The crush...

...heard round' the world.

When I was 20 years old-I was sexually assaulted.

Yes, I started with this. The shock factor alone should keep you reading- and I need you to read this.

The story is this...

I got into a car with a guy. He took me out to the country. We were making out. He took it too far. When I said stop, he called me a cock-tease and pinned me to the seat and started to unzip his pants. He had my hands behind my head holding them.

You want the rest of the story, right? Or maybe you are recoiling at the imagery. Yes, it's real. It really happened, and I survived.
Here's the rub:
I did more than survive, I empowered myself.

Yeah. You read this right.

My incidence of sexual assault is one of victory-NOT victim.

The Kavanaugh appointment has been running wild on the book of face in the last two weeks and this week has been unbearable.
Here is MY judgment: Weak people play the victim. Weak people run to the press for publicity. Weak people play politics and let themselves be used by a batch of MEN who would probably do the same deed that Kavanaugh supposedly did, (or actually have already) to further an agenda. Weak people WAIT 30 years-even if their intentions were supposedly true and not placed there by a political agenda, to blow a whistle, or report an assault.
Weak people are weak, petty, untruthful, and sad.
Disgraceful.
Yes, disgraceful.
Disgraceful because they are actually using this as a ploy. Something that supposedly happened to you-that does actually happen to a lot of women and is sick and horrible.
Are you pissed off yet? Keep reading, ladies...I have a point.

The conclusion to my story is this:
When the guy pinned me down, he mistakenly assumed I was weak, and while squirming and yelling to break free, he left my knee unguarded. I jerked my knee up and grazed his boys. He stopped me. In doing so, he made the worst mistake of his life.

He let go of my hand. 

My opportunity was there.
I reached down quickly and grabbed his testicles and squeezed as hard as I could. Like juicing a lime.
I feel one give and turn to mush.
Disturbing?
Good.

He made a sound that I have never heard come from a human being.
We were 10 miles away from any hospital.
He had no shirt, no shoes on, and it was 45 degrees outside. It was early fall.
I left him there writhing in pain.
When I went back to the party we had left together and told my guy friends what happened, they went to where he was, lifted him up and told him to start walking. They made him walk 10 miles-no shoes, no shirt, 45 degrees to the nearest hospital with a crushed nut and an even more crushed psyche.
I went home. Showered. And high-fived myself in the mirror.
Fuck that guy.

I found out years later that they had to remove that testicle. When they asked him what happened, he said he fell on his bike bar while riding it and ruptured himself.
He knew his real story would land him in jail, and was dully embarrassed by what he did, and the fact that he was outsmarted, and overpowered by a "chick"
I don't know how he fared. But, from family sources-he went to college, did Bible study and became a preacher. He is married, but was never able to father a child himself. He adopted 2 boys. From the outside looking in, he leads a productive, happy, "God-fearing", life. He has never tried to contact me.
But, I guarantee what happened that night changed him. I also guarantee that he never touched a woman inappropriately again. No police were involved. No allegations. No wallowing. No playing the victim. 
I did what I needed to do myself. I told the guys at the party, and they doled out their own brand of justice. But-everytime that guy looks down at his genital area-he sees what's missing and has to remember what he did to me. And in turn.... 
What I did to him.
The fatal mistake he made-with no bicycle involved. 

I get that some women aren't as lucky, and there are high numbers of unreported rapes and even assaults-because if some weird sense of shame on the part of the woman/man being assaulted. (notice how I didn't use the word victim?) I HATE that word and the crutch it stands for.
Why in the holy hell would any person feel shame in the fact that they were raped or attacked? We can get into all of the ridiculous, covering, psycho-babble all damn day long-but your strength is fully yours. And it is also dependent on you.
Cowering, crying, and begging others by using your self pity and weakness is PATHETIC. Yep. I said it.
I'm just a big old meanie head.

Look. I do feel terrible for any person who suffers at the hand of another when it is undeserved. I don't condone rape, or any sexually motivated assault. As a matter of fact-it pisses me off.
But ladies, listen up...
You have been crying in the media circus for years-and a lot more recently that you want the power. You need the power. You want to rule the world!
Great! Let's do that shit.
But you cannot have your cake and eat it too.
You want to remain in the sidelines cheering the men along? OR do you want to run that ball in for the touchdown YOURSELF?

