Category Archives: The Present

Where’s Tippi Hedren When You Need Her?

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As a New Yorker, and I’m sure this holds for most urban dwellers, we take the sightings of the local fauna of squirrels and pigeons that manage to make the minuscule patches of green dotting the vast urban jungle landscape home in stride. It is a tenuous relationship at best. They cannot get rid of us and we cannot get rid of them. The childhood penchant for chasing and on rare catching pigeons is their burden to bear. Walking down the street knowing there are constant invisible concentric circles above our heads and it is a veritable hit or miss crapshoot every time we deign to step outside the door, is ours. These are hazards where both sides of the genus gap take loses as a survival of the fittest raw deal. Still, for the most part there has existed an unspoken, yet generally binding mutual agreement once we humans reach puberty that if we stay out of their way, they will stay out of ours.

The key words being for the most part…

I pretty much walk the same path to the train each morning for work. I have an early schedule, so I may see only a handful of people on the streets before I reach the station. Therefore, certain portions of my path can have a gathering of avian. If there are less than ten birds together, I may give a modicum of space to their gathering and not disturb them. This morning, what looked like a platoon of them had gathered, enough that it would have given Alfred Hitchcock pause. There was no going around them. I had no choice but to stake my claim as the higher species. They were going to get out of my way this time, dammit!

I was fully prepared to plow right through them and they must have sensed it as a sizable amount took to flight. I was counting on this, thus I was not surprised by their sudden take off. Nor did the two or three stalwarts who were not leaving their breadcrumbs for anything surprise me. Hard cases exist in all species and I get it. What got me was this one pigeon crossing my path instead of the other way around. Dude was determined he was going thataway and not even this human was deterring him from his chosen path. I actually had to stop short, nearly stumbling, to keep from accidentally punting the flying frack to the tracks of the elevated train platform some fifty yards ahead. I stood there with my arms partially open in a dude seriously? pose. The damned thing had to nerve to cock its head at me in a whaat? stance as it kept going.

“Damn, he could have at least said excuse me.” Was the laughing commentary from a guy who was standing outside and witnessed the whole exchange.

My opinion exactly; the nerve! Apparently this hard case didn’t get the higher species memo.

The Raivenne-0 / The Pigeon-1

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

Still Pissed…

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Yes, this is an Akin rant, because I am still pissed….

Is there is a dearth of viable children available for adoption via the usual ways as is, that we have to use legislature to replenish the stock?

The moral majority has the right to have their opinion on who, what, when, where, why and how and for that matter how many we choose to use our vaginas. After all, it is just opinion, and like assholes, almost everyone has one and it has little bearing on how we lead our sexual lives except where we choose to let it. As the kids say “YMMV”, but I personally do not give a fuck.  Actually, that is not true, I do give and receive fucks – not as any wear near as much as I’d like, because I do have standards after all, but I digress…

The moral majority however does not have the right to legislate what we, as a legal adult females of sound minds and bodies, will allow in or out of our vaginas voluntarily (the harm to animals big and small not withstanding – because I know some idiot reading this is going to think it).  They damn sure should not get to lay down the law on all females simply because it goes against the moral/religious stance of some. Attempting to define what is considered “rape” and then what to do with any potential pregnancies that may result from it, by people –the majority of whom are male and one of whom, who apparently did not pay attention in sex-ed and does not know shit about basic reproductive biology- has galled me to no end, especially this week.

Forcible rape. Date rape. Statutory rape. Guess what they all have in common?

They are all still RAPE.

This is punishing the victim on a grand scale. We all know for all the rapes reported, there are so many more that are not. Therefore, the responsibilities any pregnancies resulting from such -for those females who do not have these mysterious magic vaginas that shuts down and blocks insemination when being raped as Akin stated- are solely on the female. I know there are states that will uphold rapists’ rights to fight for custody of their children should they be so inclined (which is whole other level of punishing the victim), but is there a law that mandates all convicted rapists who father children must take full responsibility of them whether they want to or not?-No.  However, whatever spawn is planted in our wombs we may soon be ordered to give birth to whether we want to or not.

