The RN: Turning Over a New Leaf

I don't really have anything to say. Well, that's not exactly true I think I've written half of at least 3 more blogs, but none of them are close to being finished. And none of them seems like the right thing to say going into the New Year.

As some of you may recall, I didn't have the best New Year's last year. I am actively working to be happier about New Year's this year. I have worked to spend less time with people who don't respect my boundaries and for the most part it's working. I'm way less stressed than I used to be and in general everything is working out better.

So, for the first time in a while, I have no angry rant today. I know, I know, that's not as entertaining, but it's still healthier for me. I'm turning over a new leaf with 2016. I'm letting go of my anger and not letting things sit there and simmer.

I'll just leave you with this:

Happy 2016!

The RN: Calendar Worthy

So, I was super excited to see this new calendar was coming out. Historically this calendar was full of "hot naked chicks" and had been for decades. Next year the calendar will be full of successful women. Regardless of their size, shape, or age. I was excited to see a long tradition of objectifying women* turning into respecting women. Here's the picture of Amy Schumer:

Pretty awesome in my book.
Photo Credit

Then I ran across some jackhole who just had to turn into something stupid. I don't even want to read the original article, this commentary is enough to make me mad.

I don't understand why men like this think my worth as a woman, as a person, has anything to do with whether my picture makes his dick hard. Or why he thinks I care whether my picture makes his dick hard.

*Yes, reducing women to sex objects for viewing pleasure (by either men or women) is objectifying them. No, that doesn't mean I'm against pin up calendars or porn.

The RN: For the Love of Hoodies

I am clearly not ready to date again. For the first time in a long time, this weekend I found myself wishing I had a boyfriend. Not because I wanted the companionship. Not because I wanted the intimacy. Not even because I wanted the sex.

Doesn't have to be blue.

No, it was because I wanted to steal a hoodie or two from someone. I had to settle with borrowing my brother-in-law's hoodie for the day. No where near as awesome as "accidentally" putting his hoodie in your drawer.

The RN: Knocking Over Pillars and Pedestals

I got a little busy (lazy?) and didn't write a blog in August :(

I decided to take a break in August and mostly didn't do anything. And it was still an exhausting month. I did realize something. I finally felt like I got to relax. I hadn't realized how much pressure I (my friends?) were putting on me to be a certain way. I don't want to be a moral pillar. I don't want to be on a pedestal. I want to be fallible and make less then stellar choices. For that to be okay. To not be the voice of reason or to not be the a sounding board for whether something is okay.

It's not my job to be your Jiminy Cricket.

My month off has shown me I need to do more for myself. But what I need to do is not about so much how I interact with others, but how I interact with myself. I need to remember saying no and not going out with friends is sometimes more fun and just what I need.

The RN: Moist Panty Lines

**Warning: This blog may offend many/most/all readers.**

So I'm pretty sure 45% of the population hates this title. And at least 95% of those who don't hate it are guys. I have seen a bunch of articles lately talk about girls hating certain words. Some people have even done research on the topic. Okay, so maybe BroBible isn't the most scientific of sites, but still. The point is for the most part people are confused about why girls (and maybe some guys) hate words.

Words like: moist, panties, cunt.

Please tell me you've heard of The Oatmeal!

Or really anything from Victoria's Secret.

Yeah, I went there.

What's the first thing you think about when I say, "moist panties?" I'm going to take a not-so-wild guess and say a girl ready for someone to strip her naked and fuck her. And that's why girls hate those words, being sexualized on regular basis is exhausting. I've mentioned before how we are taught it's our job to say no, because there's this ridiculous idea floating around global society that men can't control themselves and therefore women are to blame for turning them on. Any claims about it being the sounds of words are silly, no one cares if you say hoist or aunties.

There's this inherit idea in society right now that women are sexual at all times and men are not. Case in point, it's actually working for women to paste male nipple over female nipples in pictures to keep from being "indecent". Nipples are not that different between males and females. It's absolutely crazy this is working. Female dress codes meant to cover the body so no one thinks of sex when they see it are another example. Somehow boobs are dangerous, but men walk around without shirts all the time and it's no big deal.

