The Policing of Women and Sexuality: Legalize Sexwork

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The Policing of Women and Sexuality: Legalize Sexwork
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Gonna start this one off strong, because I spent the last ~6 weeks finally seeing all my friends. Nature is healing. (Everywhere except Japan, at least–because are US citizens aware of the rhetoric around the Olympic games and coronavirus going on in Japan? Or the rest of the world? Oh wait. I forgot we blatantly don’t give a shit what happens to the entirety of their population’s health. How could we…when we don’t even care about our own?
My bad.)

The educated hoes are vaccinated and emerging from our coronavirus slumbers of hibernation to frolic in the sunshine, bare our asses in thong bikini bottoms, and freshen up the tan on all of our cheeks and I am leading the charge.

One of my favorite people, we’ll call him “Citroni” asked me “do you just get angry and write?”
and like… fuck yes I do.

Some people get angry and murder.
Or ignore their feelings for years then snap and have mental breakdowns that harm others. 

…I think I’m doing well with using writing and art as an outlet. 

Citroni also tells me that I am a “walking contradiction” and I probably should not take as much pride in that as I do. (Keep ya on your toes)

The difference between the support I receive from my friendships and those I get from my family, is exemplified by the following: My mom was worried about “what will your friends think [of my blog]” and my friends literally asked if I’d ever seen Lucifer (I had not but I am now starting it), recommended that I watch The Sweetest Thing, and Citroni showed me “It’s Always Sunny”, because there was a recurring theme in our group of 3-4 men that I’d regularly go out with that I reminded them of “Dee” (solely because she was the only woman… I WAS offended initially). He explained the dynamic between her and her husband, apparently one of the main writers on the show, and why the vulgarity and honesty of her character was so groundbreaking.

This blog and “Zeda Grace” is the Sasha Fierce to my Beyoncé and they love that for me.

They also say that “I would’ve thrived as a housewife in the early 1900’s when I could just exist within the house and take comfort in the knowledge that I couldn’t do anything else.” So I wouldn’t feel so obligated to learn and do EVERYTHING, “just because I can”.

It’s not that I don’t want to “work”, either. It’s that I don’t want to work on things that don’t benefit society, disproportionately allow others to profit off of me, are purposefully indulging unhealthy environments and contributing to stress and reduced longevity or quality of life in a for profit healthcare system, and I just feel “safest” at home. PTSD is a bitch and I’m aware of the brevity and relativity of time. Being able to control my environment brings me so much mental peace.

Is it possible that my Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is plateaued at step 2? Security and safety? Probably.

Yzma was right.
I should’ve thought about the difficulties of life before I became a peasant.

I would love to not be so financially insecure too (I’m a progressive gal–I’ll let my husband work after marriage) and rent is expensive. 

Thus, it should come as absolutely no surprise that I am very PRO sexwork. 

I had a wonderful former professional dominatrix who came across my instagram and has offered to speak to me. She is a regular lecturer for an “ethics in therapy” class at Appalachian State, and conducts panels on sexual intimacy and healthy communication within BDSM. Reach out to me if there’s any particular topics, questions, or situations you would like me to relay to her as we gear up for that. So for her, this episode will be dedicated to the Red River Women’s Clinic, based in Fargo, North Dakota, which offers comprehensive women’s health and is working to lobby against all of the challenges to Roe Versus Wade in the form of GOP sponsored abortion bills all over the country. You can donate directly to their campaign at: http://www.redriverwomensclinic.com

For now, this episode will just be me speaking from personal experience into the economic proposition of “marriage” in the USA specifically, what dating looks like in your 20’s, and the ridiculously outdated illegality of sexwork. 

Marriage is an economic proposition for a woman. I don’t know how many times Amy March (Florence Pugh) has to heartbreakingly acknowledge to Laurie (Timothée Chalamet) in Little Women (2019) that:

“Even if I had my own money, which I don’t, it would belong to my husband the minute we were married. If we had children they would belong to him, not me. They would be his property. So don’t sit there and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you, but it most certainly is for me.” 

There is no difference in “marriage”, “dating”, and “sexwork”, apart from the length of the expected contract in the United States and the feasibility to exit said contract.

Not in a country where quality childcare is inaccessible and unaffordable, public schools continue to be devalued and underfunded, there is no guaranteed paid parental leave, healthcare is elitist and inaccessible for many, we barely cracked the top 50 (holding solid at 49th) for economic gender equality globally, and women’s rights are constantly being threatened by religious zealots masquerading as politicians.

My personal recommendation would be making sexwork and pornography created or used with the intent for distribution illegal under the age of 25. Sexworkers would not be allowed to seek child support (should they get pregnant and decide to keep the child, which would hopefully be against the terms of the contract to begin with), would have to register with and get regular STD testing verified through health departments, have a verifiable way to conduct background checks for prospective clients, and anyone under the age of 25 would not be allowed on the physical premises, much like how casinos and stripclubs are allowed to bar anyone from location. 

Why 25?
Because the frontal lobe responsible for “judgment” and decision making is reportedly fully developed by then. 

We also shouldn’t universally punish teenagers and young people from taking photos of themselves, though, for the intent of intimacy between themselves and another. A widespread assumption of that will only serve to punish humans who do so, whether the reasoning being they are lacking respect and acknowledgment in other forms of their lives (and further punishing those has been shown to psychologically never be beneficial), or they actually LIKE and EMBRACE their body and it will make young humans afraid of their bodies and any resemblance to sexual behavior in general because it is misconstrued as “taboo” versus “healthy, natural human behavior”. Like Hunter Schafer mentions in Euphoria, nudes are sexual currency in the age of cell phones. Everyone is going to do it. Stop sending children to juvie for it, okay? 

How about we strengthen those revenge porn laws so men can stop texting them in group chats with no repercussions?

The current porn industry already exploits children, particularly young girls coming from largely abusive homes with low socioeconomic status in a way that should be criminal. 

The “barely legal” promotions. “Teen” in the name to appeal to the murkiness and destruction of innocence, naivety, and youth. Anyone can upload apparently any video with no identification required? “Amateur” videos where it’s DAMN clear the “piece de resistance” was unaware they were being filmed (they’re definitely not THAT good of an actress).

Mia Khalifa has scenes that made production companies billions of dollars and herself only $1000-1500 a scene. She has millions of views, death threats from ISIS, and only ~$10,000 total to have “benefitted”. 

Belle Knox had to leave Duke temporarily because of harassment over her revealed porn star status, which she only did to pay for that very same, ivy league education. (An actual human I know dated her, as he knew her in high school, and thankfully he didn’t disgustingly objectify her like his “brothers” did.)

August Ames hung herself after a twitter debate around cyberbullying and homophobia. Las Vegas has TUNNELS where former porn stars live amongst the transient population, because THAT community is more accepting, healthier, and supportive for their social structure. The cover of Blink-182’s “Enema of the State” album (aka: that famous sexy nurse) went to prison in 2008 for tax evasion. Meanwhile it’s legal for billionaires and giant corporations to not pay any taxes but benefit from public space. The average life expectancy of a porn star is ~31 years–down over the past decade from 38 years. 

Taylor Swift forewarned everyone on the dangers of contract negotiation.
Of the exploitation of young, naive women.  

Athletes can renegotiate all the time, including midseason, yet the second women do it, they’re labeled as “greedy” and “manipulative” (Still not over the tragic demise of the friendship between the Barstool Sports podcast’s Call Her Daddy OG hosts.)

Yet women at 18 are allowed to make a decision which may warrant apparently legal death threats, impacts their entire life in ways they literally cannot imagine, and we just allow it, as long as it makes the men in control money.

Women in the porn industry are often, much like the film & entertainment industry, forced or encouraged to consume pills, drink alcohol, smoke substances of many kinds, and many even “choose” to do so because it dulls the pain, lowers the inhibitions, and they don’t or can’t “have an opinion” on their rights because they may never have been taught that boundaries are okay in the first place.

Women all over this country, for decades, are and have been murdered and discarded haphazardly, sometimes whole, sometimes in pieces, because sexwork as a profession, despite rampant sexual violence as is, has been looked down upon in the same way that your high school teachers may have condemned working as a garbage collector–even if that position’s union and wages were significantly better.

Fraternities at UNC hire strippers who pick up dollar bills off the floor with the labial lips of their vaginas, but more than 4 women aren’t allowed to sign onto the same lease because of the “brothel” rule and only sororities are required to have a “house mom”. 

Before you say “not all men”, please remind yourselves that at University of Florida there is a fraternity that does “biker bash”, has girls, some of whom are 18 and left home for the first time for college, ride on the back of men’s scooters, dressed in motorcycle gear, and when they get to the fraternity, the walls of every surface and room are COVERED in porn. Old 80’s porn is blasted on every television, computer screen, projector. Women have to ditch their tops and walk around in leather pants and bras, and will be kicked out of their sorority if a photo of them, even in the background, leaks.

But the school looks the other way because “boys will be boys” and there is wealth involved, yet sororities will punish women for attending a party formally hosted by the same fraternities they set up mixers with.

I would TOTALLY have gone to and LOVED that party, by the way. I’m not discrediting the party.

I literally showed up to the “Tide Slide” event at a different fraternity with 10 cans of four loko like some kind of chaos fairy, and spent the afternoon writhing around with my girl friends on a humongous slip and slide coated in soapy bubbles in just my bikini, I’m HERE for the parties. I just think the sexist standards and legislation are annoying as fuck.

Nevermind the fact that at every university and every woman I’ve ever talked with, widespread knowledge of which fraternities are full of rapists is shared openly. (If there’s that many men, especially young, in-the-process-of-becoming-educated-but-not-yet men in one place, for the record, they all have rapists…you just might not know it yet. It’s basic statistics.) There are whispers exchanged on the public buses. Warnings heeded in group chats. Which fraternities “QB sneak” (quarter bar of xanax in the drink) to roofie women, including in their “jungle juice” and which individuals within to be mindful of. Which men have coked out temper tantrums. Which have STDs or STIs or any combination of letters that may affect your (sexual) health. 

RIP to the UNC basketball team in ~2013 when Yik Yak was still a thing, because the identity of which player (who prematurely left for the NBA) supposedly having R. Kelly style unprotected sex with half the school, despite a virulent and new herpes infection, was exposed.

…No shame to STDs, either, but we ALSO have outdated legislation on that which can’t and don’t protect anyone or require honest disclosure to any extent.

If you’re mature, an adult, and any decent kind of person, just fucking talk like humans about safe sex and protection and whatever you may or may not have, the medications available, etc. LEARN TO COMMUNICATE. You will NEVER build a healthy, happy, or well founded relationship on deceit of any kind. I am a fucking nationally certified epidemiologist these things are SO COMMON and would be WAY LESS COMMON or “problematic” if we just fucking TALKED ABOUT HEALTH AND HAD WIDESPREAD ACCESS TO HEALTH WITHOUT A RELIGIOUS OVERTONE.

God forbid we take the fucking profits away from private drug manufacturing and pushing and allow government test facilities, or government created and regulated chemical manufacturing and research in general to enable healthier and safer environments because people are curious. 

Curiosity is normal human behavior.
Sexuality is normal human behavior.

How about we make it easier and safer and accessible to experiment and try things safely, in an EDUCATED manner, because people are going to do it anyway, without unwittingly condemning unsuspecting, naive victims from the negative repercussions and threats to their professional lives and personal safety for years just for speaking up? 

How about we also stop treating children like collective property instead of the reality–that they will and can be their own soul and person, and not condemn them to the norms, rules, and regulations of excessively strict, controlling households and societies? It’s ridiculous that we even endorse or, at the very least, refuse to condemn abusive, manipulative, domineering parenting methods because of “tradition”, yet then penalize and punish those who weren’t brought up “right” (in conformity) despite being a country sooooo prideful of its “freedoms”. 

(14:14)

How about we remove the guilt associated with some of these behaviors so we create an environment where people can seek help, embrace honesty, and reduce the limitations of the ego and almost exclusively women aren’t thought to be “less than” for engaging in such acts?