If the woman is not crying bloody murder about the event, she asked for it? Tell that to the woman in an abusive relationship that hasn’t found the courage to leave yet.  Maybe the college girl hanging out with someone she thought was a friend and is slipped some GHB in her soda will be okay with it, but I doubt it. Does anyone remember back in the late 80’-early 90’s when women were taught to not fight, but just lay there and take it because they were more likely to live through it? Tell that to the women who heeded such advice. Perhaps the 10-year-old girl taken advantage of by a male family member who was too scared to say “no” that she (and let us be honest her mother also), must keep the lovely memento left behind as a reminder for the rest of their lives?

And really, even if the female (or mother of the female), CHOOSES to keep the child due to her own personal reasons, would she want the father to be in the life of the child?

And just for the sake of devil advocacy – let us take rape out of the picture altogether.

I am a middle-aged peri-menopausal woman who already has two adult children and damn sure does not want any more. How much do you want to wager -should I find out the condom broke- just how ecstatic I will be to learn that I just re-upped for a minimum 9 month, but potentially another 18-24 year gig due to government decree. I love my sons, but I have raised them and they are living their own lives now. Raising children to adulthood is work and my job is done. I have officially entered consulting mode for which there is no chance of being let go from my services and I like it that way. I am not starting over, nor am I putting the child up for someone else.  I am saying it right here in print – if it becomes national law and I would have to give birth to said child – there will be a “vacation” to another country in my immediate future and I guaran-fucking-tee you I will not be the only one.

As I will be out of the childbearing game soon enough, this really isn’t about me any more.  It is for all the other females of this age on whom such legislature will affect.

Most of the ones attempting to control our wombs and lives through such laws were not around, or old enough to really remember life before Roe v. Wade.  To them and to the ones who think I’m blowing it out of proportion and need to let it go, I’m telling you, if we don’t wake up and continue to fight to keep these from becoming laws, we’re all going to be pretending we do not know about the many uses of wire hangers again within a few short years.

This was my Facebook status Monday morning:

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (regarding the ongoing trend to legislate the female body below the belt): I am a grown ass woman, the only persons who have any “legitimate” say about what is allowed to come out of my vagina are my gynecologist whose job is to check it out and the lucky ones I voluntarily allow in.  All else need to Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

I feel as though I have spent the past few years explaining/defending/exercising my right to control my own vagina so many fucking times, I’ve had it up to here *levels palm just above pubic area*

Or as my girl ‘Monds likes to say ‘Iz ded”.

It’s Thursday and I am still pissed…

In the Shadows of the Night

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In the shadows of the night
With a bright moon above
I lay here longing
For a chance at love

Each morning sun I rise
Hoping I find the one for me
Each night I go to bed
With my heart still empty

I’ve since long proven I can make it on my own
Now I’m just so tired of being all alone

In the shadows of the night
My heart I’m willing to share
But it don’t mean just any fool
Is going to be welcomed there

I once rushed too soon to someone
Who brought me nothing but pain
That was one hurt, one too many times
I don’t need to go there again

A man of faith, a man of heart, a man of his words and deeds
A king custom made for this queen, Lord you know what I need

In the shadows of the night
I offer my plea; my prayer
You built this vessel of love
But my cupboards are bare

Am I paying for some sin?
Did I transgress somewhere?
Is this how I repent?
Will no one ever be there?

Your daughter’s pleading, prostrate with hands clasped tight
Oh please release me Lord, from this harsh plight
How my heart is aching, in the shadows of the night

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It’s been a grr week…

Slice of Life Story Challenge

The Weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge

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dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight Mic

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 55

In The Eye of The Beholder and The Artist

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"Wrong Century" by Tomas_KucerovskyWrong Century by Tomas Kucerovsky
(click for larger view)

This illustration, is making the social media rounds, especially within the plus-sized community. It depicts the way plus-sized beauty is seen by most in this century versus how such beauty was seen in previous centuries.

I saw this illustration for the first time at 2:30am just before I went to bed. I could not quite figure out why my gut reaction to it was “WTF?”. I understood the overall point made, but that gut reaction lingered. Considering the time and I had to rise in a couple of hours for work, I emailed it to myself so I can review the art when I was not half sleep deprived.

I have now seen the illustration with a lucid mind (hah since we’re speaking of MY mind), in the bright light of day and now I understand my gut reaction.

