own home, and I 'offended her with my infamous proposals'--is that it? (I'm getting a little ahead of myself!) Just suppose, however, that I, too, am a man, et nihil humanum...in a word, that I can be attracted and fall in love (and of course that doesn't happen to us according to our will)...and everything's accounted for in the most natural manner. The whole question boils down to this: am I a monster or am I a victim? Well, you may ask, what do you mean, 'victim'? Well, when I proposed to my object that she run away with me to America or Switzerland, I might have been nourishing the most worthy sentiments all along, and I might even have been planning our mutual happiness! ... my conscience is absolutely clear in the matter [of his wife's recent death, which rumors say he caused]. ... I thought: didn't I contribute to all this...bad luck...by upsetting her morally in some way, or something of that sort? Even that I concluded was definitely out of the question. ... But why do you laugh? Just think: I only hit her twice with the switch. There weren't even any traces that showed...You mustn't think I'm a cynic. I can assure you I know just how beastly it was on my part and all that. I also happen to know for certain, mind you, that Martha Petrovna [his wife] was actually quite pleased with what you might call this little diversion of mine. ... I won't even go into the fact that there are times when women find it very very agreeable to be offended, all their apparent indignation to the contrary notwithstanding. They all have times like that. Man in general enjoys offense--haven't you noticed? But women especially. You might even say it's all they've got to live on. ... We lived quite harmoniously, and she was always content with me. During our seven years together I used the switch only twice in all (not counting a third time that was extremely ambiguous anyway). ... And you thought I was a monster, a reactionary, a serf owner? - Arkady Ivanovich Svidrigailov

The tone of the rest of the novel leads me to suppose that Dostoyevsky is exaggerating an "accepted" point of view in order to make people think about it and consider it more closely. The sad thing is that I still come across stories of abuse (and rape) where men justify their behavior by making similar arguments. "She wanted it." "She was asking for it." I've had people accuse me of being overly cautious because I don't go walking in my neighborhood after dark; I don't go to bars or clubs by myself; and I insist on living in a gated community. But from junior high/high school on up, I've had it drilled into me that I must be careful to avoid situations where I might get raped. That going out late at night in a slutty outfit is a bad idea. I'm not saying I agree with these things. I wish that it didn't matter what I wore or where I went or what time of night it is. The only thing that should matter is whether I want the attentions that may be focused upon me. But the fact of the matter is that this isn't so. Women get raped. Women get hit. Women get verbally abused. And men continue to tell us that we deserve it. That we like it. That underneath it all, we actually want them to do these horrible things. What we need is to help each other (like the woman's boss in the story Citizen B posted) stand up and say "No. We don't. We're not going to take it anymore."

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Unsatisfied

This video never fails to amuse me (and cheer me up). Is there any more perfect revenge? Personally, I've always been part of the camp that likes to imagine that my exes just drop off the face of the earth. It's not that I want them to die precisely, but just not make me aware of their existence ever again. Which is why I could not understand when my ex from 6-7 years ago (a high school boyfriend I should have dumped before college, but I was stupid back then) messaged me on facebook about, oh maybe 9 months ago, wanting me to "friend" him. To which I responded, "I'd rather not," though I wanted to say, "Hell no! What the fuck are you smoking, asshole?" We did not break up amicably. He accused me of cheating on him (I wasn't); I later realized he was probably cheating on me (curse you, Psychology 101). So this post is dedicated to all the asshole guys (and notice I'm not saying all guys are assholes) out there who think they're hot but they're really not.

What is wrong with men?

So tonight, I'm heading home from my friends' indoor soccer game. It's only like 10:30ish (not bar o'clock) and it's maybe 4 blocks from my house. So I pull into the left turn lane to turn onto my street and after stopping at the red light, I notice there is a truck in the far left lane, the one that would have cars going in the other direction if there had been cars on the road. It's stopped at the light. Just sitting there. Waiting to be hit. Part of me is wishing that there were cars coming because I want to know if the idiot thinks this road (which has a concrete median by the way, of which I am on the other side) is one way, or if he's just really stupid. I mean, if you're going to drive on the wrong side of the road, running a red light isn't really that much worse. Especially as there were no cars going across the intersection. So anyways, light turns green and the truck just pulls out and blocks the intersection, but doesn't go straight or really turn. As I am wanting to complete my left turn and travel the 3 blocks to my apartment, I gently tap my horn. The truck finally moves again and he turns and stops on the railroad tracks. Luckily there are two lanes, so I go into the right lane and pull past the tracks and up to the red light (though only four blocks from my apartment, there are no less than 4 lights to get through). Suddenly the truck pulls of next to me and some guy is cursing at me for turning left. From the turn lane. On the proper side of the road. This light is not sensored, so I turn right, thinking okay, leave the crazy guys and I'll just turn around and be on my way. Next thing I know the crazy guys are chasing after me and I'm scared they're going to crash their truck into the back of my car. So I make a lot of turns and eventually they disappear and I can finally go home. Of course, I'm shaking from fear at this point. I've never had anybody chase me before. I didn't DO anything. They were the idiots sitting in the middle of the wrong side of the intersection. Where are the Addison cops when you need them?
Added to the multitude of lame, idiotic and obvious booty call messages I've gotten on POF this week, I'm seriously wondering why it is that I thought I wanted to have anything to do with that half of the species anymore. Weeks like this make me wish I was a lesbian. Or that maybe I should give up and settle for a really good vibrator. And a dog. A girl dog. For companionship.

Apparently You Can Buy Everything

So Smart Bitches, Trashy Books posted a link to what might possibly be the weirdest, creepiest thing I've ever seen for sale online (and if you've surfed the internet at all, you know that's not easy): an articifical hymen kit. Yes, for only $15 you can order your very own re-virginization kit from Japan (but shipped from China--with all the controversy over the problems with lead in toys in recent years, do you really want to buy something this personal from there?) and he'll never know it's not for real! Is there really a demand for this? In the US? (I'm assuming there must be at least some interest from here since the price was listed in USD and no other types of currency.) What I want to know is whether it's men or women creating this demand? And there's definitely something about the fact that it only costs $15 that really bugs me.