Where people can work towards accountability and public acceptance with honesty, instead of privately hiding their actions because “it’s not about what’s true, it’s about what you can prove in court”? (A large issue we’ve seen arise in hit-and-run cases, as it can be less damaging to your driving record and insurance than a DUI.)

In public health, we still use outdated rhetoric on “high risk” behaviors for classification of men who have sex with men, or women who have sex with men who have sex with men, as means of publishing statistical data, yet that same “riskiness” of behavior is only relevant if the person’s partners aren’t mutually practicing safe sex and monogamy isn’t followed.

We associate the premise of “control” with “education”, “awareness”, and “safety”, but only focus on the theme of “control” with reference to legislation.

As far as concerns overlapping drug trafficking with sexwork–the opioid crisis is a huge issue in the area I’m from. 

The guy I “lost” my virginity to, my brother’s best friend growing up, died of an overdose in August of 2020. Thankfully, I have not had random ghostly sex dreams but we did used to fuck all over my high school when my father disbarred him from my house for “dishonoring” me, so there was a bit of a concern for that possibility. Same father my mom had to lie to in order to get me on birth control, mind you, and who lost HIS virginity to a sexworker. Same father who gave my older brother stacks of pornographic magazines and an entire floor of the house. Same father who would purposefully not announce himself and walk into the movie room in the basement when my boyfriends were over, despite knowing I was sexually active with them??

My friend, Amanda, speaks on my podcast about sex on E pills and seizures from substance use, in high school.

My sister’s friend from high school, a marine, who recently reached out to me via IG, told me his little brother was addicted to heroin before he even left high school, when he was a SOPHOMORE, because of teenage parties in the rural country, and everyone knew the distributors, but the local community wouldn’t acknowledge the issues surrounding addiction and lack of mental healthcare for an area dominated by military bases, and children were punished through education for behavior indicating these issues instead of being granted education, potential, and hope in environments that offered an alternative. Really just want to give that guy a shoutout, too, because his brother has been sober over the last 2 years and that is one of the hardest things to overcome. I wish him nothing but the best in his Air Force career. Really, really proud and thankful that my work resonated with his brother, and that he reached out to me as a result. Super cool move on his part and I’m very grateful for his transparency with me, himself, and whatever direction he continues to lead others in. 

We got one DARE class in 5th grade then a “refresher” on sex ed but never any classes that framed “health” in relation to science. Or even medicine. Never any classes that formally taught any kind of “physical health” and education outside of how to be an athlete and what the rules of formal sports are. Never any classes that actually conveyed what “science” is out of purely introductory biology and chemistry.

Good Charlotte was right, my high school was more like a jail cell, a penitentiary.
Public and formal education doesn’t HAVE to be like that, though.

Mina actually told me that drug use was common knowledge in her highschool, (because, Florida) and she always knew she would do cocaine, but that there was a common sentiment that “you were fine if you waited until college.” 

Cocaine was actually more common than marijuana at UF, so this doesn’t surprise me. After knowledge of the realities that everyone does cocaine as an adult, particularly those in higher professional programs or in the Wall Street financial sector of employment, the way we treat addiction and condemn substance use is so classist that it should be embarrassing in our community mentalities. 

With the biochemistry background, all I have to say is what the fuck are we doing with the current culture and treatment towards drugs? Ya’ll DO realize the similarities between prescription medications and “black market” drugs are fucking idiotically overlapping, right? And the potential for abuse or misuse is just as strong? If not more, because people will consume alcohol with prescriptions without thinking twice (Tiger Woods, whats up) because it’s “safe” since it has a white label with a doctor’s name on that orange bottle. 

One of my best friends from undergrad roofied herself because she didn’t realize her new prescription meds would interact with the one drink of alcohol so strongly that she’d physically pass out. 

I arguably “roofied” myself in my gap year. I had NO clue (please don’t laugh, this is just how naive I am/was) that Robitussin, the cough syrup, will do that to a gal. (Shoulda looked it up after the “Jumpman” lyrics from Drake.) Just to further embarrass myself, I had a lingering cough and took some prior to going to La Rez and Pantana Bob’s at UNC in my gap year. Did NOT know that there is a DELAYED effect. Or that over the counter meds negatively and seriously interact with certain substances, particularly one as common as alcohol, to begin with. 

Had 1 drink, waited a bit, felt completely fine.

Had a second drink, still felt fine, arguably more “sober” than I normally did at this point.

Ended up bringing a guy from the soccer team, who went on to play for FC Dallas, home that night and… this poor man. I went from 60-to-zero with about ten seconds left of the cab ride. I remember giving him head (consensually) and him cumming very quickly (not a surprise, as I’ve been known to suck a soul out through a man’s cocks, not unlike the dementors in Harry Potter). I’m also pretty sure I worried him because I had essentially no reaction to him cumming other than slurping that down with the good work ethic for completing jobs that the overachiever in me is capable of. Even that memory is blurry, though, as I started to get pretty out of it, which means this same story could be HORRIFIC from his point of view, 

And then magically it was the next morning, because I don’t remember anything until I woke up passed out in my roommate’s room, with the door to her room locked (by me), and he was just gone. My roommate was not home–she was sleeping over with one of his teammates (despite dating the guy she is now married to at the time). Also 99% sure I went into her room, locked the door, and passed the fuck out. The poor guy left at some point and I have never spoken to him since, so I literally have no idea what happened and while it’s not a great feeling, it IS amusing. 

Let’s just appreciate that from his perspective, this blonde witch who he’s seen once COATED in blood (because I used to get EXPLOSIVE nosebleeds from Accutane, and occasionally they’d come on when I was running in a sports bra and spandex around Chapel Hill and I’d only have my hands to stop it) just took him home, gave him head, then disappeared. Just never came back to my room, IF we were even in my room to begin with (from his perspective).

That experience is also why I think I got drugged at STORY, because it’s one of only a handful of times where my memory goes from standardly creepily exceptional, to essentially nonexistent. 

Maybe the commonality of discussion around these topics is why Mina has a typically “healthier” outlook on substance use in general? She’s done acid exactly one time, and had an amazing experience, so she doesn’t feel the need to do it again. She’s able to go through “cleanses” and completely reduce her alcohol intake to zero periodically just to recenter herself mentally and physically, and this is a gal that once won Senior bar golf with her boyfriend (which takes a fucking TANK of a functional alcoholic to do.)

Florida does a lot of shit wrong, but it seems between my friends who grew up there, there was less consensus on the “shame” of certain behavior. The human body isn’t so ostracized or taboo because women are barely clothed YEAR ROUND, so men don’t assume it’s an “open invitation”. Women don’t grow up thinking their shoulders and body are risqué and physically seeing it is inherently sexualized. Drug use is common and “normalized” enough, with the bricks of cocaine washing up on the beaches every hurricane, that it’s only “problematic” if it impacts your functioning “healthily” in society. (Even though I’d like to remind everybody that we don’t actually have a healthily functioning society in any way.) You’re allowed to do and consume as much as you want, so long as you’re still making money, or working a long term career oriented job, but even then your necessity for an escape from reality isn’t addressed in a way to ask WHY you need to escape reality. 

I’m not one to shame behavior, either– you just can’t excuse or denounce it universally when you’re just as guilty. You can’t control others’ reactions to your behavior and you have to accept that it may have negatively affected them.

Had a conversation recently with an old friend from home, who my mom taught in highschool and who went on to NC State to play NCAA D1 football. I once visited him at school just to be a friendly face, see how he was doing, and he later indicated that he “could have had me if he wanted.” As someone who speaks very openly about sexuality (again, normal human behavior) but is also VERY private and particular with sexual intimacy, I was so offended. I brought it up recently because he posted on instagram about “fake girls wanting a real man” (in reference to women who get their nails, hair, boobs, ass, etc. done) and I messaged him about how maybe he should consider and educate himself on why the beauty industry makes women feel like they need to do “all of that” (which is fire if it’s for your own style, but most of it is tailored to appealing sexually to men) and how hypocritical it was for someone who spends hours in the gym or staring in a mirror to say that. Particularly when he has objectified me in the past. He got a bit butthurt, let me know he used to do drugs and wasn’t that person anymore, but then I reminded him he is still being excessively critical of women instead of acknowledging the system in place that encourages women to feel the “need” to do things like that (even making it financially profitable, since, again, dating, marriage, and childrearing is an economic proposition for most women) and how that same system is why he had to overcome drug use himself, instead of having social support. Or why he’s still “ashamed” of that time in his life and wants to “move on”, versus acknowledging how it affected me, learning from it, and being able to speak to his experiences maturely, openly, and honestly. The conversation ultimately ended well, as I mentioned he is a Leo and while he acts impulsively and passionately, he can’t be universally critical of all women, publicly, and not expect me to call out his prior behavior and actions when that was MY experience with him. 

You simply can’t blame others when your (prior) actions around them paint a different picture for who you are than who you believe you are or who you want to be. 

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Change your behavior instead of blaming the other person for pointing out the consistencies year after year, interaction after interaction, when that’s all that THEIR interactions with you involve.

(Chloe from MTV’s Siesta Key could maybe remind herself of this so she doesn’t blame others who point it out, are suspicious, and let her know that you have to EARN trust and respect. You won’t just be granted it just because YOU decided that’s who you are “now”.)

Or just do what a lot of people do when confrontation arises and ignore it, convincing yourself the person acknowledging it is the problem instead of the actions (and long sequence of actions) that they had to be responsible for, because you weren’t.

I know stories of future politician’s sons sucking dick for cocaine (no shame with reference to either of these acts, either, just maybe don’t support the GOP if that’s the case) who still can’t understand the only difference in them doing this and someone from their hometown is that their social class is not being looked down upon for that behavior. Because of who their parents and family are.

I fucked a guy who CREATED HIS OWN DMT prior to hooking up (I bet he loves Joe Rogan) who is now in medical school. Ya girl has a biochemistry degree from a top 5 public university, so because he was well educated, white, and in a fraternity, this was fine. I walk into a room and see a beautiful set up of Erlenmeyer flasks, distillation techniques? The nostalgia. Brings me right back to orgo lab when my lab partner was so introverted and terrified of me, it took him over 2 months for him to actually speak. (I’ve always been aware of my effect on men.)

I actually think, had I smoked weed a little sooner, I would’ve done better in my biochem classes because it helps me visualize and genuinely understand the molecular basis for the interactions better. I can view the chemical reactions as art, my mind creating mental visuals of the text and photographs in a way that better helps me adjust for the way I learn with ADHD.

My grander point is that we view criminality differently based on the socioeconomic status and location it is occurring in and when we’re creating legislation, we really can’t do this. We also shouldn’t have such a lack of progressive federal reform that we have thousands of people still incarcerated for nonviolent marijuana offenses while Wall Streeters hold stock in those, now legal, industries. We also shouldn’t require you to leave your state in order to access a natural, herbal remedy you can grow yourself that is less dangerous and addictive than the federally legal drugs that treat the same symptoms.

Drugs and sex work have always overlapped in the eyes of the US government. 

I’m sure that would still continue with legalization, to some degree, though I currently can’t understand why certain stripclubs are required to NOT sell alcohol if full nudity is involved, and other states have BYOB laws. Saw a reddit comment recently that actually specified, with corporate growth in the USA, the main difference in townships is the nuance towards sex work, so if you REALLY want to experience the differences in states rights, to go to strip clubs in every town you visit. I’ll have to remember that.

 Penalties for drug and rape trafficking and violence towards women should be undeniably severe enough to deter such behavior–including involving castration or removal of reproductive and sexual abilities permanently for those who continue to do so. We have to make comprehensive sexual education the norm for that to be relevant, though, and not make your knowledge of this within a nation so subjective around the basis of outdated bullshit Republican ideologies that affect everyone within the state, but especially women, and negatively impact those who seek help. And if you think it is  “insane” to require forced vasectomies or medical castration, yet also will women, or children, to carry their rapist’s DNA to term, then you are protecting the abusers and not the victims. You don’t actually endorse bodily autonomy or public safety. 