Nobody, men or women, is comfortable talking about what it really means to be a woman. Certain topics make people uncomfortable. Like periods, no one want to talk about periods or really even acknowledge they exist. Well except for tampon and pad commercials and even then they use blue water to show how they work. Seriously, blue water, like that's anything close what those products are designed to handle. How does blue water tell me anything about how well it's going to catch a giant clot of blood trying its best to ooze its way down my leg?

Some places are even censoring periods, like they're indecent somehow. Well I mean they are terrible to deal with and generally unpleasant. And I'm even talking about bleeding all over the place. Or overwhelming your "feminine product" (like terminology will make it safer) and leaking while still cleaning up from the last spill. Yes that happens, more often than you probably think. I'm talking about stuff like rinsing the shampoo out of your hair and getting the hair that fell out sliding down your back into your butt crack and getting tangled up with your tampon string. And then trying to get the hair untangled without pulling your tampon out, because you don't trust your body not to start spewing blood again while your dashing from the shower to the toilet to put a new one in. What? Just me on that one?

I'm talking about every 13 year-old girl knowing you soak blood in cold water because hot water will set the stain. But still having wives tell their 35 year-old husband to use cold water because they have no idea if their husband actually knows not to use hot water. Because why would a man have any idea how to get blood out of things? He doesn't have a period to deal with every month. I'm talking about sisters and friends sharing period stories about clots and blood trails with each other without blinking an eye and still not being able to broach the topic with their husbands or boyfriends because it's icky girl stuff.

I'm talking about your male roommate thinking you put a box of tampons in the downstairs bathroom so guests wouldn't have to be embarrassed by asking instead of so you didn't have to run upstairs without bleeding all over the place every time you started to feel a leak. I'm talking about feeling like you have to hide your tampon after digging it out of the secret hiding place in your desk while you walk to bathroom because God Forbid one of your male coworkers sees it and realizes you are a person and not a sex object. I'm talking about jokes like, "I don't trust anything that bleeds for 5 days and doesn't die."

I'm talking about cunt, a term for vaginas, being generally considered the most offensive word in the English language.

The RN: For Love or Lust

I realized something the other week. I finally realized why I got mad at all those guys and cut everyone off. Why I cut myself off. Why I have been on break for so long; not that the break is exactly over. It's pretty simple really; I'm kind of surprised just how long it took me to realize.

I may want to be touched, but I don't want to be used. I no longer want to be someone you call when you want to get your dick wet. Sure, it was fun at the time I was doing it, but now I want something different. I definitely went through a phase where I needed to rebuild my confidence in my ... sexiness, I guess. I wanted to be lusted after. I wanted to be the one guys wanted to sleep with. I wanted to be wanted. Even if it was only for the night.

But that's not who I am any more. I am in a different place. A healthier place? Maybe, but different to be sure. Here's the rub though, I'm not sure I'm ready to start dating. I wouldn't mind going out on a date here and there, but I don't think I'm ready for the kind of serious dating it would take to get to the kind of touching I want. I still have concerns about how well I would handle being in even a semi-serious relationship.

I want something someone new in my life. Someone who cares for me. Like, actually cares, not just looking for some fun. But, I'm also terrified of getting there.

The RN: Round Abouts Not Going to Play

I am having trouble understanding this trend where people (mostly guys) just try to get back in to your life out of the blue. If I have said good bye to you, I have said good bye to you. I'm probably not going to let you back in just because you contact me again. I may give people too many chances, but once I decide you're out it usually for a reason and you don't get to come back.

Not really an On Again Off Again kind of girl.

So, Pajama Guy. Again, still. A couple of weekends ago Pajama Guy called me. And left a voice mail. I don't know if that's good or bad. I mean at least he's not pulling that "you've got to call me back" crap, but here's the thing: I don't want to talk to him. There wasn't anything terrible in the message; it was just a "hey, how are you?" And it wouldn't have been too bad if he hadn't also texted me on the following Monday with a "May the Fourth be with you." Ugh. Don't get me wrong, I usually love May the Fourth, but this year I didn't want to have anything to do with after getting his text. I had to log off Twitter because all the May the Fourth messages were making me super angry. Because why won't he just go away?

