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Can movies and TV shows stop showing a character being raped and then act like the "sexual act" was somehow the victims fault and cause for their significant other to be upset? Often the rape victim spends episodes feeling guilty and never wanting to tell their S.O. That there penetration with someone else out of fear of how it would hurt their S.O.s feelings. The audience is often lead to believe we should be mad at the rape victim and feel the main character was slighted and "deserves better." It adds much over used drama to TV shows with little thought in the actual story.

Let me say this, if a character is drunk and saying "no" and a sober character is persistent, and the two wind up in bed together it is not "cheating" it is not "oops" it was rape. And to make the victim out to be the bad guy that "slipped up" is precisely why women and men find themselves feeling guilty and shitty after someone takes advantage of their state. This is why politicians and people think it's not rape. Because you clearly didn't say "no" hard enough to be beaten into submission.


Therapy Dogs

Therapy Dogs and Service dogs do not shit inside the restaurant. I'm shocked you think they do. And I'm so very sorry your daughter needs a benedril around them, but my friend has epileptic seizures, how would you like to lose control of your body at random? How would you like to be next to a busy street when one seizes you? Where the dog can smell it coming and pushes you back and you grab on landing on a beloved animal rather than a cold hard street where the cars are zooming by? Or how about in a restaurant? Where the dog senses it and puts his body on you so you don't fall out of your chair to the ground, hitting your head on a corner of a table?

Allergies suck, I have them. Disabilities suck worse.

Not to mention the waitress probably has more dog hair on her outfit than the cook. And for the ass hats that just add a vest to their animal and pretend it's a service animal, they are what you are mad at. Not the disabled that have every right to try to live normal lives.

Fuck off.

You Wouldn't Understand

I use to get annoyed when people would tell me things like: "You're too young to understand." Or "You'll understand when you have your own kids." And the dreaded "I think you have to experience it to fully get it!" I think it annoyed me when I had opinions about things and was immediately turned down because I didn't have [insert item or age or experience here]. Like when I would want to be upset that my Aunt would almost encourage her son to have sex at an early age. She would brag about how much a ladies man he was. She would joke about the door being closed on his room all the time while his girl friend was over. She seemed to be living vicariously through him. Talking about his popularity and hobbies. A proud mother, who clearly knew what her teenage son was up to. (And my cousin gave virgin me all the glorious details). Then when her daughter, whom is a decade younger, became a teenager, she asked her mother about birth control. And asked if it was possible for her to be put on it? Of course, her mother FREAKED out. Told her "aspirin between the knees" and don't do it! My cousin was shocked, she felt comfortable asking given how supportive her mother was of her brother. My Aunt's excuse for the difference was the age old "NOT my little GIRL!" Double Standards... Le sigh.

I pointed out the difference in their treatment to her once. How free the son was in comparison to the daughter. How proud she seemed of the son, and ashamed of the daughter for the same topic. I asked her if she was, at least a little, proud that the daughter even asked about birth control? I was upset at the double standard, and merely brushed off with "When you have kids, you'll understand." I may not have kids, and I can't imagine how I would feel if a son or a daughter was looking for contraceptives at such a young age. But I feel I can point out the blatantly obvious double standard and how the girl obviously picked up from her brother's treatment?

Or maybe I will never fully understand until I have an older son and younger daughter. Who knows.

I still get bothered when lack of experience is used against me. Not Knowing and being incapable of remedying that issue bugs me. One things to ask "have you READ the book," In which I can go home and read it, another to tell me I wasn't old enough and I would need to wait years to reach this so-called wisdom.

Then again, I experienced something similar today.

I have a co-worker who clearly lead a relaxed, pampered life filled with privileges. She clearly has never known what it is like to be poor and to top it off, she has never even had friends that were poor. I think I'm the closest she has. Most people I work with are from middle class or extremely wealthy. The cleaning staff, is not, and of course this co-worker never actually converses with her. And if they do, it's usually small talk of the weather. The thing is, she doesn't know what it's like to wonder where your next meal is coming from. To try to pull yourself up from a pit only to have bills thrown at you, room mates that steal from you, depression, and unfair government cut backs tossed your way to the point where you wonder if you are becoming more buried or if there is ever an escape. It's fucking hard starting from nothing.