One of my friends had her family stalked by an exotic dancer’s child who sought out her biological dad’s acknowledgement. (Her father had fucked a stripper, basically.) The terror and horror a teenage girl had to go through–including being worried about being targeted through potential gun violence over a decision her FATHER made YEARS ago is disgusting. And all that kid wanted was to find out why he was discarded.

If sexwork was legal, this could’ve easily been avoided through the terms of the contract. Children won’t grow up thinking they aren’t wanted, or were a property investment to “Secure the bag” (I’m looking at you–MTV’s Siesta Key subreddit because why the FUCK do you FLAUNT Alyssa for this? That is the grossest rhetoric in all.) There would be foundations created to financially support sexworkers who decided to keep the children if a tryst did result in pregnancy. Men wouldn’t be able to complain about women “tricking” them into the financial obligation of child support, all while simultaneously thinking buying a gal a $5 drink at a college bar of watered down vodka entitles you to sex and then not understanding the repercussions of casual sex.

Acting like it is solely the woman’s responsibility to have birth control while making women’s health second choice, inaccessible, expensive, and a burden to access or need accommodations for.

We should be paying anyone under the age of 30 to NOT have children. Yes, just like welfare. An incentive for NOT being baby machines (Gilead would NEVER.) And yes, women with multiple children on welfare should be required to undergo birth control/ medical procedures but we should also address worker’s rights and a living wage while we’re at it. And maybe require forced sterilization for men who impregnate multiple women without having the economic means of providing for potential children so they stop fucking breeding and acting like their genetics are a gift to the world. (We should also look into the regulations surrounding sperm and egg donation while we’re at it, because there is a lot of misdirection around the human breeding programs in the USA with less direction than the animal breeding programs governed by the USDA.)

As a reminder, when Colorado introduced IUD insertion for teenage girls without requiring parental consent, teen pregnancy dropped significantly.

Yet, last week the valedictorian of a Texas high school scrapped her graduation speech in favor of addressing the “heart beat bill” effectively banning abortion for all women in Texas.

 There were about 9 girls in my graduating class who, through religious indoctrination, felt it was their duty to carry those children to term. They were seen to have less potential for the decades of life they had left than an unborn mass of cells was seen. Another life became a “savior” for them–which MAY very well be true, but knowing the lack of access to healthcare and religious overtones in the area I grew up in is just sad. Time and time again, women become the burdens of society’s inability to account for them. They are told their lives are worthless, yet should revolve around bringing forth more life…a life that may actually “do” something… and that is the sole and main purpose intended for them. Even if you love your children, and you needed them, this is NOT fair in the modern age (nor was it fair ever). We are condemning women, teenage girls, children, to the misgivings and misdirection of their parents, claiming them to not be responsible enough to make their own decisions yet then bestowing upon them a nightmarish gift in that they should be responsible for the decisions and livelihood of another’s life.

And then we punish them when they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing.

When none of us know what the fuck we’re doing.

One of my friends didn’t know or show that she was pregnant until 4-5 months along and she is over 30 years old. We kayaked ten miles with her now small child just growing from a mass of cells in her uterus. She had a day or two of morning sickness, which she attributed to drinking, and frequently missed periods as is, so she literally DID NOT KNOW or have any indication she was pregnant. Thankfully, her and her boyfriend have been together for almost a decade now, so they were in a position where this wasn’t completely detrimental to their mutual wellbeing. And that child is being brought up in one of the most loving homes I’ve seen, with parents committed and cognizant of breaking the cycles they were subjected to.

A friend of mine has driven her best friend to the abortion clinic and paid for her abortion while they were both high schoolers in North Carolina. Actions she could be legally prosecuted for in the state of Texas, now. The same abortion clinic who protestors would park in my apartment complex’s lot, only to walk over and harass individuals seeking medical care. Could you imagine how quickly this would be reduced if those same protestors were outside condemning former president Donald Trump’s use of stem cell research as therapeutic treatment for coronavirus instead of holding candlelight vigils for his recovery and eagerly awaiting his decrepit parade of virulent exposure in armored vehicles because he got “bored” of his lavish hospital suite? This wouldn’t even have to be a discussion.

(33:37)

We shouldn’t have to exhaust resources and keep women in cycles of debt and violence because the law doesn’t protect them in any way and people are allowed to ignorantly and purposefully impose their spiritual idiocy onto others.

Women aren’t even taught or knowledgeable about our own bodies because they are framed as taboo and learning about them is met with negative connotation (in part because it exacerbates the reality of just how poor treatment of women in the USA is). Did you know that women who agree to allow medical students to partake in their care, in MANY states, are also (unknowingly) agreeing to unnecessary invasive procedures WHILE UNDER ANESTHESIA. And women, especially black women, weren’t given anesthesia for many procedures historically. Children even commonly weren’t numbed for suturing, in part because we just assumed they would “forget” or never realize this was NOT APPROPRIATE. This would NEVER be the case for how we treat fully grown, educated men.

 But women’s health is secondary to “health”. 

Women’s, sexual, reproductive, mental health is ultimately just “health”. And WHY would a country without universal healthcare want to appropriately frame “health” in any context if it requires diminished profit margins for shit “leaders” in our economy? We would NEVER sit there and tell people they’ve reached “peak physical health” and can just “stop” devoting time to work on it. That they shouldn’t prioritize it. That there isn’t nutrition, stretching, sleep, or SOMETHING they can improve upon even if they physically feel okay. 

We frame panic attacks and anxiety so negatively, so preventable, yet wouldn’t dare accuse someone who suffered an aneurysm or cardiac event from not “having done all they could”, ultimately just by assuming there are some things “out of your hands” and others “within your control”. Even though the very nature of why many people seek access for mental health is because others are imposing unhealthy behavior onto them that is beyond their control.

As long as it’s the government, we encourage and allow it to continue, though?

We don’t teach comprehensive health, not just comprehensive sexual health, because we keep individuals subservient to outdated conservative norms by not.

My friends and I were remarking on whether our skeletons are STILL changing–because we recently had to size up our clothes, yet our actual bodies haven’t really changed so much as our hips are getting wider. The only reason we even knew was because of 6 years of advanced schooling in a health degree and Mina sews her own clothes, so she measures herself, and could confirm that her hips are skeletally wider. But we shove 26 year olds with disordered eating on television screens to play high schoolers and expect the adolescents to connect that these are unrealistic beauty standards. We tax the shit out of feminine care products or just add it to the unreasonably marked up costs for women’s marketing, clothing, healthcare in general.

And even still, largely white men elected to Republican governments are allowed to impact legislation in a way that negatively affects women, all of the women, who may have been born into or live in the state they govern despite not believing their idiocy, all while simultaneously going to war on the basis of other culture’s treatment towards women. The hypocrisy is surreal. It’s actually maddening. It should not be allowed.

Leadership should be fucking better than that.

Kanye West wrote a song about women being nothing but gold diggers then married a woman who paid off $53 million in debt for him–money she made resulting from the legal nuances of largely pornographic work. Is it any different because she was dating the man in the video at the time?

Projection is a powerful bitch.

Karma is a bigger one.

(Can Kris Jenner be everyone’s momager, please?)

I went to the University of Florida for graduate school. I can tell you right now the “sugar baby”  lifestyle is huge, and common. ESPECIALLY amongst sorority women. The “cheap” end is $100-500 per hour of their time, many of which doesn’t involve or include sex at all. (I have a friend who is actually a married lesbian and she would go meet old white men in Orlando at the Cheesecake Factory and get $1000-1500 just to meet for dinner.) #RedistributeThatWealthGirllllllll

If your children are fucking men for hotel room spots or the potential for away and date weekends through their fraternities, that’s basically sexwork. (And all of your children are doing it.)

My best friend was invited to a fraternity formal in undergrad and the guy was disappointed that she was a virgin and LITERALLY SAID, “well, there goes my weekend.” This guy didn’t know her at all, he’d merely played a few games of beer pong against us, so I’m not sure why he thought she should inherently want to fuck him without knowing anything about him, but he still felt entitled to sex? (He was a “nice” guy too because he didn’t uninvite her or sexually coerce her.)

Had another gal friend get flown out to Israel to visit a guy she was talking to there, who paid for half her plane ticket. Sexwork. 

(38:18)

Dating is the premise to marriage and marriage is undeniably an economic proposition in the United States. With that being the case, how can we dare to condemn sex work?

Drake said if he drops $10k on a gal to not think anything of it and I’m just tryna find a man to buy me the new Joah Brown and Alo Yoga clothing collections.

All we do is make life more difficult for women by pretending like sexwork isn’t or shouldn’t be legal.

At age 18, I was supposed to be tasked with escorting an Australian diplomat’s 26 year old son around Washington, D.C. for a weekend. Because I wasn’t getting paid, I was expected to be thankful for “the opportunity”. I refused to do so, because I found it creepy that a 26 year old would ever want to hang out with an 18 year old, however “innocently” and couldn’t fathom what I would be able to talk about. I would rather go to the museums myself, thank you very much. At 28, I find it creepier in the current societal context. My mom has a 10+ year age gap between her and her siblings, though, (as she was an “accident” born in Italy while my grandfather was stationed overseas) and is 12 years younger than my stepfather, so the potential for a future marriage or romantic compatibility wasn’t considered negatively in the same way formal sexwork is viewed. Because of the legality of the contract.

My piece of shit ex had a groupchat with “him and the boys” (this is the Orlando CPA with multiple degrees who now manages his own Fidelity related firm and raped me in my sleep) where his male friends, including ones with girlfriends they are now engaged/married to, asked HIM if they should “stop in Gainesville and service [me]” when I was emotionally conflicted about our relationship and not interested in sex while I was working through that. 

A few years ago, I had another guy that I regularly hooked up with from UF who, when I was in Tampa for a gals trip weekend, hit me up. We regularly sexted, exchanged nudes, and had been doing so for years with plenty of shared sexual chemistry and experiences previously. He got a hotel room, since he lived at home, fucked me and came in about a minute. (His sex tape would’ve been a tik tok), and then he left (which I later found out was to go on a date with his now-girlfriend who I only found out about after he finally posted her a YEAR into their relationship while he was STILL in contact with me.) I wouldn’t have cared as much if I had been paid, to be honest. But him leaving me there made me so worried about whether I was being filmed, secretly, whether his excessive neatness and minimalist lifestyle was a predisposition to his original plans of actually murdering me there, to which he may have chickened out. I felt so used and disgusted. Because that isn’t what I signed up for.

If you wonder why every woman knows another woman who has been raped, but men seem to not know any rapists, it’s because it’s not enough of a reason for them to distance themselves from them. It’s because they excuse the behavior. It’s because they themselves know or remember instances of murky territory that condemning their friends might highlight and they’re aware themselves of just how at risk they are for the same “accusations” which comes down to not being aware of or respecting other people’s personal boundaries.

…Yet sexwork is still illegal and women commonly aren’t able to report events when they happen because of the legal nuances and discrepancy around consent and evidence. Comprehensive sexual education isn’t required. 

Yet women, people coming forward years later, are the ones being “dramatic”.

When I was 21, I worked at MD Anderson in Houston, Texas doing advanced stage head & neck and thoracic oncological work. I was working 14 hour days of unpaid research “experience”, which was a great opportunity, but nevertheless involved me staying at my biological dad’s friend’s house and being in a very tight spot financially. This friend, a man in his late 30’s (maybe early 40’s at the time), was dating a 23 year old with a slender bodily build and long blonde hair, much like my own, who would not let him stay at the house with me because she felt threatened. I did not know he was dating someone so similar to me, physically, until I was there. I don’t think I would’ve felt comfortable, had I known–even if he had given me his BMW to drive, had a pool with a motor so you could swim laps in place, and I received free lodging. She had fake, large tits though (and I do not), so he saw her as more “sexually mature”. A “very different age”. Because she was coerced by the beauty industry and media representation for women to cater and prioritize physical appearance and comfort for the male gaze, not for her own beneficial wellbeing. That was a “good” thing, to him.