I may have also been less annoyed at the whole situation if The Marine hadn't also texted out of the blue after 2 years on the Sunday in between. And then called this past Saturday morning. At 4am. No, I didn't answer. I don't answer my phone at that hour unless it's important. I'm sure nothing he had to say was important. He also left a "Hey, how's it going? I need to talk to you" voicemail. What is going on? Why are these people trying to get a hold of me? What do they think we need to talk about? I don't want to talk to them about anything.

I don't do on again off again. You are all off and cannot be back on. End of story.

The RN: Fifty Shades of Confused

I read all three 50 Shades books. And I saw the movie last month. But what I can't quite figure out is why everyone is so up in arms about it. I mean I understand it's not exactly main stream sex, and it's probably the most popular book in the main stream about BDSM. But people are pulling things out of thin air, well okay maybe not thin air, but at the very least out of context.

If you haven't read them already, you can get them here.

Here's the thing, you guys know I read smut, if you don't know that, you haven't been paying attention. I read all kinds of smut, but especially the free stuff on Amazon's Top 100 Free List. Well because it's free and why not? Most of it is pretty bad, I mean it is free. However, there are all kinds of smut on there, from romance novels barely counting as smut to stuff that's really intense. (Nope, not giving you examples. My reading list is mine own.)

I guess my point is ... I found 50 Shades to be a little ... tame. It's not really that far out there. Which, of course, is probably why it got so popular. Because it's just naughty enough to make the conservatives go ape shit, but doesn't really assume anything that out of the ordinary. Don't believe me? Have you stopped to think about the lyrics of Rihanna's S&M? Or watched the video? Number 2 on the Hot 100 Billboard chart. That's about as main stream as you can get.

Of course there's over the top stuff in the books. They're smut, er, romance novels. The only thing I found possibly not main stream was having a huge, red-leather covered playroom. But then Mr. Grey supposedly makes $100,000 an hour (that's about $183 million a year if he works "normal" hours, probably closer to $260 million considering how often he's working in the books). Of course he's going to have an over the top playroom. He can afford it with his over the top salary.

But I keep seeing "reviews" claiming there's all this rape in the story. Sorry, but no. There actually isn't any rape in this story. There's a myriad of examples, but most of them fall apart quite fast when put into context. For example, this site came up in a quick search. Here's what they use to "show" how he is raping her (text copied directly from site on 29 Apr 15):

Steele: "Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me." Holy crap. I stare at him open mouthed, and his fingers move from my ear to my chin. "What do you say to that, Miss Steele?" [...she says nothing...] I take pre-emptive action and launch myself at him. Somehow he moves, I have no idea how, and in the blink of an eye I'm on the bed pinned beneath him, my arms stretched out and held above my head, his free hand clutching my face, and his mouth finds mine."

Next, Steele says no.

Steele: He bends and starts undoing one of my sneakers. Oh no... no... my feet. No. I've just been running. "No," I protest, trying to kick him off. He stops. "If you struggle, I'll tie your feet too. If you make a noise, Anastasia, I will gag you."

Grey: He bends and starts undoing one of my sneakers. Oh no... no... my feet. No. I've just been running. "No," I protest, trying to kick him off. He stops. "If you struggle, I'll tie your feet too. If you make a noise, Anastasia, I will gag you."

So, right off the bat you should notice this site can't even take the time to properly attribute lines to the person speaking them. Also they gloss over pretty much every important part of the exchange giving any hint Ana wants this. First the [...she says nothing...] contains the following, "Desire--acute, liquid, and smoldering--combusts deep in my belly." So the implication somehow Ana is not into having sex is created entirely by where they placed the ellipsis. The ellipsis is also used to imply Ana is launching herself at him in anger or to thwart some kind of attack. In context she's launching herself at him in lust.