I was abandoned, I have lived off ramen noodles. I have worked minimum wage and sold blood to pay rent. I have worked 3 jobs at a time and still not been able to afford medical or dental care. Hard work is a joke and a laugh the people like my co-worker boast about when they consider the "poor" and think that all these poor people have to do is just not be lazy. Their ass holes that lack the experience to understand. And that's sort of how I got it. This is one of the first times I felt that way.

As she sat their claiming that people just want hand outs and are too lazy to earn anything I wanted to shout at her. "Have you ever FUCKING needed help? Have you ever applied for government assistance? Have you ever been torn down simply because you need help because your parents are gone and you have NO ONE that will aid you?" I realized she was ignorant. Dangerously ignorant as this woman votes and just assumes that no one ever NEEDS assistance. They are all just fraudulent. I wonder is she lumps the military, disabled, elderly, and children in this category. To be honest, I almost told her she just couldn't understand, she's never been there.

I've been told before that clearly hard work works. I, after all, was poor and here I am. CPA, college degree, and middle class. From nothing. I often respond with "Thank god for socialism, certainly would never have been able to do it without government help." True story. Yes, I got a full ride scholarship, but pell grants, CCRG and other aid helped me the first year. And I am positive I would have died or starved if not the other programs.

I often think the ass hats that get mad at the poor are either racist and watch too much Fox thinking all the minorities take from the rich, or they lack empathy entirely.

90% Sure

I'm obsessed with great fictional writing. Sometimes I won't be able to actually fully enjoy a book or even show until I speak about it with others and these conversations enlighten me into how much thought was actually put into the book or other form of art.

Charles Dickens, Great Expectations comes to mind. I read it and was just "meh... it's OK. I don't think Mrs. Havisham is in anyway a relate-able realistic character. The ending left me curious, and it's hard to care for the convict when you get to know him so very little." Then I spoke and read about the book more and was astonished at just how much thought went into the book. The marshes and their representation of danger. Pip's desire to be rich and thinking it would make him better only to learn money has nothing to do with character. Finding out that his beloved Estelle was also born of the same convict that gave him his fortune. And that he was not so different from what he strives to be to begin with. I could go on about some of the amazing quotes that were brought to light. But It went from "3 star of OK, not bad" to "5 star, Holy shit, this guy really thinks things through to get the underlying message across."

The same can be said for art. I see a piece and decide if I would hang it on a bedroom wall. If not, I am inclined to not like it. The more I have been going to the museum and actually discussing the art, the more I realize just how shallow my first impressions are. Sure, many I still wouldn't hang in my own home, but I appreciate them more and see them as what they are. An artist showing us their story in abstract colors and shapes. Even when not drawn well or realistically, they can be beautiful and meaningful.

I think people are the same way. I'm fast to judge people and later find out they surprise me. Things I didn't notice or didn't know about them. Eventually I get to see people for what they are. Even the ones that are horrid on the outside, can have something miraculous to tell once you dig a little deeper.

That grey cloud

I can feel it slowly creeping up on me, slowly taking joy from my every day, slowly making me lose interest in the things I care about, slowly making me slip away from friends and family, and ever so slowly making me feel like giving up. Depression is slowly coming in.

I'm sure I should look into therapy or something, but can't seem to bring up the gumption to actually try.

I loved him, even when I said I didn't.

My father died of depression on Febraury 8th, 2016. I had called the night before to see how he and my mother were doing and if my mother needed a ride. She and he were discussing a divorce. He was going through a very rough patch and was sinking into depression. On the phone call he kept apologizing to me. I told him he had nothing to be sorry for. He told me to tell my sister he was sorry for missing her graduation, for everything. I told him he could tell her tomorrow. He sobbed. He said I had to always forgive him no matter what. I told him I loved him, and I would see him tomorrow. He sobbed. We hung up. I told my husband that it was a weird call. I said that I hoped my father wouldn't kill himself. My husband said he wouldn't.