While we’re on the subject of Texas–you’re not allowed to own more than 6 dildos but stripclubs are free for alls because “god forbid” we include government legislation like those in the DMV (DC, Maryland, Virginia) which involve pasties (not complete nudity), not being able to touch without clear consent, and allow women to engage in this line of work in healthier and safer contexts where they can actually report violations and have security.

Don’t know why lack of government regulations has to kill so many people before we just simply stop allowing it and allowing people to abuse public government positions of “power”, but we’re still not investigating the fucking insurrection and attempt to dismantle democracy so fuck your ethics.

I was paraded around military bases before I was 18 years old, beating marines and navy seals in physical competitions just to “prove women could”. Military men who were interested in my eventual “coming of marriage age” status to be able to make a formal proposition, waited patiently and were seen as “noble”.

Men in general still embrace the antiquated idea of asking fathers for their daughter’s hand in marriage, before they even ask the woman herself, because the priority of a woman’s sovereignty is never for it to be her own. 

Considering marriage–It might strike you as shocking, but I can’t WAIT for the day I get to take my husband’s last name. To get rid of my biological father’s? Fucking RIGHT. Sign me up. I actually considered going back to my mother’s maiden name, and the only reason I haven’t yet is I have published research in Nature, a huge scientific publication, and it would be annoying to have to reference 3 names I went by on tax and legal documentation for the rest of my life. A small gift for whatever man dares the risk and lives a lifetime of partnership with me. A token of my gratitude. A truly progressive gal.

(44:33)

To summarize my issues with the current illegality of sexwork, I’d like to pose the following scenarios for you:

In a country where women in the workforce is at a 33 year all time low, in part because a pandemic required the “burden” of childcare to fall largely onto women, who also happen to make up the majority of the educator’s workforce (glorified babysitting in the public school sector for less than $35,000 per year), as 76% are female, how dare we condemn a profession aimed at reducing sexual repression and meeting the sexual needs, healthy needs, of others and allows redistribution of wealth into female pockets. (Which we all know they want to keep from us in a variety of literary contexts, anyways.)

In a country that has not ratified the U.N.’s Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women, despite having been involved with drafting that legislation, and openly criticizing and engaging in warfare with Iran, Sudan, and Somalia–other countries where we criticize the lack of progressive legislation directed at women empowerment specifically, it’s a bit hypocritical.

In a country where child marriage is allowed, even though the vast extent of those involve girls being “allowed” to marry their rapists, as the majority of those cases involve older men preying on TEENAGERS. CHILDREN. YOUNG GIRLS. Where parents can make those decisions for female children and we can force young girls to be responsible for another’s life yet not allow them to dictate their own, this should be criminal.

In a country where my boyfriend, a junior in a top 5 public university at the time, was allowed to specifically vocalize that he was “clean”, even though he had never had ANY kind of sexual health testing, engaged in numerous sexual encounters without protection of any kind, and people under the age of 24 account for over 60% of chlamydia diagnoses, half of gonorrhea diagnoses, and over 80% show no symptoms, and then would have had no repercussions of any kind after he cheated on me and AGAIN exposed me, nonconsensually, to yet again MORE STD’s, we make women ashamed for calling it out. THOSE men don’t even have to get tested. They can literally be prescribed the pill because you tested positive (which is a good thing, healthcare wise), without ever visiting the doctor or receiving their own formal positive test or sexual education. The burden and responsibility falls and remains on those, the few, who are already responsible instead of creating a more responsible society.

We make it difficult, if not impossible, for women to trust men.

At this rate, YES, I am ALL FOR agreeing to a set amount or fee for dating, sexual acts with appropriate testing, a legal system that will support me should I (and the terms of our contract) be violated, ALL FOR THIS. I’d honestly feel safer dating if I wasn’t constantly worried about being yelled at for not being more emotionally invested, if somebody was accountable for my location and company, if I could perform background checks on these STRANGERS, if friendliness wasn’t so uncommon it might be misconstrued as “interest”.

YES, YOU CAN DATE ME FOR MONEY YOU JUST MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO AFFORD ME. SLIDE IN THOSE DM’S. PAY MY BILLS. JUST RECOGNIZE MY RIGHT AS A GOD DAMN AMERICAN TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE, AT ANY TIME, FOR ANY REASON.

Isn’t that what you conservatives fight to defend, so much?

That moment in Holes when Sigourney Weaver’s fucking BEAUTY of the character “The Warden” in a childhood flashback comes on, and that little girl drops her shovel, stomps her foot, and is all, “I’m tired of digging! Grandpa!” Well, I am fucking tired of working and existing for the collective societal benefit of seemingly everyone other than myself and not be paid for it. I am tired of my body being used and appreciated by everybody else, but the second I recognize its worth and appreciate it myself, veiled comments on needing to be “humbled” emerge from the bitter dredges of jealousy. 

In the only “high income” country that does not require paid parental leave, we essentially punish women (and families) for the choice to have kids yet also demand a working class supply of labor to exploit instead of the goal being less labor and better working hours for all.

In a country simultaneously enacting legislation that prevents widespread access to birth control, comprehensive sexual education, and allows these decisions to be made for human beings without their consent, based on religious affiliation they do not agree to, partake in, or actually understand or believe in, what the FUCK happened to “separation of church and state”?

In a country where the wealthiest, those involved in making said very legislation, have been proven time and time again to be involved in rape trafficking, or can hop on their private flights and access legal sexwork elsewhere (including with children)–why would we allow them to be the morality police?

In a country where law enforcement agrees to “look the other way” as long as they are allowed to partake in the sexwork, which is effectively sexual coercion. (Approximately 34 states still allow law enforcement to have sexual relations with detainees.) And a WOMAN , a judge CURRENTLY SITTING ON THE SUPREME COURT, ruled that a city was not liable for damages to a raped teenage prisoner because “rape wasn’t in the official job description” for the guard–do we have to specifically outline this as disallowed in employment contracts moving forward?

In a country that ranks 49TH of 142 applicable countries in gender equality (based on the World Economic Forum’s Gender Gap Index) yet continues to devalue local community positions, punishes people who seek higher or better education through the ever-increasing cost of PUBLIC education and student loans (making it nearly impossible for those to return to the communities they left), and makes being a shitty person more profitable because “health” is undermined in every level under capitalism. 

In a country where over 1 in every 4 women is raped (or attempted), where the norm is sexual violence and harassement, who the fuck are we protecting by keeping sexwork illegal? Surely not the thousands of children rape trafficked through the foster care network?

In a country whose DECREPIT HEALTHCARE SYSTEM and refusal to just fucking MOVE TO UNIVERSAL HEALTHCARE has us ranked LAST of the “industrialized” nations for healthcare system performance, yet healthcare workers themselves have to worry about their salaries being depleted (instead of companies involved in tobacco or alcohol having to pay more corporate tax) and stupid fucking white GOP dick suckers on the internet insist that “America is the best country in the world” without recognizing that “the America’s” is TWO CONTINENTS. “America” isn’t even a fucking country. Claiming only US citizens are “american” is ignorance at its FINEST.

In a country where that very same healthcare system is allowed to prey on the insecurity of largely women, via plastic surgery and medical spas, overlapping with the beauty industry, without requiring mental health evaluations or access to mental health services of any kind or asking why so many women, including teenagers, are allowed to make life altering procedural decisions, all while not ensuring they have access to actual healthcare, nutrition and affordable healthy food options, safe recreational areas.

What the FUCK are we doing keeping sex work illegal?

Who the fuck are you protecting?

Just a reminder, this episode is for the Red River Women’s Clinic, if you’d like to donate you can access it here: http://www.redriverwomensclinic.com. Thank you all for the support, reading, listening and interest. My main marketing is through word-of-mouth, so I really appreciate anyone sharing it, publicly or privately. You can follow me on instagram @zedagrace, especially if you like functional fitness and what I can only describe as the “soul cycle” of yoga. Movement is medicine. Have a wonderful week.

SOURCES:

https://nces.ed.gov/programs/coe/indicator/clr

https://www.citizen.org/article/dead-last-u-s-health-care-system-continues-to-rank-behind-other-industrialized-countries/

https://coloradosun.com/2019/10/21/colorado-abortion-rates-keep-declining-free-iuds-and-easier-access-to-the-pill-are-the-reason/

https://nypost.com/2021/06/03/texas-valedictorian-paxton-smith-slams-abortion-ban-in-speech/

https://www.the-sun.com/lifestyle/1471708/suicide-death-prison-porn-stars/

https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/death-of-a-porn-star-201939/

https://www.redbled.com/dead-pornstars/

White Culture: LOTR The Fellowship of the Ring

Survival Mode
White Culture: LOTR The Fellowship of the Ring
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I write this with the pessimistic swaddling of Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” enshrouding me in its sorrow while I watch the sunset across the farm and wonder if life is just going to be wondering if this is all there is and whether it’ll ever feel like “enough” to just be “happy”, when I’m aware of what goes on in the world.

I got to visit the bat houses in Gainesville and soak in the shared love of an epidemiology friend’s presence recently, who just separated herself from a long term relationship-turned-friendship, and I wanted to share a few sentiments we covered:

  • Those of us who have blocked out years of childhood abuse, or familial memories, have been able to access therapy or have spent hours of free time running in contemplation, good for you.
    I’m glad I’m not the only fierce science gal who was accused of “emotional manipulation” from the very source they learned it from.
  • Men are arguably another species. Whether they will ever make their intentions clear, unmistakeable, nonsecretive, who knows. Just remind yourself that solo cat ladies tend to live wonderfully great qualities of life and queer and homosexual traits potentially arise to offer care from (typically) nonreproductive members of a species when the reproductive members are providing the babies/offspring/future generations with less than quality care.
    Happy pride month.
  • Humanity is the only primate known to abuse its offspring to the point of less viable reproductive futures. The study of everything revolves around our concept for “normalcy” or “standard” behavior. Some “reference”.

    How dare we condemn other country’s and culture’s behavior, because of the “more” atrociously grotesque human rights violations, while simultaneously dismissing those within our own borders.

Without further adieu, I’ll go into my reconstruction of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Pretty sure I watched the extended cut on HBO Max. For the record, one of my absolute favorite movie and book series of all time, though I was a bit young for the language of the books when the movies with Elijah Woods first came out. (AKA: I watched the movies first and only read the books later.) As a horse gal, there weren’t many movies that utilize horses, and LOTR obviously included a ton, so I naturally loved it. Sue me. 

Galadriel opens up the narrative with the backstory on the one ring to rule them all and forewarning us that “the race of men…who above all else…desire power.”

Ya no fucking shit. Look at literally any guy in a fraternity getting cut off, kicked out of a bar, questioned at the door, turned down by a girl. They take everything like a personal attack and those of us who never doubted our places as peasants just get annoyed because all you’re doing is making everyone else’s lives shittier. 

Anyways, a last alliance of men and elves “fought for the freedom of middle earth”. Isildor, the son of a king, took up his fallen daddy’s sword at the very moment hope was seemingly lost and like the good buzzer beater moment that I’ve been on both the giving and receiving end of as a Tar Heel fan, Sauron’s wedding ring got cut off and he was defeated.

All I’m saying is if my next boyfriend doesn’t dress up as all of the villains in these movies and try to “defeat” me, we’re not fucking.

In a move that doesn’t surprise any woman ever, the “hearts of men are easily corrupted” and “history became legend. Legend became myth.” and the National Treasure style plot of medieval witchy conspiracy theories on power and quests and the history of mankind began.