I'm a touchdown runner, myself. Screw your pom poms.

But, when I get leveled by the linebacker while running, I don't lay there and cry and then scream at the linebacker and throw a temper tantrum when he does. I also don't fucking wait 30 god-damned years and then go to the commish and file a complaint about it.
I get the ball AGAIN, and straight arm that fucker for the 50 yard reception into the end zone.
I took my power and used it to do something good, something productive, and something that looks a little like revenge. The best part:  I did this myself.
There were certainly no media folks, politicians, or #metoo reps carrying me there. I ran MYSELF.

You get the euphemism, right? 

Ladies, all of the Facebook posts against Kavanaugh are ridiculous. Your opinion matters very little in the church of the poisoned mind, and in the court of public opinion. It makes me cringe that you want to look like a victim yourself by spreading the rhetoric.
Because that's precisely what it IS.
And you should remember that.

You want to help? Stop posting memes and get your asses over to a woman's shelter and do some peer counseling. Run for office yourself and make it a priority to EMPOWER women-not put a victim spotlight on them.
Go to your local community center and teach self defense against assault.
OR...take your own lessons.
Learn how to kick ass, and quit sitting on it while posting memes on social media for some kind of misguided reaction you think will change things.
It doesn't trust me.

I can say all of this because what I told you above really happened to me.
I was sexually assaulted. (not raped) I was attacked.
It was 28 years ago.
I'm not cowering.
I do not have my hand on the button to call the police, call the media, or run out to the local chapter of #metoo to report it.
It happened to me.
I have never felt shame, remorse, or victimized.
I have not, for one second believed in anything except my own power in this circumstance.

And that is precisely what makes me rise above it.

Never wallow, darling. It's unbecoming.

Last thought...if you weren't there to witness it, and steadfast in the knowledge that she never reported it until this guy decided to be nominated to be a supreme Court justice-maybe you should just stay out of it.
If you don't like the guy for his political affiliations, or moves in his career, or what he has done professionally in his past-hate him for that. Oppose him for those things, but leave MY sexual assault out of it.
Yeah, I said MY.
Because it happened to me too.

I just have the common fucking sense to leave a hashtag out of it.

XOXO,
The crusher. 

I'm definitely like...

...French Pastry.

Yum, amiright? 

So hubby and I got into a convo about my writing this eve.

Nothing bad, just talk. We do that sometimes. I guess they say that this is a normal thing that married couples do, right?

Anyway-while talking he commented constructively that sometimes the way I write doesn't actually sit well with an everyday reader. He's honest and observant and that's precisely one of the reasons I married his fine ass.
But that said...

Hmm.

Yeah, I can dig his input.

But...I did also tell him what he already knew.
I don't care. 🤷

You see, I write for me. And I write exactly how a conversation with a friend normally goes. Like I am literally sitting with my BFF or my husband having coffee and telling her or him about my life, or my day-as it were.
I write in my real voice.

Which has been called many descriptive terms.
Abrasive
Loud
Truthful
Scary
Negative
Self-defeating, deprecating, esteem-lacking.
Bold

And I could go on for literally days.

The point here we circle back to is this...I make zero apologies for it. I use the word FUCK as often as a two-dollar hooker. I am vulgar. I am crass. I am true.

That last word wasn't what you expected, was it?

Gotcha!

Yes, true. True to the person I grew up to be.
I can be all of those negative things, sure. And it's especially true when I write...But, I can also be the persona that screams "proper chick" when I need to be.
Shrek says...he's like an onion. And I got to thinking about that-
I'm kinda more like a croissant. Many layers-a bit flaky-and filled with butter and fat.

Tasty.
**Sorry I had to.

Look, in a conversation with a person do you prefer the bland, garden-variety depth?
Or do you like it with something a bit more interesting? You know...everyone likes to raise their eyebrow occasionally.
I am the consummate eyebrow raiser.

How bout'that? 

And don't for a second act like that doesn't pique your interest to some degree.  Life is boring enough...and I am anything but boring. Especially when I write.
For instance, I like coffee...I like the taste of coffee black, even though I typically drink it with cream and raw sugar.
I think, you have to take my writing like a cup of coffee...when it's dark...it's a little bitter and hot-but tastes great despite its harshness.
Or, sometimes you can add a little cream and sugar and make it a little lighter on the palate-but also then...appreciate that you can have it either way.
Easy enough, right?
That gives you some perspective on how to handle it. Or don't...whatever.