Next morning.

My sister called me early in the morning and I couldn't understand her. She was crying and upset. She kept saying something about mom calling. Mom had been crying. She said something about dad. I told her I would come get her and we would head over. She sobbed, I hung up. I remember thinking "I hope he didn't kill himself."

The door bell rang. It was the Denver Police.

"Are you Crystal [insert last name]?"

Panick set in. I was sure they were here for my dad. Were they looking for him? Was he in trouble? Jesus my hair is a mess. Was it bad news? Did he get hurt? Was I in trouble? Why didn't I do the dishes last night?

A flood of thoughts entered my mind at seeing the police at my door. I'm not sure if most were panicked worry for my family or some vanity thought about the state of my lived in home or pajama bottoms. They asked if they could come in. I almost asked if they had a warrant... God that is stupid. I watch too many movies.

They tell me to sit down. I panick. I am acutely aware their visit is in regards to my  Dad. Please... please say he didn't kill himself. I think I pretend I should ask for a warrant because I would rather I was in trouble. I think I focus on the few dishes near the sink because I would rather the police be guests in my home over for tea rather than intruders on my peaceful life. Please.... please say he didn't kill himself.

The first officer looks at me and then says, "No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it. Your father is dead. He is at St. Anthony's Hospital with your mother."

I cry scream. This loud obnoxious wail of pain I didn't know I was capable of making until that very moment came screaching from my mouth. I'm vagually aware of rocking myself to the floor. The officer says something else, I don't hear it. The other officer looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here. He keeps looking at the front door as if wishing he could just leave. I wish I could just leave. The first officer asks me something. I don't hear it. I realize suddenly I don't know where my phone is. I start searching for it as if it's the only thing that matters. I need to pretend something else matters right now.

The first officer calms me down. She hands me a phone she found, it's mine. She hands me a packet with some writing on it and some things inside it. She tells me things. I don't hear it. I don't know what she is saying. Nothing is getting through. She finally asks me if I understood. I stare at her, I then sob that I didn't hear a word. She gives me an empathetic look. My husband finally comes into the living room. For some reason I'm shocked he is here. The officers explain the instructions again. Something about whom to call, what hospital, I need to pick up a Riana [insert last name] (my sister). And something about what is in the packet. My husband grabs it. They ask if I have someone to drive me, My husband nods. They leave. I scream.

I don't remember putting on clothes. I don't remember getting in the car or even what car we took. I don't remember the drive there. I don't remember what I was thinking. There is a gap and no memory. I just remember pulling up to my sister's home and seeing her pace outside as we arrived.

She gets into the car. She says we need to hurry, that she wants to see him before he dies. I stare at her. "But he is dead... the police told me."

She wails. I think it is uglier than my screach this morning. But I'm not sure, perhaps they were the same scream sob. She suddenly can't breathe. Having her there, screaming somehow calms me. I start to ask her what color her pants are. She sobs and gasps for air "B..bbb..blue." I ask what color my shirt is. "..b.bb.bbROWN." Her sobbing calms, she starts breathing better. What color is my jacket? "Gggrey...grey." What color is your shoe? "It's sort of a purple and white mix?" Her breathing is normal, she still has tears in her eyes, but she is breathing and calm.

I don't remember the rest of the ride. I don't remember the outside of the hospital. I don't remember leaving the car. I don't remember a lot of this. I just remember thinking it wasn't real. This was not real. This. was. not. real.

I'm vagually aware of my husband taking my tazer out of my purse and running back to the car as we head inside. Security at the front door sees us. I say my mother, Kerilee [insert last name] is here. Before I can continue further he immediatly says to come in, he ignores the metal detector beeps as we scurry through and he escorts us a short walk to a door. It's labeled "The compassion room." I sob, I hear Riana Sob. We enter.