The artist has the woman in the illustration gazing a famous painting of what are no doubt big beautiful women, while others near her mock her corpulent beauty. I cannot decide if her expression is wistful of a time when women with her physical attributes were greatly desired and considered the height of beauty, or if she is woeful of the fact that beauty such as hers is not considered so now.

What triggered my gut reaction was Kucerovsky use of Rubens Rape of the daughters of Leucippus as the beauty counterpoint. Why this specific painting? Why could Kucerovsky have not used say…

Judgement of Paris by RubensJudgement of Paris The goddesses Hera, Aphrodite and Athena being judged on their beauty by Paris.
(click for larger view)

or better…

The Three Graces by Peter Paul RubensThe Three Graces – more naked goddesses to behold!

or best…

Venus in Front of her Mirror by Peter Paul RubensVenus In Front Of Her Mirror
(click for larger view)

Now when a painting of the Goddess of Love and Beauty has more rolls than a bakery, there is no mistaking what the standard of beauty was in Rubens’ time. There is a reason to this day that the classic euphemism for a big beautiful woman is Rubenesque.

Of all the marvelous works of Rubens’ available that depict beauty as it was seen then, he chooses a painting depicting abduction and rape of women as his example! So now we are not Goddess worthy even within a picture of a picture, but abduction and rape is a-okay? What exactly is being said to us big gals here?

As a plus-sized beauty in the 21st Century, should I be grateful now if I am lucky enough to be seen as an object of desire even by rapist? Is that the only way we big girls can “get some”? If the female in the illustration is looking wistfully at this painting, what does that say about the artist’s interpretation of what he thinks is the mindset of today’s fat woman? That we’re so desperate we’d willingly accept rape?

Were this a face-to-face conversation, this would be about the point where one of my friends would say to me, “You see too much into things!” and I generally retort with, “And you don’t see at all!”

The overall essence of Kucerovsky ‘s illustration is good, it really is, but it also leaves such a bitter aftertaste in my mouth, that I can barely appreciate the zest of the original flavor.

Red Hot & Goofy

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Saturday Morning, I am at the train station on my way to a meet up with friends to attend another friend’s wedding. It is summer, it is hot and I am on an elevated track so I have little protection from the sun. A train pulls into the station, but not the train I need, so I simply stay where I am and wait enjoying the one minute of air conditioning through the open door. I see four kids, two boys and two girls, looking out of the train car window. They were between five years of age at the youngest and perhaps eight at the eldest, just being kids. One little boy for some inexplicable reason decided to stick his tongue out at me. I know it was directed at me as there was no one else on the platform close enough to be considered.

Remember, I’m dressed to go to an afternoon wedding. My hair is curled, my make-up done and my jewelry is not sedate, but not flashy. My dress a perfect fit, following my curves to nicely flow around my knees. In other words, it is the perfect party dress, in the perfect party color – red. Not just red, but RED. A red so bright the devil needed shades to see me and by the many compliments I received throughout the day, looked fabulous in it. Fabulous to everyone, except this little upstart that is. So what does any grown 48 year-old woman do in the face of such profound adversity? I did the most mature thing possible – stuck my thumbs in my ears, waved my fingers, did a little dance in place and stuck out my tongue in return of course.

I suppose because I am an adult (hah!), children do not expect such behavior or perhaps because I was wearing sunglasses, the boy didn’t realize I was looking right at them and thought he would get away with his action. Alas, did I see and responded in kind; much to the surprise and delight of the other three kids with him. Knowing my reaction was in relation to his, he shied away embarrassed at being caught. I smiled and waved bye when the train doors closed. They all giggled and returned the wave as the train pulled out of the station.

I enjoy doing the completely unexpected, even with children.

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Beautiful Monster – Sorta

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http://www.xojane.com/fun/disney-villians-beauty-line-ursula

In a nutshell: Disney has a new beauty line of cosmetics with MAC Cosmetics called Venomous Villains, featuring make-up inspired by classic Disney female villains such a Cruella De Vil (101 Dalmatians) and Maleficient (Sleeping Beauty). My rant is what they’ve done to my favorite of the female villains, Ursula the Sea Witch (The Little Mermaid).

Disney's Ursula

In some sick stroke of insipid marketing they gave my girl some serious celluloid liposuction just so she can shell out sea shell eye shadow?  C’mon Disney – really? Really!?!