The thing is, my voice is what makes me unique. Even when I say something ridiculously stupid or uncouth.
And the world is full of drones who follow lines, like ants.
I don't like insects. Period.

I prefer to be like rich, buttery, sexy, filling, delicious French pastry that tastes great alone, or covered in decadent raspberry jam-or chocolate-yes!

I don't have quite enough cacao to cover my girth (quick...erase that from your head right now before it requires trepination (yes, it's a thing...look it up)

But seriously-I'm making no apologies for this entry, any other one, or any other thing I have written...I do it for me, and because it's cathartic, and because it screams ME.

And as the saying goes...

Yeah, and there's that odd sense of humor too. It's probably because I am smarter than you. 

Hey, I'm fat...I had to have some qualities. You don't get them all. ;)

So, read me or leave me. That won't change. 

If you are waiting for that to happen-see below-

(How rude!)

And I'll just be over here, raising eyebrows and waiting for my jam. 

XOXO, 

Pillsbury Dough-girl. 

So why don't you...

...Kill me? (Beck, get it???)

So. I'm a loser.

Settle down...not in the everybody feel sorry for me way. I don't mean, like...total loser. Lonesome loser...etc.

I am a loser of things.

Things like jobs, especially. To be fair-I never lose my keys. But, of course since I just said that-I probably will now. Awesome. Thanks.


In the greater scheme of things, losing a job is not always a terrible thing. Sure, it can add stress to your significant other, and to yourself in the financial aspect. But when you weigh it...some stress is vehemently worse than others. Work stress over idiotic shit is the worst. And yeah...much more soul sucking than the eventual financial setbacks. I have lived in both worlds, and the sadness of dredging yourself to a job where it is literally just a paycheck and leaves you feeling empty everyday is worse, again to reiterate-than any other stress for the most part. There's death, sure. But it has to be a close second. Doesn't it?

Here is why I typically lose jobs for reference purposes...

1. I typically cannot (and will not) kiss ass. I mean, there's a limit to this sort of thing. A certain amount of congeniality is always necessary when on the job, but at the same time... I am not required per any job description to bend over, spread his or her cheeks and stick my nose squarely up the bosses turd-cutter. Unless your job title DOES read: Royal brown nose interviews, please prepare your nose in advance and don't forget when you leave to take one of our complimentary wet wipes!

2. I know my worth. I know my time is as valuable as anyone else's. I also know that in most cases, it is more valuable. And this: I deserve a fair pay for hard work. I refuse to let anyone take advantage of me. I am too smart, too skilled, my work ethic is too good to be underpaid for. Period.
Pay me. Fuck you.
Fired.

3. I am a professional. Period. If there is trailer park variety drama of any kind at my place of employment...I will avoid. And at some point, I will probably tell the offending parties to STFU and get back to work, which typically doesn't sit well.
Fired.

4. If you micromanage me...I will do one of 3 things. 1. I will physically harm you. 2. I will (tactfully and reasonably) tell you to go fuck yourself in so many words and do the job yourself if you can't trust the employee you hired to do it. OR 3. I will shut down and ignore you completely and do it my own way anyway, and probably get better results in the end. Most managers have uber-ego and cannot wrap their heads around this type of avoidance and eventually-the axe falls for some other made up reason.
Fired.

5. I am not good at the unexpected. I do not adjust well to drastic changes in the work place. Yes, it does happen. But...I also expect a reasonable amount of time to adjust. When this doesn't happen, I get cranky. And I tend to say things. Especially when the boss person starts complaining about mistakes. Mistakes that happen because I wasn't given enough time for adjustment. Then I say something back and point this out. Ugh.
Fired.

6. I need breaks. Meaning. I need a reasonable lunch hour, and occasional restroom or just small moments to walk away and breathe fresh air. If I don't get these things....I complain. Because It's called bodily function and it happens to be unavoidable. There's also a nicotine addiction to contend with here. I get breaks...or everyone suffers.
Fired. 