Bilbo is the first hobbit we’re introduced to–noted as “the most unlikely creature of all” (which you would ONLY use to describe what will turn out to be the most notable creature of all), human “esque”, a “little weird”–so basically he is the black sheep of every southern family who wants to live peacefully away from everybody but knows far too much. Hobbits, in general, are described as “of little importance” except for their love of food, ale, and pipeweed and thus, the natural disposition for US citizens everywhere to see themselves represented amongst the mole people of the Shire. 

Gandalf, the wizard, is naturally a “disturber of peace”.

It’s almost like being “interesting” and “mythically wacky” is a universal negative. “Difficult”. Thank goodness we’re in the age of Wicked. Maleficent. Cruella. Harley Quinn. Backstories do a gal some good.

Shout out to my best friend, who was not allowed to watch Harry Potter until her 18th birthday (because of witchcraft) but was allowed to hang out with me. 

Frodo is the orphaned hobbit who deserves everything Bilbo can possibly give him. The farm people, true to form, explain how “it is never our concern what goes on beyond our borders” which is rural people to a Tee. Everyone’s a bit rough around the edges. An alcoholic. Got a temper. 

The ring, which I’ve alluded to in episodes past, specifically to reference the act of giving head, performing “fellatio”, sucking dick, whatever you wanna call it, “always yearns to return to its master” and I’ve also read 50 Shades of Grey… they’re NOT wrong.

That analogy holds even for my allusion.

And as we see Margot Robbie pout in Birds of Prey,
a harlequin is nothing without her master.”

This rhetoric is followed by Gollum being tortured in bondage gear which really frames the BDSM context.

Frodo gets that distorted hyperfocus of ominous foreshadowing, clamors to “get off the road”, and we get the dementor sensation of the black riders, symbolizing death through how the worms emerged from the soil, awakened in its presence. 

After Sam, Frodo, Pippin, and Merry successfully make it to The Prancing Pony, Pippin of course is running his little mouth, despite KNOWING what is after him, and Aragorn enters the realm. 

Aragorn, arguably the prime example of non-toxic masculinity in 2021, asks Frodo “are you frightened?” UGH. SO HOT. Legalize sexwork so I can have a fellowship of Aragorn and Legolas take me in the forest of Lothlorien. Then Viggo Mortensen follows it up with “not nearly frightened enough?” DADDY. Fucking amazing. 

Aragorn explains about the black riders, or Nazgûl, in depth–how they were men dominated by greed and now live a life of limbo in darkness. The 4 plus Aragorn then go on their lil journey to the elves and we see a recurring theme in M & P (Merry & Pippin’s) concern for food, as well as what little bitch boys they are crying about wading through a little bit of swampy water and mud with bug bites. Get these hobbits to Vietnam. Or trekking whatever bus routes our grandparents supposedly took to get to school. 

This entire section of the plot just reminds me of the movie “Role Models”, which, as someone who has gone larping exactly 1 time, I’m just gonna say ya’ll are missing out. I bet series like this are fun as fuck to film and anyone with a penis is arguably obsessed with any “Sword” symbolism so don’t act like you’re “above” medieval lore. 

Liv Tyler enters the scene, reminding us that, as great of a man as Aragorn may be, he is starstruck in wonder by women, the “ranger caught off his guard” that he is.

Here’s my episode reminder that our societal disdain for sexwork is related to the way sexuality has coercively been used in warfare to gain intelligence. 

The ringwraiths look like the fucking mighty ducks chasing her stoically white horse up in this bitch, and jumping over ONE cross country log isn’t going to impress me. I used to do eventing schooling all over the Northeastern USA on my 12.2 hand pony. 

Now also seems like a FANTASTIC time to remind everyone that LOTR wouldn’t exist without the fucking women because Arwen saved the day.

She does that whole “what grace has given me, let it pass to him” spiritual praying and he recovers from his coma.

A gradual theme of men being weak emerges.

The race of men are scattered, with only one hope to unite them (a white man, of course).

Frodo complains about the “burden he should never have had to bear” but as an orphan with a pretty nice inheritance, I mean… ya eventually you were gonna have to do some work?? Not sure what you expected there, buddy.

Boromir is boyishly fascinated by the “blade that cut the ring”, whereas Aragorn is respectfully mindful (setting the scene for parallels in their behavior later.)

Arwen’s witchy elvish ass comes back out to warn Aragorn about not being bound to Isildor’s fate, about him facing the same evil, but choosing a different route, about meeting him and Aragorn “thinking he had strayed into a dream.” (Beyonce’s “Sweet Dreams” where she speaks on the man being either a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare came into my head–take that as you will… I think I’M more of the “Halsey” “No sweet dream but I’m a hell of a night” type of gal, myself.) Arwen chooses to share one lifetime with Aragorn rather than face all of the ages of life alone and just fucking spare me. I am tired of the love stories. I am tired of men in general thinking keeping something your “dirty little secret” is our goal? LOL. NO.

Also, Boromir asks them to USE THE RING, to GIVE IT TO GONDOR, and then they STILL let him tag along on this little fellowship quest? RED FLAG.

What the fuck are you? A bull? CHARGING THOSE FLAGS DOWN LIKE IT’S YOUR JOB?
The fellowship just set themselves up for this. 

We finally get Orlando Bloom as Legolas’ fine ass on screen and all I have to say is if he was your favorite character, you are bisexual. Heteroflexibility should be the default anyways.

Also Tom Hardy, who is arguably the hottest man in Hollywood to me, is notoriously open about his sexual fluidity. Can we stop acting like this behavior is novel to celebrity culture and Hollywood only and recognize that queer folk are in your normal communities? 

Gimli, of course, has to throw off the fellowship talk with the firm “I would die before I see the ring in the hands of an elf” talk and the racial themes and eugenics tones get highlighted. 

M&P remark on “needing people of intelligence on this quest” and the creation of the fellowship is only what I can describe as the beginner of any Survivor series, or the Bachelor or Bachelorette, where the entirety of the cast is introduced, and you can just TELL who is going to go home first. This is how you can tell I wasn’t in charge of sending these creatures off to slaughter in the framework of its pages.

Gandalf sits on those rocks, reminding me of the mountains I scaled in Arizona, and the flights of birds, “spies of Saruman”–seems like a great time to reiterate that American crows can recognize and remember human faces, hold grudges, and pass on whatever epigenetic alteration that grudge solidified to its offspring.

Boromir keeps making little cuntish remarks and only men can ignore that many red flags for behavior and excuse it under “friendship”. 

Saruman calling upon his spirits and energy forces reminds me a little bit of myself doing yoga, and I’m gonna have to start channeling this energy in the future. I already wanted to make “cloaks” and willowy silhouettes my next aesthetic, seems a logical leap. 

The fellowship encounters that squid like creature and I’m sure there’s been a ton of rule 34 tentacle porn commissioned out there. I’ll paint a gigantic portrait with my 4’ canvases. Hire me to do it. There is literally nothing I would rather spend my time doing.

I’m actually excessively annoyed the “Strider” in my life won’t just ask me to move in with him so I can spend my days planting a garden of creepy or eerily cool plants in his retro home already, but my friend Citroni says I’m being “unrealistic” expecting that and “crazy”.

I never gave a damn about society’s norms before, and I know I’d be happy.
Sue me. But fiiiine. I’ll be “patient”.

Back to the subject of giant squids–have ya’ll realized what kind of shit is in our ocean? (Apart from gallons of hazardous waste and pollution.) The deep sea is TERRIFYING. Blue whales are the largest mammals on the planet and we can’t even track their migration or reproductive cycles because they dive beyond depths our instruments can comprehend. 

We then hear all the tragic overlays of Bilbo saying he “wished the ring had never come to him” and I wish this patriarchal world wasn’t lacking such progressive reform, but unfortunately this is the nature of the world we live in.

Existence is pain. Mr. Meseeks had it right. 

Gimli laments over the deaths of all the graves of the dwarves in Moria and naturally, one half of M&P knocks something over, royally fucking over the party and the “drums from the deep” can be heard as orcs attack. I wondered if this was the same animation used for the troll in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, because the goblin orc creature who stabs Frodo looks very similar to the troll that went after Hermione in the bathroom. Technology that isn’t developed for the military is often developed for private industry, but particularly the entertainment industry, and works like James Cameron’s Avatar had equipment designed to allow the imaginations of the film creators to be fulfilled. Truly fascinating development in innovation.

Creation for the love of art, rather than destruction.

Right as I’m admiring how busy the costume designers and makeup teams must have been, between all of the orcs, elves, hobbits, whoever,

Legolas once more graces our screens and everything else fades as I’m reminded that we get to exist in the same timeline as Orlando Bloom as Legolas.
Whatever kind of doom awaits us in the future, this should be enough for now.

The bridges and staircases that collapse around the fellowship is exactly why I don’t fuck with infrastructure or construction.

Aragorn once again turns us all on with the turn of his cloak and the pivoting of his booted heels as they try to escape.

Gandalf has his big moment. The balrog cracking that whip like the guy from iron man with those electric whip thingies for arms. 

We learn that orcs are numerous, but fucking horrible at archery because they miss every shot at Aragorn’s plot armour. They really should’ve practiced–how are you THAT bad at aiming? 

A terrible tragedy, Gandalf’s disappearance, but I could watch Viggo Mortensen jump across puddles all day long. They can’t waste time mourning his assumed death, for the “elf witch”, a “great sorceress of terrible power” awaits them in Lothlorien.

What do I have to say about these elves? Every single one of them could fuck me.

Legalize sex work. Imagine a LOTR style brothel? The Witcher? Game of Thrones?

Goddammit my next boyfriend does not deserve me and my multiple personalities.

All I want is to live my days in the sunshine, cultivating a garden around beautiful trees like that. A little witchy sorceress.

I had a previous aversion to beaded gowns because of the association with weddings, but what I’m getting from the elves is that every day is a special occasion.
Wear the fucking dress.

Galadriel is just the LOTR version of Professor Trelawney, for what it’s worth.
Her beautiful mystique and prophecies? 

Her little speech to Frodo about “even the smallest person could change the course of the future?” Ugh if I was in marketing, I’d have commercials for using reusable grocery bags, metal straws, refillable water bottles overlaid with that quote. Galadriel walked so Greta Thundberg could run. 

Hmm. Not sure how I feel about the handprints on these orcs. Are these supposed to be digs at Native Americans? Or indigenous “savages” that white European colonialists brought nothing but destruction and famine to? Am I about to hate this movie because I just recognized that? 

Galadriel is who I want to be. An ethereal witchy elf of the woods. She mysteriously appears and magically bestows gifts upon others. She seemingly knows all about their mysterious quests and thinks generationally. 

I want Legolas to look at me like he looks at that bow.

Hell, I want anyone to look at me like Legolas looks at that bow.

(JK, not “anyone” but men whose affection I appreciate, sure.)

I like how Gimli asked Galadriel for a single blonde hair from her head and she gave him 3. What a move. This is like one of my little sixth graders who stood behind me and would hover his hand over my hair, because he’d “never seen hair like it before”. (It was a very awkward phone call to his mother to discuss his behavior.)

Also, I don’t know why Gimli was complaining. He CLEARLY knew what kind of journey he was signing up for if he’s listing all of the horrors. He’s just doing this to scare the hobbits which is never good, though I’m not advocating for continued naivety. 

Kinda sus how Boromir just time and time again ignores the concept of “no”. Now I understand why men on the internet deemed him “relatable”. OOOOkay.

And Frodo being scared of Aragorn because of the trauma with Boromir?
RELATABLE. Put it in a way that men can fucking understand. 

I can never separate M&P (or which one is which), but I love being reminded of the “not penny’s boat” guy from LOST. What a show. It actually made way more sense years later when I binge watched it, because there wasn’t as much time between episodes and the questions got answered in shorter duration (without creating just as many, if not more). 

The orcs storming this lil wooded area kinda reminds me of that insurrection at the Capitol.

Someone wanna tell me why the fuck Donald Trump is giving speeches or leisurely relaxing in his mansion instead of being “handled” by Huck or any other member of B-613 in Shonda Rhimes’ Scandal? Was it not normal for everyone to think their biological father reminded them of Olivia Pope’s? Just me? Cool. 