Ursula was a mature ass.
Ursula was a glam ass.
Ursula was a bad ass.
Ursula was a fat ass.

Ursula was a mature, glam, fat ass and an unapologetic bad-ass vamp to boot! Don’t believe/remember that? Check this thick chick out here…

Tell me this does not scream “I’m sexy and I know it!”

Above is the Ursula millions of little girls (and the women who had to sit through the movie with them), loved to loath to love. Not this…

Disney's skinny UrsulaSeriously, who is this female?

Had I seen this image out of context it likely would have taken me a full fifteen seconds to get that she is supposed to be Ursula.

So what is Disney is trying to say? That you’re only allowed to be a bad-ass and glam these days if you’re young and slim? This reboot is a slap in the face of all of us mature, bad-ass glamorous women, especially those of us who just happen to be fat.

The real ugliness of this is, had they left Ursula drawn as originally intended almost no one would have batted a false, rhinestone eyelash at her glam fatness. By changing her they’ve made a non-issue into one. If Ursula is worthy of being included in the Venomous Villains Beauty Line (and she damn sure is), then she should be worthy as originally drawn; not re-drawn and quartered.

I’d like to teach the world to sing… the B-52’s?

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It started out as a typical weekday morning on the subway coming to work. Me, I’m sitting looking all pretty, yet professional, listening to my iPod as I wait for my station to come up. I have various playlist to match my various music moods. The list for this morning was “Move” as in over 200 songs that make me want to get up and boogie. Since I am on a subway in the middle of rush hour, I manage to restrain the urge to dance down to simple head nods and toe taps as I ride to work.

For those unfamiliar with mass transit subways let me give you a short synopsis of the phenomenon of riding in a subway car during rush hour. Think of nearly 200 people, that you don’t know and thus barely acknowledge, in a crowded space. You mostly ignore the existence all the others around you. Some do it by reading, others by snoozing, others still by listening to music and/or any combination thereof. Other than the collective moans and groans that arise when a train is delayed for whatever reason, unless you are with friends to speak with, there is very little interaction between people on a train. Eye contact on a subway is limited to ensuring you’re not walking into someone, or as a quick form of apology if you accidentally make physical contact with someone. Because even if you take the same train at the same time every day for years, there are maybe only a handful of people you will see on a regular basis enough to recognize them on sight. Even then, the most you may do to acknowledge them is a head nod before closing in on the microcosm of your own personal space again. Now, times that one subway car by the average ten cars that comprises each train. Next, times that by the hundred or so trains, which run during the core span, that is the morning rush hour (roughly 5am to 9am). There are other nuances involved, but welcome to my Monday through Friday. Now you’ll have a better understanding of why the following is of note.

I should note that at this point the train is two-thirds empty, as the majority of passengers have exited at the many stations that come before mine. It’s so empty, I can easily count exactly how many people are in the car. Expert commuters know exactly where to stand on the platform and on the train itself for optimal movement, when entering and exiting a train and I am no exception. As the station where I disembark approaches, I rise. I am not thinking much of it as I half walk, half dance my way to the door that I will need to exit.

I didn’t know I was singing out loud (loud enough to be heard well anyway), until I realized someone has joined in on the song at exactly the right part. Remember, I have on my ear buds. I do not blast my music, so there is no way he can hear the song except by standing next to me and hearing snatches of my singing. I looked to my left and a male, not listening to his own music, is nodding his head in a teasing way to mine as again he comes in right on time with his line of the song telling me to knock a little louder baby (I’m guessing some of you, knowing the song, are smiling right now). So, what’s a girl to do? I comply along with him and the song. He is definitely singing with me, and to make things even more spontaneous and amusing, a woman sitting by the door joins to match my part. In the spirit of the more the merrier, by the time the train reaches the station there are five of us dancing, laughing and belting out the ending parts of the B-52’s Love Shack. Dare I add, much to the horror/amusement of the three other people in the car with us? Hell, they probably thought we were a mini flash mob. It was perfect timing as two of us (the guy who initially joined in and I), left the train just as the song ended, waving our byes to the others and then ourselves as we went our separate ways.

You gotta love the power of a good, upbeat (and wacky), song to break even the most steadfast of nonchalant commuters out of their shells on occasion.