7. I don't like training. I prefer to self start. I do not like having a person watch over my back while I learn the job. What I do prefer is an overview...written procedure to to follow along with and then if I have questions...I'll ask. What I do not like is the self start with zero instruction and then a ridiculous expectation of complete comfort with job description after way too small a time.
When this happens...I will point it out.
Fired.

8. If you yell, berate, insult, or lie to or about me...well, it's a given that I will insult right back, and trust me when I say...I am better at it. Period. That usually earns me an escort with a box full of my desk crap right out the door. I never feel particularly bad about this though...because you get exactly what you gave. #noregrets
Fired.

9. Speaking of giving what you get...respect is earned, and never just given freely. Also, if you disrespect me...plan on having a whole truckload of that fertilizer dumped right back on top of your big, ugly, cabeza. I will verbally fuck you up. It's pretty simple.
Fired.

10. I am not ignorant, stupid, or unable to grasp when someone is co-opting me. If you ask for my input and then take my ideas, and offer them to others as your own, I won't let it ride. I'll say something, and I'll usually do it in front of someone else...(ie) higher boss, owner, or another employee to add more shame to the deed. I will take pleasure in watching that person squirm with a full measure of displeasure. It's more satisfying than A hot cup of coffee on a fall morning. I serve evil coffee...hot and fresh. Don't steal ideas from me. Hot coffee in your face hurts. Especially the evil kind. Just sayin.
Fired.

11. If you ask for fresh ideas on how to grow your business, increase traffic to your business, revive your business, or make anything better...and I spend literally days doing the extra research to make these things happen, and you shut me down at every turn...I will assume at that point that you are just giving me busy work and I will give up. Because apparently what I do isn't enough, which also tells me that it probably never will be. Which in another turn...well, you know what happens next.
Fired.

Tell me...do these points seem unreasonable to any degree?

And seriously...what kind of bosses expect you to just be OK with the points above? I mean...I know that some people will deal with this day in and day out at their jobs. Because -much like a dysfunctional relationship-you get used to something, and you stay just because of routine and stability-but you sure aren't happy about it. Or happy, period.
I won't. I'm not a settler. I. Just. Can't.
When Mama ain't happy, ain't no one happy, as the strangely poignant song says. And I prefer happiness over the alternative. Doesn't everyone?
I mean, unless your name is Oscar...in which case, he is still happy in his misery. We all get it however we can folks.

And maybe that does make me look unemployable.  Or difficult. Or even immature.

Don't care.

I'll say it again for the cheap seats.....

DON'T CARE.

One MO' time....

DON'T CARE!

If you treat me good, pay me according to the job description, listen to me, train me correctly,  have reasonable expectations, respect me, and keep your venom to yourself-I will never have a reason to open my mouth and start firing my hate-gun at you. I will always be a good employee for you...work hard...help you grow...and be as loyal as I can be.

Unfortunately, for me though...all of these rules seem to be broken and I get FIRED. AGAIN.
But you know what?

As much as I have struggled with my career and with jobs of my past-I have learned a lot more than I have earned. (I mean, a LOT more...cause my earnings are laughable, kids) The phrase "Jack of all trades, master of none" is pretty much the most apropos word to describe a loser like me.
With few exceptions...
And that's kind of cool in the self- portrait of whole life experience.

Some people keep their jobs and flounder in the same industry for their entire lifetime. And what if something happens before retirement and you find yourself suddenly in the workforce and desperate to take anything?
If you worked in landscaping-for 25 years, and suddenly get laid off...and the only jobs available are now in food service. Can you honestly say you'd adjust to the service industry in any reasonable time frame?
Probably not.

Whereas me...I got that shit handled.

He was a man of logic, that Carlin

I know the job, and I also know many others...which gives me a world of knowledge and experience. A lifetime of it.

You choose to be the drone who puts up with the foul smelling death stench of sameness day in, day out. You reliable employee...you go on with your bad self -you go right ahead and let the smell envelope you, my friends. Let your poo-flag fly!
Meanwhile, I'll just be over here getting fired again. Because damnit...I am GOOD at that. (I should totally put that on my resume as a dank skill)
Ok, maybe not.

Either way I'll be happy.
Will you?

Fire me, I dare you.

There's no way I was born to just pay bills and die...

XOXO,
Number 165 in the Unemployment line.