So, the public figures have been tumbling, one after the other, as I sat over here and stalled on a blog post for most of the month. (Combination of 3 weekends away from home capped off by a family shared cold. Damn you, worn down immune system!) But here’s what I can say about recent events: Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out, sexual predators… mostly because I bet you’d like it.
And today I read about that most annoying and insufferable public journalist… Garrison Keillor. Writer’s Almanac… BARF. So breathy and over emoted! Prairie Home Companion… so under emoted and full of off key warbling and just boring story telling- I’d open my veins before I have to listen to it. And yet, people bought his schtick! How in god’s name I don’t know, but I saw this comment on an article earlier: “Not Garrison Keillor! Who’s next, Santa?!” And I have numerous problems with that comment, but my main one is to ask if the guy who makes you sit on his lap is the best example to use there?
If the quote had been- “I can do what I want- punch them in the back of the head- and I can do it because I’m famous. I just can’t stop myself. I don’t even ask I just start punching” – this would be a much more clear cut argument, right? That’s assault! End of story! You sick bastard!
But you take it into the muddy world of female sexual identity and societal perception of collective ownership of the female form… well that gets a little harder to wade through. Because the boundaries are blurred (They really shouldn’t be, this should really be quite clearcut here.) and what is even seen as impinging gets muddy.
Let’s break it down:
Who can impinge? (No one, you ass.) What action is impinging? (If you have to ask- then that.) Is impinging so commonplace that it’s seen as okay? (Short answer yes. Long answer… also yes. Damn.) Is that how you spell impinging? (Turns out yes.) Is impinging really the right word I should be using here? (Ah. Yes, the perfect one. High five, Vocabulary.)
I am thankful that all the Trump signs make it easy to figure out where to not go trick or treating.
I was 35 and walking through our downtown with my husband. Some douche leaned out of a car driving by and aggressively yelled: “HOT CHICK!” at me. At us. I was holding my husband’s hand. I was wearing a maxi dress and just about as covered up as if I’d been wearing a burkha.
I have had the very good fortune of being able to share my story as a sponsor on the Desert Flower Foundation blog today and would like to share. Please stop by their site if you would like to read my story as to how I came to give to this charity to end Female Genital Mutilation and what it means to me- and to see a picture of Benita, the first little Desert Flower I sponsored.