Am I supposed to be “sad” about Boromir’s death, though? Why? This dude fucking sucked. Death was literally the only noble move he could’ve had left and sacrificing himself was redemption. This is how recruiters treat potential enlistments for our military. The trick is to get them to not fear death so much that they avoid it, but rather to charge it down, head on, and know the only way is “through”. 

“Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands.” Lol. okay? Men are idiots. 

To sum it up, watching The Fellowship of the Ring high was great. I need to start paying attention to the shows I watch instead of brainstorming abstract foreign policy or recalling random warfare strategy for “fun”.

This should 100% be considered foreplay for my next relationship, because it definitely turned me on.

“All you have to decide is what to do with the time that’s given to you” and time is relative, so figure out a perception you like and make that bitch surreal. 

Performing for Love

Survival Mode
Performing for Love
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CHILDHOOD

If Disney Channel taught me anything growing up, it’s that I knew to anticipate my parent’s conflation of their previously failed and now second chance at a career or dream manifesting its way into my own life and I would certainly have to dramatically break free. All of those “it’s not my dream, dad, it’s yours” Zac Efron bullshit? Ya. 

So if anyone wants to give me shit for enjoying the art of “performance”, please direct your attention to the talent show at Mary H. Matula Elementary school when I was in third grade where I sang “The Star Spangled Banner” in a fuzzy blue sweater and red velvet skirt, both from Limited Too. Beginning the performance in dedication to my grandfather, a 3 time war veteran whose career for the U.S. Army involves testifying to congress and intelligence briefings in the Pentagon. Accompanied by my grandmother, whose pianist and organ skills were utilized at virtually every religious congregation in the area as well as providing the orchestral production to the local theatre during musicals. Obviously, I fucking won. I’ve known how to emotionally manipulate a crowd my entire life. I think we can all agree that wasn’t MY idea, either. I had wanted to learn the dance from the end of The Lizzie McGuire movie that Hilary and Haylie Duff performed with my best friend Shelby but nooooooo, that wasn’t “talent show material”. 

So sit back, keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times, strap in, and enjoy the ride of this shit show. 

Back to parents using their children to live vicariously through–Let’s consider “sports” as a whole. How many parents, my own included, view sports as an “investment” instead of a healthy outlet for the natural human behavior of “competition”. Fuck “functional fitness” as a concept in childhood. 

Instead, we convince ourselves that children are just naturally predisposed to need so much fucking outlets for their aggression, focus, and drive that they WANT to be screamed at for 3 hours a day, 6 days a week in the pseudo-military, physique development training that is competitive gymnastics. I grew up in the fucking 90’s, too. My parents were riding HARD on that Olympics Team USA dream. Simone Biles was asked why she didn’t smile and she said “smiling doesn’t win gold medals” and people were like “oh that’s adorable, how cute” then a few months later we found out she’d been sexually molested by her trainer, along with hundreds of other athletes, for YEARS.

Gymnastics literally operates as a way to funnel children, but especially young women, out of the “general populace” and into excessive athletic competitions that essentially require you to use performance to justify abuse. We’re not like “oh shit, maybe this is a new method of child labor. There’s no way this is healthy.” Instead, we just sit there and go “Yuuuuuppp. Abuse and performing for love is the norm. It’ll be worth it. Gotta sacrifice everything if you actually want it”–without asking why the fuck we’re requiring children (and their parents) to realize you’re only THAT driven if you don’t have other outlets for creative and artistic expression as well as emotional catharcism. 

Now, I bring this up because as I approach my 30’s, and the unsolicited advice from older men on Seeking Arrangements remind me that “my looks won’t last forever” (no shit, dude… that’s when I’ll rely more heavily on my MULTIPLE STEM DEGREES), I have hit a rather unfortunate realization that having once run 85 miles a week, and playing multiple sports a season for YEARS, and the sheer amount and brutality of CONTACT sports, including gymnastics and football, does not bode well for my long-term physical health in a for-profit healthcare system. I have put my body through HELL. I will likely need a double hip replacement before I’m even 40. Can’t wait. 

Before quarantine, I was under the impression that I had a great body because of all the workouts. Now, after ~a year of limited physical activity (save yoga), I’ve realized it’s the cPTSD that keeps me in a state of hypervigilance and in constant fight or flight mode 24/7. Yippee! 

… Ya’ll can laugh but I’d prefer to be transparent simply because of the unrealistic standards for women’s bodies in the media, the exploitation of the beauty (and plastic surgery) industries capitalizing off women’s insecurities without requiring anything even remotely resembling mental health care and utterly lacking consumer protections, and the desire for people in the USA to get a “quick fix” for everything, thinking “treatment” of various forms will be a “solution” (particularly for such insecurities). 

Back to my childhood—

Let’s look at a few key moments in sporting, performance, and healthcare history that *likely* impacted the way I view the world:

When I was in kindergarten, I broke my foot for the first time by being pushed out into the fireman’s pole area on the playground, falling straight down (without holding onto the pole), and landing “Indian-style” (a VERY outdated term. Criss cross applesauce, crosslegged, etc) on the ground. I cried, and despite only being in kindergarten, learned a difficult life lesson which is that women’s pain will constantly be undermined and overlooked under the assumption they are being “dramatic” (a common trope in medicine, even). My teacher would not even let me call my mom. I had broken 3 bones and had to wait for the end of the school day. 

Once in gymnastics, before I quit because I would literally come home crying, hated my coaches, and begged my mom to let me stop (I loved the workouts, just not the “ALL COMPETITION MODE ALL THE TIME”), I ran full speed at a vault, just failed to jump on the springboard, and completely annihilated myself at full speed. Could’ve easily broken a rib, had the wind knocked out of me, tried to go hug my mom who was seated with the other parents next to the runway, and instead got pushed back onto it, BY MY OWN MOTHER WHOSE COMFORT I WAS SEEKING, because “you’re gonna get DQ’ed”.

A few years later, on the first day of a 4 day horse competition at a location called “Fair Hill”–which hosts huge overnight eventing shows–one of the horses I was walking STOMPED on my foot. I believe (if I remember correctly) that this was not the same foot I had already broken. Nope! The opposite one. Luckily, I broke a few bones on this side too–even things out a little neurologically, ya know. Did my mom believe me? Nope. Not at all. I was told to “suck it up” because people were depending on me. 

The conflation of sports with financial success, the ability to skirt capitalism and corporate working environments, and utilizing sports as a way of paying for what would otherwise be an unaffordable and inaccessible college is a dangerous game for children. Children are not seen as a decision brought into this world by two (sometimes more) loving parents who just want to provide a human with love and care. 

Children themselves become investments. Property.

By the time middle school even came around, my parents were fucked. To nobody’s fault but their own. They had raised me to be a soldier. I performed for love and the necessity to compete ALL THE TIME and to be the best, or at least your best, ALL THE TIME was solidified. Who could blame them, though? I was good at everything. They were just funneling outlets for it to me left and right. It probably had something to do with my own creative-as-fuck mom stayed at home, raised me on a farm, and then I had the musculoskeletal development through gymnastics. 

So what is the point that I’m getting at? I’m not “mad” at my parents. My sharing these stories is never with the intention of punishing them (at least not for my mom. Truthfully… I do not give a flying fuck about my biological father’s feelings.) It is, however, to reflect on the reality of the societal conditions I was raised in. Conditions that were and remain actively encouraged within the capitalist framework of our society with little to no well organized and developed social support programs. 

I have to actively AVOID competition now. I had to LEARN how to empathize. 

And when you’re raised by parents and BOTH of them were raised by family serving in World War II, one having a U.S. Army career and the other being NYPD law enforcement, you don’t really get a “soft” childhood. You get taught to be tough. Arguably, you’re doing the bare minimum of teaching–helping your children survive. 

You teach them to excel. To win. As is the only acceptable outcome in the USA–particularly backed by generations of teachings regarding dominance in all forms–land, sea, space, olympic.

And I undeniably rose to the challenge. 

But at what cost? 

For years my competitive drive was flaunted. It was rewarded, positive reinforcement’s finest. I kept winning, at everything. I’d switch into and pick up a new sport as I got bored, or competition was limited in the other outlets. In truth, I was probably a bit of a terror. I KNOW I wasn’t always the nicest teammate. Granted, I was there to work. To be respectful. To commit. To honour that commitment. To prove my worth with every practice, game, match, competition, whatever. 

And as long as I kept winning, my parents were doing something right. Their community success, their own value, resided in the way I “turned out”. Because fuck the concept of loving your children for whoever they actually are. For providing them enough emotional support, love, and quality time to actually be mentally balanced. They had to win, to earn, respect, love, and admiration at every step. They had to harness that drive, that conflict, that inner turmoil and channel it into competitive outlets because they had no control or ability to hold power within their home. 

Side note–My own biological father is so fucking delusional over who I am that he actually believes I didn’t want him to get married. I honestly could not give two shits if he is married or not. I simply did not care to invest in a relationship with a stepmom or step siblings when I had and wanted ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with him. I also just couldn’t afford to fly out to his wedding, when he chose “Hawaii” for “the convenience of HER children”, when I was in grad school and had a combined total of $2,000 to support myself for rent and food after my tuition was paid. I worked for my apartment complex, had an etsy, and STILL struggled but sure let’s make it clear you didn’t think about and don’t care if your own daughter attends your wedding then call her “unreasonable” and a “brat”. I have worked during every vacation I’ve been on, had free lodging, couch surfed, etc. so I could still travel, but how unaware of the reality do you have to be to label your daughter as “emotionally manipulative”, beginning in middle school, just because she doesn’t like or respect the person you are and makes that clear. 

For years I walked right past him, sitting glued to his computer screen or watching the same reruns of “A League of Our Own”, “Revenge of the Nerds” (which literally includes a rape scene he’d laugh at), and “The Sandlot” for hours when he came home from work, just to ran away ALL THE TIME. He literally never once realized I didn’t come back inside, or upstairs. He was nonexistent as a father for at least a decade of my life when I lived with him. He DID, however, show up to my sporting events. Ready to cheer me on and take all the credit for MY successes publicly. At my graduations, my friends have told me how he turned the conversation to himself, and to the many “sacrifices” he made for me over the years and how “proud” he was–while doing absolutely nothing to actually assist me in those achievements. Not even very basic or regular communication. It’s easy to sit there, cheering for and by someone when they’re winning. That isn’t what makes you a good parent. I do not need your applause. 

For years, I was the recipient of public endorsement after public endorsement, only to be criticized, to analyze and review my mistakes, to be punished behind the scenes. My perfectionism is the product of the environment I was raised in. An environment that was undeniably unhealthy, but even though I am now tasked with a life journey of remembering those moments, of relearning a way to be “healthy”, of figuring out how to finally be comfortable accepting help (and even being able to ask for it). Of not even having biological familial support for that because my parents had children to fill a gap in their lives and marriage and relationship without understanding or comprehending the world they were raising those children in. Without trying to understand them, or their world, because it contradicts their own.

Since excellence was expected, it quickly lost its glamour. Trophies don’t mean shit when you win one every weekend. National merit awards are weightless. Academic scholarships and college offers piled up. I was rewarded by society for pretending like my inner turmoil and unhappiness didn’t exist. For escaping and finding mental peace for everything that could keep me away from home. Competition gave me that. But why did I need it? 

I loved competing so much that I hated NOT competing my freshman year of college and set out determined to “actually” try (in track) so I could walk on to my collegiate team. I realized I had no interest in gymnastics again–my shoulder surgeries offered limited trust in the likelihood that I wouldn’t tear or break something again, but running was a feasible goal. After all, with enough time, anyone can systematically get better at it. It’s basic physiology, biomechanics. It’s cheap, free–you just lace up your shoes and go. It allowed me to reintegrate myself within the woods, exist in my natural state–free, moving, earthly. 