Then, they pull this little ditty. "Next, Steele says no." Um, no that's not next. That's like a page and half later. A page containing lines like, "He wants me, and this does strange, delicious things to my insides." and "'Trust me?' he breathes. I nod, wide-eyed, my heart bouncing off my ribs, my blood thundering through my body." (pretty sure that's consent right there, although admittedly not verbal consent) and "I'm tied, literally, to my bed, and I'm so aroused." It's also very clear from the context Ana is worried about her stinky feet from having run earlier not actually saying no, she doesn't want sex. There's also a line where's she worried about underwear she has on, "Oh--what panties am I wearing?" Not really thoughts one would expect a rape victim to be thinking. Although, I make no judgements, maybe that is what she would be thinking if she were being raped, but the rest of the context doesn't support the rape theory.

What it also ignores is the previous context of Ana and Mr. Gray's sexual relationship. They are both aware he likes to control her and they are both aware they both like it rougher than the "standard" excepted by society. But there's actually nothing wrong with that. People should be allowed to have sex in their own way with their own comfort level in what they choose to do.

The thing is this story can be spun in many, many ways. If I choose to spin it in a very different way than the authors of the site mentioned above ... I would say it's a character study. Yes, a character study of a very trouble young man who has been using absolute control in business and personal affairs to attempt to hide the pain and anguish of abandonment as a toddler and sexual abuse as a teenager. The story develops around his attempts to continue his using his coping mechanisms in the face of developing feelings beyond the scope the coping mechanisms can handle. About how he learns to deal with real emotions and stops hiding behind the facade of control while he falls deeply in love for the first time. As told by the lover he falls for; set against BDSM, you know, to make it more interesting.

The RN: Random Thoughts

 This is another one of those posts I started forever ago and couldn't quite form into an actual blog entry. I feel like these people actually get it. They have a positive message about what's going on, or they're catching the clue.

I have always hated that being a woman in very male-dominated field makes people believe I should be into man bashing. That is not all true. I don't condone misandry any more than I condone misogyny.

It's not about what she was wearing.

It's not about what he thinks he's entitled.

It's about her choice.

My belief is that women have been naturally selected to choose high status men based on their behavior first, and then their looks and accomplishments second — as looks and accomplishments tend be products of high status behavior, not the other way around. This high status behavior is a man who is comfortable with his vulnerability, who isn't afraid to express who he is, warts and all, to the world. This plays out in multiple arenas — in the life decisions he makes (Part III), the extent of his courage (Part IV) and the way he communicates to others (Part V).

- Mark Manson

The RN: I am NOT a Toy

I am a person. I have feelings. I have an opinion on almost everything (even if it's apathy). I mostly certainly have an opinion about how I spend my time and what I do with my body.

I have been doing some serious thinking lately (thanks to therapy). I realized many people have stopped asking me to do things. They are assuming I'll do them. There is an ongoing pervasive belief that I don't have plans already. Dear everyone, you are wrong. I do have plans. They may or may not involve you. I do not owe you my schedule. If I have plans and don't tell you about them, that's normal not an affront to you or our relationship. It's my time. I get to decide if I spend it with you or someone else. Your assumption I don't have plans is actually offensive to me.

I don't have to ask you if I want to go do something. I don't need your permission. We don't have that kind of relationship. If you are under the impression we do have that kind of relationship you are mistaken. You do not own my time. I own my time and I can do whatever I want with it. Including not spending it with you. Especially if we just met, but even if you are my best friend. If I want to spend my Saturday night doing laundry and paying bills, then I get to. It's not my job to keep you entertained. This is same attitude street harassers and cat callers display:

It was never about how it makes women feel. It was always about how it makes men feel.

Look, I get it. Commutes can be boring. Cities can be lonely. The desire to go back to some fictional idealized 1950s small town where everyone knows each other and makes small talk all day long can be strong for some people.

However, if you’re an adult, it is your responsibility to entertain yourself and manage your own emotions — hopefully with help from friends and family. It is not the responsibility of random women you do not know to entertain you or smile at you on command.

- Why Dudes Don't Greet Dudes

You aren't entitled to my time, and you certainly aren't entitled to my body. I mean this in a very broad sense and a very personal one. In a broad sense, this means you (both you a person and you society) can't tell me what to do with my body. Whether that means not telling me what to wear or not telling me I should want to have kids. I have already talked about how I don't want kids here and here.