My mother is there in tears and tissues piled around her. I notice a greying woman there right before my mother runs to my sister and I. She somehow manages to hug us both at the same time. I don't think she has done that since we were children. I tell her "It's not your fault. It's not your fault. I'm proud of you, it's not your fault." She sobs and my sister cry screams. I feel the tears behind my eyes, but they don't come anymore. I guess a part of me felt the need to put on that brave face for the two people that needed me.

I'm told he died due to a gunshot wound to the head. Right temple, close range. It took him 2 hours and some odd minutes to die. He was "actively" dying. As it is called. My mother said she was ending the marriage. She told him she loved him. She said she was sorry. She left the RV to get a cab. She turned around one last time in the doorway to tell him she would always love him, only to see him with a gun in his hand heading towards his head. She said it happend so fast. One second he was there, the next a loud noise and then he just fell onto the couch. A moment of silence, and then he took a deep breathe and rolled onto the floor, breathing and rocking. 911 was called immediatly. They came with guns drawn and questioned her. It was decided quickly that it was a clear suicide.

I'm promised he felt no pain. that all parts of his brain were off. That his body still wanted to function. I'm told he was not aware of anything that happened after he pulled the trigger. I wonder if that is true. I have had nightmares that it isn't. I have, in my dreams, asked him about the death. He tells me in my sleep that he remembers everything. That he regrets my mother seeing it. That in that moment he was filled with so much pain that he felt that was the only way to free himself. He said he wanted to wait until my mother was gone, but was scared he would lose the courage to do it. He said he did it because she needed to be free, that my sister and I needed to be free, that my grandmother and aunts needed to be free. He said he did it for us. In my dream, I tell him that I love him, and promise him that no one wanted to be "free" of him. And his death hurt us all. In my dream, I tell him that I hope the pain is gone. That I hope he knows how much I loved him, even when I told him that I didn't.

My Grandmother and Aunt come later. We all take turns telling stories and crying. My sister and Grandma go to see his body. I decide not to. My sister passes out once she sees him. I'm not sure how much time passed. I remember texting a co-worker about not coming in. I think I even text "My dad died. I'm not coming in today. Can you tell our boss?" I'm told they got the message and wished me the best. Eventually I was sent a comfort basket (much like a gift basket, but filled with things that grieving people need like tea and microwavable meals). We eventually go to breakfast, call family members and tell the the news. Small things make us cry. Small things make us laugh. I still don't think it's real.

I don't believe in Heaven or Hell (and glad that I don't for I know that this would have put him in Hell). I just believe you die. A lot of people say "He's in a better place." Or "He's with God." Or "You will see him again." I just say, "At least he is not in pain." And then I say, "And I loved him, even when I told him that I didn't."

Hypocrite I Am

I will admit first I am guilty of some of the things I will mention in the entry I'm about to post. However; it is my intent to change that about myself. I realize that I was in the wrong, I realize that sometimes I will continue to be in the wrong. With that said, on to the post.

I want to know why politics and religion are not discussed and instead turn into name calling and mocking grammar? I want to know why there isn't any dialog and people only consider their own small world? I want to know why we blatantly ignore statistics, evidence, expert opinions and instead fall back on anecedotal evidence or the last meme we saw?

Today I saw someone post a youtube video regarding black culture. The question being posed was "What if America liked black people, as much as they like their culture?" The heading on the article, before clicking on the information was about the actress that played the character "Rue" in the Hunger Games, Iggy Azalea, "SLAMS" Katy Perry. Or a title stating the actress "puts Miley in her place for her open racism." Seriously, click bait and it leaves you with this unsettled notion that you are about to open a "race war" between famous people. Just google "Rue Katy Perry" and click News.

I'll admit, when I first read the title as it passed my facebook feed I felt annoyed. My reaction was "what's wrong with sharing culture with people? Isn't that the point of acceptance." But, I decided to read the article and watched the video. I was shocked and pleased with how well the young actress presented the case.