I went from partying 6 nights a week and drinking alcohol for the first time one year to working my way up to an easy 85 miles a week of SOLO distance training around Chapel Hill completely self-motivated. 

The endorphins kept me happy. My body was used to needing them in such high quantities after years of sports. Elle Woods was right–happy people don’t kill their husbands, or the other men who wrong them. They channel their frustration into physical performance and everything else just kind of melts away. 

So what do we do in the USA, when levels of anxiety and depression surpass The Great Depression? When long working hours and the necessity to be productive 24/7 are driving hard working individuals to their deaths and they’re convinced it makes them more valuable than others they look down on (so it feels “worth it”) because they perceive one’s circumstances and opportunities to be the same without awareness. When 25-35% of Americans are inactive, yet many more lack the space, resources, money, and safety to feel secure in exercise? Did you know that for women (and any other sexual assault survivors), it often feels safer to be heavier in weight. You may be catcalled less. You might command less attention if you float subtly as a wallflower. You feel safer, harder to kidnap.

Why have we created an environment, a society, a country where people have to have marathon endurance of energy, of mental strength, just to feel valued, seen, and heard within society? 

Why do we embrace an environment that makes you beg for worth, for love, for acceptance, and then wonder why it isn’t fulfilling? 

Why do we then ridicule, ostracize, and beat down those with moments of clarity–those who look around and question “why”. 

To what avail? 

Why do we exhaust their fuel tanks and then berate them for being empty? 

COLLEGIATE CAREER (15:25)

Part of the draw of sports was it offered my parents the opportunity to not have to pay for college. College got exorbitantly expensive. Both of my parents had scholarships, so they just anticipated that we would also and then they’d “figure out the rest”. They’d go on to take out loans (in our names), with money that never went to our own personal bank accounts, then set certain expectations for where and when our money would be given to us. 

I had to run track, because otherwise I was required to get a job. My parents never let me work in high school, outside of the summers, and I’ve discussed how the financial coercion allowed me to remain in more than one unhealthy relationship–the allure of presents I could never afford on my own was too appealing to pass up or break up with. 

Even the jobs I did get, my dad essentially forced me to take. I umpired beginning in middle school–his personal favorite, despite hating having to make the power calls, throwing adults out of 10U REC LEAGUE SOFTBALL GAMES WHEN I WAS 13 YEARS OLD. I hated bending over behind home plate as a crowd of boys from the ballpark watched behind me–clearly, awkwardly, and albeit somewhat innocently, fantasizing about me without connecting how physically uncomfortable I was inside. I didn’t really have a choice to care, though. I was expected to take the games (it was good money, there weren’t enough female umpires), I was going to be at the ballpark anyways (my dad was umping on other fields, we needed the money for all of our activities), and these were innocent boys who had childhood crushes on me–they weren’t expected to treat me with respect or fully abide by MY boundaries (a sentiment an unfortunate amount of men still embrace). 

In college, he genuinely thought I’d enjoy working at the local baseball stadium, dancing on the dugouts in between innings. I never enjoyed being forced to be an entertainer. Even if I was naturally good at it. I didn’t and shouldn’t have needed a second job for $7.25 minimum wage, when in reality he just wanted an excuse to be at that fucking ball field. I was standing on dugouts in short little khaki shorts, dancing to “Sweet Caroline” and “Cotton Eyed Joe”, plastering a glowing smile across my face, laughing on cue, and ignoring the sexually suggestive commentary of the washed up 40 year olds clinging to their love of baseball who would stand in the dugout so they could get the best view of my ass–all things women are trained to do our whole lives. My father universally thinks everyone seeks out the same power and limelight that he craves would come easy to him, and in doing so, he created a Frankenstein’s monster a la me, the eldest daughter. 

He no longer gets a choice in how or why or when I “perform” any longer. 

So fuck ‘im. 

Looking back, I find it hard, if not downright IMPOSSIBLE, to believe my biological father, a man who flaunts his intelligence, his financial prowess and awareness, and his ego, wouldn’t have been able to understand that, had he just divorced my mother when they stopped loving each other, we would’ve all gotten almost 100% of financial aid, because of her teacher salary, and I don’t really sympathize with anyone who uses the “but he paid for your college” trope because college was an expectation in my family and they specifically raised us knowing they would pay for it. I’m not going to apologize for being a national freak in high school and having the opportunity to literally go anywhere I wanted. 

In reality, my father prevented the divorce until he was ready to leave the community (and had a reason to physically move away) so he could control his public image to the best of his ability. He tells anybody that will listen these days how my mom cheated on him. Mind you, that very boss at that baseball stadium once asked me if he and my friend’s mom with giant fake boobs, perfect hair, and a Marilyn Monroe style body ever had an affair. My boss was the older sister of one of my brother’s baseball teammates almost his ENTIRE life. The woman she referenced had overlapped on almost every team with my brother. My dad can go fuck himself about my mom being the reason the marriage didn’t work.

He also tells people I “faked my PTSD and car accident for attention”, which is conveniently his way of discrediting the validity of my claims lest they ever negatively impact him. 

Women who are “hysterical” have historically been quite easy to keep submissive, subservient, quiet. 

I have no interest in ever being one of them. 

My parents never visited my siblings or I at school, outside of SAVE the rare holiday, or a sporting event. There were no “surprise” visits, or even care packages. 

My brother, the eldest, went to the University of South Carolina and walked onto their baseball program, the same program that went back-to-back-to-back College World Series finals. They won back-to-back national championship titles. Half of his teammates were drafted into the MLB. He took batting practice with Bryce Harper when he visited his brother. He found money–he was technically a “student manager”, as even with 91 games a season, the majority of D1 NCAA baseball only uses one catcher and the bullpen catcher position worked out well for skirting NCAA rules about paying students and not “technically” expanding your roster. He found fame–athletes, especially National Championship baseball athletes, were celebrities on college campuses. He found support–my dad would visit him just to be able to go to the games, talk to him in the bullpen, share “the love of the game”. (My dad went to Embry Riddle, so even though he played AAA ball for the Yankees feeder team over the summer, he never had the opportunity to play in college.) 

I never was able to earn that “official” roster spot, either, during my time at UNC, but the only time my dad DID visit my school was when I was running at track meets. Or for graduations. Otherwise, there was no reason to be there. To be supportive. It was an unnecessary hassle to see me. 

Yet, I’m to blame for “the joy of achievement” being a fundamental pillar of my ENTJ mentality? You know children are shaped by their genetics and environment, right? Both of which have everything to do with my parents and nothing capable of being controlled by me?

Again, I don’t necessarily “blame” my family for this. 

My parents both grew up under the context of military drafts, constant warfare, tension, and stress. Their fathers arguably could never fully take off their uniforms–how could you? Discipline comes naturally, and both of their own mothers were just as strict. They went to college, hours away from their parents, and travel wasn’t as feasible, affordable, or accessible. People wrote letters, they didn’t text. You sat in silence and learned how to survive on your own. How else were you expected to grow? 

Teaching your children to know they can’t depend on you, emotionally, mentally, physically, and then wondering why they’re hyper independent shouldn’t be so confusing. 

From a VERY young age, I was taught that my pain, my mind, my soul, would be ignored. In more ways than one.

I was taught to “suck it up”. To “move on”. In part, largely because there was no other option. 

When I started therapy my junior year of college, after a horrendous break up that left me unable to cope or function with any resemblance to humanity, it might’ve been the first time in my life that I had support from someone, an adult, who just wanted to learn more about me. Who wanted to learn more about why I do the things I do–not to judge, not for ulterior motives (save maybe some curiosity and also money), but to support and encourage my growth. I had someone who looked at me when I revealed things who would cry and watch me struggle for the words I needed without pressuring me to hurry up and find them. Someone who cared to listen. It only took me 21 years, and I feel like I got there a lot quicker than most Americans (lol, competitive nature, remember). How sad is that. 

I was desperate to make track work, even though I was forewarned and had my own nasty experience with the coaching staff. I hoped it would ease the financial burden I was to my parents. I hoped it would provide the structure and guidance I felt lost without. I wanted it to demonstrate my potential, my work ethic, my strength, mentally and physically, without requiring words. I never quite got the answers or validation from others that I sought, but I certainly found and prioritized myself over all of those miles. In truth, it didn’t end up mattering that the politics made me hate the formal premise of something I had learned to seek peace within, because I knew of the patterns of repetition, the mental clarity, the focus, the drive, that it took and that was enough.

SELF LOVE (24:13)

It makes me sad, in a way, how far humanity, particularly the bounds of “professionalism” within academia and the capitalist job industry, have skewed our purpose on this earth. Even the most kind hearted people worry about exposures over their public image. Exposures of seemingly innocuous human behavior well within the frame of “the norm” for our species–even if a particular conservative consensus portrays a fallacy of otherwise.

An old friend, who, if truth be told, was never really a “friend” to me (even if I thought they were my best friend for a few years) tried to blackmail me recently. In hindsight, and thanks to a reminder from my old therapist that “just because someone was a good friend in X context or Y year doesn’t mean they still benefit you”, it’s blatantly clear her own narcissism and “main character” syndrome has created an environment where she desperately grasps for control. I get it, though I don’t think I’ve ever particularly cared what people are saying about me, because I know my own integrity, character, and commitment to honor and honesty speaks far louder. 

Naturally, she texted my biological mother a link to this blog, framing her interest as a “concern” for my well being and wanting to know how my mother intended to “handle” me, a 28 year old woman. She threw a few threats in (in the same sentences she’d claim she was trying to handle it “like an adult”) like whether she should make her own blog and tell the world that my boyfriend in undergrad once mistakenly told me he was “clean” even though he had NEVER been tested for STD’s ever (Kansas and North Carolina…get your sex education together fucking now) and I got chlamydia. IDK…call me crazy but it seems a little disingenuous for someone about to start a surgical residency to stalk the private blogs of someone who has blocked them on all forms of social media and then try to socially shame them for sexually transmitted infections. Particularly in this modern age of healthcare. You have failed part of your training if that is the case. (I mean, she did fail part of her training but the current standards for med students are ridiculously paced, though that’s a separate discussion). 

…You’ve also failed the social norms of respecting any kind of boundaries. I’m allowed to reference the events in my life and people who shaped it and hold no allegiance to people who have sexually assaulted me when I shared a bed with them. I’m sure you thought I didn’t remember, since I never mentioned it and we remained friends, but you are a predator. And we don’t negotiate with terrorists over here in the U S of A baby. Kindly fuck off and out of my life and live your own without caring more about controlling your public perception than changing your private actions. Good luck.

Maybe that’s the hardest part for people to respect, or acknowledge…That those who you’ve interacted with do have their own stories–which might differ from you, or offer a striking contrast of perspective. But it seems ridiculous to expect them to be under an obligation of misplaced “loyalty” when you had none for them. 

I suppose if you’re obsessed with control this doesn’t strike you as weird. 

Personally, I’m not interested in power–I’m interested in the balance of it. I’m interested in the reciprocity of it. The fluidity and exchange of it. Mindful observation, communication, acknowledgment. There is power in knowledge, as Michelle Obama likes to remind us. Which is why the reciprocity of knowledge of my friends, the people in my life, matter most of all to me. I don’t want to be dominated by imbalances.

When you are motivated by serving others, it becomes so commonplace to put aside yourself and put the needs of others first that it takes a lot of time to re-learn this and not feel guilty for needing to express yourself in the way that you do. I’m reading “The Body Keeps the Score” and it’s incredibly validating about how I break down randomly crying in yoga, reminded of specific events with certain muscle activations, or how my own progress and recovery almost necessitates that I “shed” these events in ways that I feel are beneficial to creating conversation for a more important narrative. 

It is freeing, to speak on it. 

It is freeing, to allow myself to be who I am meant to be. 