In more personal way, you don't have the right to my body. You aren't entitled to touch me without my permission. Did I invite you to touch my thigh while complimenting my dress? Did I invite you to escort me by putting your hand on my back? Did I invite you to touch me while I slept? No? Then back the fuck off!

I don't think guys understand what it does to us when they touch us without permission. Just because we aren't yelling and screaming at you doesn't mean we are okay with what is happening. If we respect you, we will probably have a conversation about it. But we probably won't really tell you how uncomfortable it made us, because that would just make us more uncomfortable. Your lack of understanding doesn't make it any more okay. It makes me think of the woman in Crash, who got felt up by the cop and then he was genuinely surprised when she shied away from him later when he was actually trying to help. I find it truly sad he is shown as the nice guy who went wrong. Nope. He's an asshole. And encouraging this behavior is damaging to women. This picture series is a little over the top, but not wrong.

I am not a toy. You don't get to play with me when it suits you. I am me. I get to decide about me (hm, this seems to a recurring theme).

The RN: Let Me Be Blunt

Defining women by their ability to reproduce is rude and misogynist.

When you tell me I am only worth my ability to reproduce, it's merely a fancy way of saying you only want me around so you can fuck me. Oh you don't think that's what you're saying? How exactly am I going to get pregnant? Someone is going to have to fuck me for me to get pregnant. Stop hiding behind your sanctimonious bullshit and realize what you're saying!

The RN: I'm Disinclined to Acquiesce

Happy Fucking New Year!

My New Year's Eve might have gotten started off on the wrong foot.

Long story short: my old company is likely paying me a bonus for a patent I helped author while worked there which didn't get awarded until this past summer. The company may have some other employees involved in the process which made what should have taken maybe 3 or 4 years actually take 9 years, almost to the day.

So, of course, Pajama Guy, remember him?, just has to be the one person still at the old company and driving them to pay the rest of us our bonuses. According to him everyone but me has already gotten their bonuses. Somehow my bonus got all messed up making this yet another situation Pajama Guy is now using to force me to talk to him. He has a habit of calling but not leaving voice mails and texting me to call him until I either call him back or answer my phone. And he won't give me all the information unless I actually talk to him on the phone.

This has been going for quite a while now. When he found out the patent had been awarded he called me. Twice. In the middle of my nephew's family birthday dinner. Which I didn't answer because I was in the middle of fucking family birthday dinner and that shit is rude! Then he started texting me to call ASAP. So I looked at my sister and nephew and excused myself to go call him. Because I knew the patent was hanging out there and there might actually be something I need to do before some government deadline to help us get the patent. Nope, nothing time sensitive, nothing I actually had to do, just him forcing me to call him.

Really not amused by the forced phone calls.

I get it. It's exciting; we had just won a patent. But maybe that doesn't require me to talk to you this instant. Maybe you could have just sent me an email or text actually fucking telling me what is going on instead of forcing me to call you. Maybe I wasn't answering my phone because I was fucking doing something important. In fact, I consider my nephew's family birthday dinner more important than having a patent awarded. So I stepped aside and called him. When he answered I stated, "You have 30 seconds. I am at my nephew's birthday dinner." Aka, I have a fucking life that actually doesn't involve catering to your every fucking whim.

Here's the thing - he's not entitled to my time. He doesn't get to choose if and when I talk to him. Okay, so maybe I'm still working on this part. But he's trying to control it. Just the other week he was playing the "call but don't leave voice mail" game. I finally answered because I was near my phone (usually not a given during the work day) and I was sick of playing his games. I was tired. I was at work. I really didn't want to talk him at all, but possible bonus check. So I was less than enthusiastic when I answered the phone. This, apparently, wasn't good enough for him. The first thing he said was, "What's wrong?" What's wrong?!? You're calling in the middle of the fucking work day when you know I'm not near my phone and expecting me to be ... what? Happy? Did he really think I was going to answer the phone with "Hey, Pajama Guy, I haven't been happy to hear from you for years now, but I changed my mind. Let's fuck tonight!" Not fucking likely! My response was, "I'm at work. What do you want?" Then he asked if I wanted him to call back later in the day. NO!

