Author of Breasts Don't Lie

Posts tagged ‘blogging’

A Fable: Ugliness in Raleighwood

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Once upon a time, in the Shire of Raleighwood, lived a confused, sad, and alcoholic smurf named Jennifurlee. She had not started her life as evil but was born to the bad wart-faced witch, Shirfurlee. This devious witch had promised the small, deformed smurf great power if she only destroyed the Good Fairy. The Good Fairy had been living in Raleighwood for a long time doing kind things for the people and animals of this area but Jennifurlee, under the spell of Shirfurlee, could not bear for anyone to have anything she did not own. In a fit of spite, she abandoned her cats and kept her dogs in cages.

Jennifurlee promised to destroy the Good Fairy. She started by calling her names to other people. The Sheriff rode in on his white horse. He said to the Good Fairy, “Avoid putting energy into this fight because Jennifurlee is unhappy and under the influence of the bad witch. She knows not what she does.” The Good Fairy, having many friends in the legal profession, some prestige in the community, and a mostly forgiving nature shook off the irritation and went about doing her good deeds.

But Shirfurlee whispered to Jennifurlee awful things to spur on her daughter’s craziness. With each act of stalking, vandalism, and trespassing, Jennifurlee became uglier like a bloated, purulent skinned toad.

With the act of smearing feces, Jennifurlee developed a clump of warts on her nose. Everyone wanted to know – did Jennifurlee save her poop or was she running around snatching poop from other inhabitants? Eeoough.

Wanting to give Jennifurlee another chance, the Good Fairy sent a missive to the cranky smurf. Jennifurlee, misguided soul, full of pus, ignored it.

With the act of scraping her key down the side of the Good Fairy’s carriage, Jennifurlee’s chest broke out in a pustulent rash of pimples!

With the act of letting the air out of the Good Fairy’s tires, Jennifurlee’s name was reported to the dungeon keepers of the shire. Also, detailed missives were sent out to the neighborhood watch about her carriage, her deformed appearance, and the carriage and appearance of her accomplice, DICK.

Each act of STALKING, VANDALISM, TRESPASSING, and COMMUNICATING THREATS made Jennifurlee increasingly deformed in body and spirit until she was recognized everywhere she went. One sad day, the Sheriff of the Shire exiled Jennifurlee to live with the crazy old witch mother, Shirfurlee in the barren place called Mary’s Land for Misfit Smurfs. Meanwhile, her accomplice, DICK, was called before the head bean counter and held accountable for his collusion in the criminal deeds.

 

This fable is the ugliest thing I have written. Ever. I loathe writing about the bad behavior of a woman, but I am being stalked. She’s covered my car with feces multiple times, let the air out of my tires, stolen porch ornaments, harassed me by telephone and text, threatened my safety and property by text, keyed my car, smeared feces on my front porch and door, does drive-bys, covered my car with condoms. She’s promised to be especially mean this week. REALLY? What the hell?

Women are having a difficult enough time in the world at present. We don’t need to be fighting each other.

Not Joking

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Sitting at the coffee shop with my friends, I asked, “Should I write something funny or sappy in my blog today?” I was thinking that I had the themes for both types of posts.

“Funny,” said my friend, the quintessential Southern Belle.

Her husband just smirked across from us.

“You couldn’t pull off sappy for more than a second or two,” she said with a cock of her eyebrows.

“Well could you?” I asked not knowing if I should feel complimented or vaguely insulted.

She laughed. Her husband laughed.

I looked around our group. We are a motley crew. Meeting most mornings for almost twenty years, we are direct, honest but usually kind. As far as I know, no one has gone to jail or caused bodily harm to another person. We call each other on our faults.

“When I was a teenager, the women told my mother to teach me Bridge. It was the only acceptable outlet for my wit and intelligence,” she said.

“Where did you grow up?”

“In Atlanta during the 60s and 70s,” she said.

Now this is a woman who can wear handmade shoes, stark silver jewelry, and all black outfits, maybe a midnight sweater, to a pre-8am coffee klatch. She is gracious and kind with a kick-ass sense of humor and intelligence that runs circles around 99% of people, men and women.

I thought about how women are told to behave. The Orthodox Jewish women are told to shave their hair and wear wigs. Only God knows if men can contain their lustful behaviors after seeing female hair. I think of the Islamist head and body coverings to shield women from men’s eyes. We are told to dress and act modestly to avoid rape. But we … must … be … beautiful. Just not too beautiful.

I remember my encounter as an undergraduate in pre-med classes.

“You’re bright. You should go into pharmacy,” said the pre-med advisor.

Fuck you, was my first semester thought but I couldn’t keep up the fight against the covert and college sanctioned hazing. The male students with their not-so-nice jokes, their watching to see if I would cry or throw-up, their exclusions until I knew that I was not wanted in the field of medicine. Except as a nurse.

Even worse was my shame – I couldn’t make it in that environment. Their jokes and exclusions hurt me. Then came the many statements of “You did the right thing” when I dropped out.

I still hate them. I still hate their judgment of my abilities based solely on my chromosomes. I hate that I bought into it. And I am glad my coffee friend did not accept it. She went on to get multiple degrees in Engineering and taught her daughter to go after her dreams. She never learned to play Bridge.

2016 is not the time for pleasantries. This is my year for gracious, defined as generosity of spirit, indignation.

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