You’re WHAT?!

and yet…

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It’s summer in the City. One of the many gazillion things to look forward to is the free concerts that occur throughout various venues. From early June to early August the open common area in front of my office building is one of them. Every summer the company that hosts the festival trots out various Rhythm & Blues and/or neo funk and/or (fill in the blank) near has-beens to potential gonna-bes for our perusal and hopeful lunchtime entertainment. Yes, lunchtime. I am sure several of you reading this not so jokingly just asked what’s that?

I have no idea; I ask the same question.  By the time one gathers lunch and gets downstairs to enjoy the music all the good seating is taken up by those who have staked their claim for a least an hour before the event start time. Most attendees for these events either stand for however many minutes they have remaining before returning to their duties or find a seat where all you can do is listen because you surely can’t see anything.

Don’t let my sarcasm fool you.  I have spent my time standing around nodding to some old school or new jack beat when the performing artist was someone of interest to me so, it actually is a very pleasant way to spend one’s truncated time. Ah, but I digress…

All of the above was to get to this…

I run into a colleague a few yards from my building as I am returning to work after running errands during lunch.  (Hey, I told you I had no idea what it was, didn’t I?) The conversation went as such:

C: Hey there, I know you’re out here enjoying your music!
Me: Actually no.
C: Why not? Isn’t this your type of music?
Me: My type of music?
C: Yeah.
Me: Why would you think this would be my type of music?
C: Because…
Me: Because that is just as fucked-up as someone only expecting to hear Dean Martin crooning Volare or That’s Amore in an Italian restaurant and because that’s your type of music?

And that ladies and gents would be about the moment her brains opened and her mouth closed. Either that or the single arched eyebrow that I know appears when I’m faced with the completely ignorant chose to make itself known.  It was pleasant watching her squirm for a moment before I walked away.

So close and yet damn far…

The Little Things…

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Thirteen years ago, I became a married woman. It took thirteen years to reach that point and I happily wrote out my newly hyphenated name everywhere. However, partly because of laziness and partly because I wanted something of the original me to be just me, I wound up not changing any of my legal IDs (birth certificate, work, social security, insurance etc.) to my new married name.

Six years ago, I became a widow. Though I have made it through the grieving process, I still sign things with my married name. Partly because it is a habit I have no need to break at this moment, and partly because I like the alliteration of it with my birth name (blame the poet in me for that). I will concede it was something of a convenience not having to change all my documentation back again and thus thought nothing of it, until today…

My trip to England in ’03 was the first international stamp to grace the pages of my very first passport and my trip to Paris last month was the last stamp. After ten years of running amok, I now have to renew it. It’s not exactly news, obviously, I have known for a while that I would have to do so, no big deal.  However, as I am thinking of all the documentation I needed the first go around, versus what I will need now to renew it, is when it dawned on me. I will need to include my late-husband’s death certificate to change my name.  My passport is the only legal document that carried my full first, middle, maiden and married name.

I now find my head at odds with my heart.  My head understands that this must, and certainly will, be done. Still, there is this odd part of my heart that aches. For this feels that this really is the end of it all.  That once I change my passport, nearly all traces of that marriage will be over except for twenty years of photos and memories.

It’s the little things that sneak up on you…

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Weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge

Not This Morning

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Dawn first deigns to call me
into the depths of yet another day
before I am ready to do so

I glance at the alarm clock animation
cheerfully chiming me into the day
but I shut it off with surliness

The coffee maker is already at work
as the second sentry to my rising
sending its call via olfactory orifice

My television, next in line of pretense
to claim its place in my morning
makes its presence known

Knowing the coffee will turn itself off
I reach and remotely silence the banalities
of the morning news broadcast

I lay there for moments more wondering,
how did my ancestors rise without the assistance
of such mundane mechanics

Surely more than the cock’s crow
or the edicts of early to bed, early to rise
were needed for timely awakenings.

Would they laugh most loudly at me,
the latest devotee of the daily grind,
unable do the same even with such help?

I wanted to rise, really, I wanted to,
but somehow the Blackberry magically
sends out a mental health day message

Perhaps tomorrow morning
will find me ready to rattle and roll
but no, not this morning

As clouds  roll in to dull the dawn
it is the bed that beckons loudest
for good old-fashioned slumber

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