All of it! All of the NO!

I don't want you to be calling right now. I definitely don't want to talk to you more than once in a day. Just ask or tell me whatever the hell you think you need to say so I can get off the damn phone and get back to work. Ain't nobody got time for this. It turned out he might have partially figured out what the hold up with the bonus was and could I possibly send him some documentation to help clear up the issue the company was having. Sure, some info I don't particularly mind sharing for the chance at a bonus check? Yep, that's fine. What is not fine is that you already fucking sent email about this 5 minutes before you started calling me. Ask for the documentation in the god damn email you sent me! Seriously, STOP FORCING ME TO TALK TO YOU ON THE PHONE!!!!

Oh, right, New Year's Eve, that's what I was talking about. So on New Year's Eve Pajama Guy sent me a text, well 3 actually. And it set me off. By that I mean, I lost it. Big time. I almost hung up on my sister. I sort of tried to hang up on my mom, but I was too upset to hit the button on my phone. She was trying to be helpful, but I wasn't ready to hear solutions just yet. I was crying and screaming and raging for over two hours. I lost my voice. My face was puffy and swollen for days. My sinuses got so swollen I got a sinus infection. I had no idea how to respond. I actually waited two days until I was seeing my therapist so my therapist could help me write a response. Here's what set me off.

Oh look, now he's trying to force me to talk to The Ex.

Now this might not seem that bad. Sometimes I think I over reacted, although my therapist tells me my anger is healthy. Here's the thing though. I don't want to talk to The Ex. I haven't talked to The Ex since I finally got off the title of his house in September. I also don't want anyone else to talk to The Ex on my behalf (that's almost as bad as me talking to The Ex). I also don't want Pajama Guy to know I'm not talking to The Ex. It's not his God Damn business if I'm not talking to The Ex. Pajama Guy and I aren't friends. We were friends, but he fucked that up, by, you know, sending me silk pajamas in the mail. It was totally inappropriate. I was upset when I saw a package from him. I was even more upset when it seemed like there was clothes in the package. Clothes that didn't seem like a T-shirt or something (not that I would have been happy about a T-shirt) since it crinkled like it was wrapped in plastic. I was horrified and nauseous when I actually opened the package. I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I sent them back to him. At his house. With a note saying it was totally inappropriate for him to have sent them to me.

He apologized. I mostly accepted the apology, but didn't really talk to him for a few years. Then I gave him another chance (remember how I'm too nice to guys?) and he fucked that up too. We went to dinner. We were talking and the place was closing. So we went across the street to a bar to keep talking (we hadn't talked in years we had stuff to catch up on). He touched me. NO! Not in a gross way, but in a I-have-the-right-to-touch-you way. NO! He put his hand on the small of my back and lead me, like we were on a date. NO! We are not on a date. NO! You are not allowed to assume that level of comfort with me. NO! You will not be given another chance. Oh, wait, I still sort have to talk to you since we have a patent application outstanding. Fuck!

I would be uncomfortable with any current or former coworker touching in me in such a manner. That is a level of intimacy I am not comfortable extending to my coworkers. At the time I ignored it and tried to create more physical space between us. It worked for the most that night. But I have been uncomfortable about him ever since. And I realized I don't really want to have anything to do with any more. But again, here is another man in my life using money to control me. (In case you missed it, that was one of The Ex's favorite things to do.)

So then last week, I get another package in the mail from Pajama Guy. Fortunately it's was too small to silk pajamas, but I was still really uncomfortable and nervous. It was a nerdy girl lego. And I'm really annoyed that I actually, really like it. I like it a little less since Pajama Guy sent me a text with a lego guy and a cup of lego coffee a few days ago. He is using this whole bonus check thing to try to entice me into a friendly conversation. I am currently refusing to respond to anything not directly related to the bonus or the patent. He doesn't seem to be catching the clue, but if this alleged bonus check ever arrives and I stop talking to him he should hopefully notice then.

In the meantime, I am disinclined to acquiesce to any attempts to control my behavior.