.... 1 year later I find this is a saved draft and I don't remember where I was going with this entry.....

I recall the video, and I believe it was professionally done and just pointing out some issues. I recall the comments section (as they always do) feeding off the title and a lot of horrid name calling.

Why didn't I finish this post? I wonder what distracted me... My guess, a dead battery.

What are Journals for?

Sparatic entry ahead.

Literally a vent journal.

Invites were suppose to be sent two days ago but I keep getting caught up with Tax Season. Steve is doing them tomorrow, so only 4 days late by the time they get in the mail.

Still have to e-mail the Vineyard regarding the menu and when we can set things up. Will do tomorrow, perhaps?

Need to get a passport still. Have an appointment in May.

Need to lose weight, why does this take forever?

I am tempted to cheat with unregulated cheater pills that will make you baloon up after you stop taking them, but at least I would be thin for the wedding. Resisting that urge, keep telling myself those pills don't even correctly tell you what is in them and may or may not work. Some cause liver issues, other kidney failures. Horrid idea. But.. if it would double the speed I'm going, or at least get me over the hump..... that would be great. GUGHHHHH

Won't... sticking with health.

But here is the thing. I hate weight loss. I'll do everything right, and only lose 10lbs, then get stuck... and stuck... then gain... then stuck.....

I'll give up and gain. Then start again and lose ten lbs and... HEY cycle repeates.

This round I lost the ten, got stuck, and changed my strategy (weight watchers). Then down to 20lbs..thought I broke the cycle, I've been stuck here for a month! I should be down another 5. I'm going to be a fatty for my wedding. I just know it. Pictures that will last forever and I'm going to be a cow.


I may consider getting the pills still...................

Cake or death

It always goes back to the cake. It’s not about the cake. It’s never been about the stupid cake. What if the cake was say… “ER service” or perhaps “public teacher.”
“I can’t teach your son, because he has two fathers and that goes against my personal beliefs! You can’t force me to teach them, never mind the fact that I chose this profession knowing full well what the “public” held. “
And it’s not the same as baking a cake with a “KKK” logo if you’re an African-American. “KKK” is a choice, a group of bigots that treat people a certain way. A Gay person is born with an attraction to the same gender and they hurt no one. It’s akin to being born a woman, an ethnic minority, different skin pigmentation. Being a member of the KKK was a decision made by someone, so don’t pretend baking a cake for a KKK party and a cake for a wedding are the same damn thing.
And again, it’s not about the cake. It’s about people being free, to enjoy the same protection others do. It’s about civil rights. It’s about being able to walk into a public establishment and not have to fill out a survey to see if you’re qualified to hear the days special. Can a Muslim tell me to wear a burka in order for my husband to represent me in purchasing a car from a dealership?
And none of this “we posted on the door we don’t want gay people here” nonsense. What is this, the 1960s with the “no coloreds” on the doors?
And why only gays? If you’re going to scream it’s against your religion, then why only force this one issue? Why aren’t you refusing service to women who are divorced? Women who have sex out of wedlock, people who are wearing mixed fabrics?
Why do the religious get more preference than humans in this country? Why do women have to forgo health care because religion incorrectly chooses what science is real and what is not? Why do people have to forgo rights to marry because a book that is so full of holes and contradictions can possibly be interpreted that it’s not ok to be gay? Why?
It’s not about the cake, it’s about the religious getting the silver spoon pulled out of their mouth and they are pissed. It’s about the white men that use to be guaranteed a job because of their skin, and respect because of their gender. Now there are more voices to be contended with, and they don’t like it.
Post brought to you by tired Crystal at 1:30 AM after reading far too many comments.

I am Woman, Hear Me ROAR

I had a good day,

I could type for hoursCollapse )

 12;30 am, time for a stop I think. Perhaps an entry to catelog for a later time and perhaps make something more of it. Also, bonus, Icy Hot Patches are the best cure for cramps.

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