I think I put up with a lot of unhealthy behavior, both in this “friendship” specifically and my previous relationships of variety (familial, dating, etc.) because I grew up in an environment that taught me to have unconditional love towards those who abused me. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I tried setting boundaries, asking for space and things I needed, and they were ignored, downplayed, or frankly dismissed without care. I was a CHILD. Why is it that the burden fell and continues to fall on me to “drive it home”. 

I don’t want that kind of energy in my life any longer.

 It’s cancerous, so to speak. 

But to be who I’m meant to be, I also can’t hate myself or the events that got me here. I must speak on them, because they shaped me into who I am and trying to understand people, the community, life was my form of empathy and compassion when my abusers were calling ME the “narcissist” and “self involved”. Even after all of that, I’d forgive them because I loved them regardless. That’s not good, and that’s not healthy.

While on a walk with a good friend, someone I competed with on the Math team, who is a brilliant mind in STEM, I was reminded of the fact that when everything went wrong in my life, I clung to self love above all. Maybe that was my privilege. I was beautiful, skinny, blonde, and smart, but nowhere NEAR the “prettiest” (nor did I have the knack for fashion or the money) to be “popular”. I was athletic and good at any sport I wanted to try and was allowed to do (which I again contribute to hours of abusive coaching through muscular development). I was gifted in music, though I stopped publicly singing pretty early on because my brother would mock me for how much I loved it. I was smart at every subject, and loved to read and learn. I was enough, for myself. So when others mocked me, however true or false the words that they whispered or shared brazenly, I didn’t really care. I wish they wouldn’t. I didn’t enjoy it. But I knew it wasn’t a reflection of me. They had no meaning over who I was to myself, and that above all was the difference. 

My family has lost power over me, namely because I no longer respect or require the love of people who were seemingly incapable of loving ME. I find it tragic and pathetic that a child was framed as the “difficult” one for questioning her surroundings and that her parents only stopped their abuse when I got smart enough to threaten to call CPS. And instead of asking yourself why your child thought they needed law enforcement to protect their physical environment, you branded them as “difficult”. 

You said “every child runs away that young” when I was ~5 years old. Does every child pack a backpack after a particularly harsh disciplinary measure from their father, hide it in their closet, wait up ALL NIGHT and then sneak out in the early hours of the morning, crossing the dew covered grass barefoot, dragging my cat comforter, backpack slung over my shoulder, and DIABOLICALLY PLOT TO LEAVE WITH A DEFINITIVE PLAN? Then just LITERALLY NOT COME HOME FOR A WEEK until you’re forced to? Does every child not miss their family?

Maybe Disney’s Soul had it right and our personalities are decided for us long before we emerge into the physical realm. 

Maybe to some, even my own father, I AM the “manipulative megalomaniac who is intensely opportunistic”… but that’s Earth’s problem.

Or, maybe I’m just honest

Maybe my “weapons” of communication, my words, my writing are the way that I make sense of my world, because in reality they’ve been dismissed, for far too long.

I know the way I love myself can be matched because of the quality of my actual friendships. 

My best friend from undergrad lived with me all four years. We shared a room for 2 of those, practically, and still held sleepovers in the same bed when we needed the companionship. (#SapphoAndHerFriend). When she was depressed, because hormonal irregularities in women fucking suck and it’s our actual biology and can we please teach it and get universal healthcare for christ’s sake, I’d clean her room for her, and she’d let me, knowing it made me happy to be helpful and she didn’t have the energy or time to prioritize it. Her family took me on every family vacation, I’ve gone to every wedding, beach weekend, or just casual hang outs because I just love to be in their presence. And she loves me for who I am. Who I actually am. Not who other people want me to be.

My sister told me she never doubted whether she wanted to go to college because she saw what my best friend and I had and “just wanted that”. 

Of my two best gal friends from graduate school–one lives in Florida and I literally could just exist happily as her roommate for decades if she wasn’t destined to be a mom sooner rather than later. We didn’t LIKE to go entire days without talking to each other. The other one lives in Boston and has dated one of my best male friends and visiting them is like visiting home. She is the most incredible chef and it makes me hate the “chore” of cooking less and perceive it as an act of love and nutrition rather than just a way of integrating chemistry into health. They make me a better person, because they love me without expectation. They nurture my growth. 

One of the people whose minds I value so much, but whose privacy I’ve also wanted to protect, goes out of his way to remind me that I have already accomplished so much. Even with the “failed” collegiate sports track (to my mother, whose legacy of a full ride D1 scholarship and 9th at Penn Relays was NOT going to be in my future), he would dismiss me undermining my accomplishments and say things like “psshhhh. Please. You’re basically an Olympian.” I thanked him the other day, after my biological mom passively mentioned to me “you haven’t even accomplished anything yet”, for reminding me that success is arbitrary and very subjective.

To me, “success” now means happiness. 

And happiness means mental peace. 

That aforementioned “joy in achievement” that ENTJs crave so desperately now means a wider range of things to me. Maybe it’s the romantic in me, for I am an artist at the root of it. Though I tend to also downplay THAT, because I’ve never taken formal art classes and don’t know proper technique or how to reference (but Van Gogh was also self taught so as long as I don’t take up the drink or cut my own ear off, I think I’m on the right path). Plus, writing is even more self deprecating and emotive than painting and since writing is in everything we do, and most people are capable of doing it, those who don’t publish their work in the same avenue, or get the insight of others prior to publishing, might downplay their significance. The old “if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around, will it make a sound?” phrase? “If nobody is reading their scribbles, can they call themselves a “writer”?” 

I am done performing. 

My friends have shown me that I don’t need to. 

I have shown them the same. 

I do everything now for self love. 

I have faith in myself, above all, and know I don’t need to tread along these roads alone, but I do need to make myself accessible to those who want to walk with me, for however long.

I want to allow myself to love–who I am with the understanding that I’m certainly not that “difficult”, I’m just “honest”. And it’s perfectly clear the USA struggles with accountability regarding the “truth.” 

I want to allow myself to learn–in both the traditional academia sense and in unconventional routes, such as just seeing what my favorite humans can teach me just by learning about them. Mindful observation. Who they are, holistically.

I want to allow myself to grow–to plant myself where I know I’m happy, where I want to create and cultivate a life.

Maybe I’ve been watching a little bit too much “Game of Thrones”. Maybe Spring bringing warm currents of air, the flowers blossoming, and the leaves returning has happily coincided with my diabolical nature feeling extra refreshed. Maybe the culmination of my fully vaccinated status, embarking on air travel again, and moving plans are the momentous change signifying clarity, peace, and a new day. Signifying hope. 

Or, maybe it’s just love. 

My friend from the math team, let’s call him “Wade”, because I told him his hacker cybersecurity status gives me major “Wade” from Kim Possible vibes, asked how my car accident changed who I am. He’s known me pretty well since middle school, though as an introvert and nerd he fulfilled the “wallflower” role of the public school experience. I told him it changed nothing about “who” I am, PTSD and all, but it changed the way I prioritize life. 

In a way, I feel like I died that night. I watched myself fly into the treeline, out of control, and fully accepted my death. I was content, in that moment. Ready for it. 

All of this just seems like extra time. 

It seems like the time I get to enjoy my life.

It’s the time I get to prioritize the people I love, and those I want to create a life with. Not the things that I want to do. Not the goals I want to achieve.

It’s time I get to create a life for me.

It might seem “illogical”, maybe it’ll derail my career, however temporarily, but I won’t regret it. 

You don’t regret the things you do in love. 

Because at the end of the day, there isn’t enough love in the world. 

How can there ever be? 

And living a life built on love, for yourself, for others, for your community, means acknowledging the things that come easy–the highs, the achievements, the stepping stones–but even more so the ladders that built you into who you are. The foundational concrete. The support beams. Reconstruction and remodeling. The carfax. 

I know what “love” is because I know how to show it to the people in my life. Because it is what I show to everything in my life–my art, my animals, my friendships, my travel, my relationships, the sky and leaves and trees around me. Other people’s love might look different–communication is about learning how to speak each other’s language, and not everyone will try to learn yours, however badly you may wish it.

The great wrestling love of my life and I never worked out because, ultimately, it was me who couldn’t communicate. Which may seem crazy, given that I have essentially a personal diary on the internet freely available for anyone and everyone to read. (Arguably because I opened up to one guy and had to rush to make it seem like that wasn’t MONUMENTAL for me…) Yet, now I think even that was for a reason, even if I don’t understand it quite yet. Even if I never find out why. He was a communications major, too (typical of D1 athletes), but it’s why he knew my sleeping soundly with him was so huge, or why he knew I enjoyed watching him play video games and openly talking to his friends about me, or why he knew I loved him even though I couldn’t speak to him. 

I couldn’t tell him that I called him after my car accident because no, I didn’t have anybody else to call. My mom yelled at me. My sister asked me if she could get back to her birthday dinner while I called her from the side of the road, trying to distract myself from reliving the crash over and over and over again in a seemingly parallel universe to my retinas intaking the actual scene unfolding before me in current time, while I sat there, dissociated, and realized I had moments before decided I was okay with being dead. That I didn’t think I’d be making that phone call…but she didn’t care. I was a distraction. An annoyance. A burden.

I couldn’t tell him that I loved being in his presence because, for seemingly one of the few people’s presences, ever, I felt mental peace. That him trusting his intuition and chasing me down in the dining hall my freshman year, jumping over tables to get to me, was the start of an invisible string weaving our tales and lives together harmoniously for years to come. I didn’t know how to voice to someone that I knew I loved them because I recognized what I felt I’d been denied my whole life. Someone chose me.

And when his dog, the love of his life, who ADORED me, and to this day, who I think he will always, always, ALWAYS wonder if he misses me (even if he’s plenty happy now), had tumors and surgery and needed to consider termination of treatment, I didn’t know how to explain that I knew how scared he was because I’d gone through it with several horses, now, including one that followed me around the pasture like a puppy.

And I don’t think I could be that person for him, even if I felt it, because I didn’t know how to communicate it. And I was scared to learn. Scared he’d judge me and leave me. I couldn’t tell him, someone who was just as worthy of undeniable love and support as I was, that I cared or why. 

In truth, I don’t think I knew how to frame it, because the sad reality is that recognizing that was your experience sucks, for everyone involved. 

How do you explain that to people? 

I went on a date recently, which was nice enough, but I knew it wasn’t “it” because he kept APOLOGIZING to me when I explained who I was. 

I’m not “sorry” for the things that happened to me. Do I wish that I had some different contexts? Sure. Do I make decisions now to prevent myself from being stuck in the same cycles of negativity? Sure. But being “sorry” for the things that made me who I am–someone I LOVE–is never going to be the answer. 

To this day, I’ve only told one man a particular layer of depth regarding my familial life directly. Some of the ones I’ve formally dated have experienced it first hand, for sure. But only one has asked me to tell them. And when I asked him not to pity me, he told me that my telling him had the opposite effect. He said he thought higher of me, like I was stronger. It’s scary to believe him. To think that might actually be the case…especially from someone I love, someone I think already does (and arguably who I just want to) love me. 

…He’s a dumb ass Virgo, though, so try as he might to “not let me in that easy” (his words, not mine), I’m like “bro, you associate me with everything you love. Figure it out. I will not beg for it. I deserve someone who can communicate their love for me without stipulation. Who chooses me every single time, whether it is convenient or not.” My friend from UF was once at a tailgate, about 2 years ago now, and told me this guy was there, sitting off to the side, by himself, looking down at his phone and smiling. He was texting me. It’s little moments like these, times I know he thinks of me, the depth in the moments in which he needs me, that I know he loves me. Even if he struggles with his own words. 

I don’t know why, call it a premonition, but I just think everything is going to fall into place. I think I am exactly who I’m meant to be, for whatever I’m meant to do in this lifetime, because I’m committed to learning and growing along the way. 

There is power in intelligence. 

And there is confidence in the intellect of oneself. 

How better, than to cultivate a life, devoted to loving oneself, one’s friends, one’s chosen family, so fiercely, passionately, and purposefully, that your love becomes that powerful? What else is there?