proof is in the pudding

Nothing happens in a vacuum. I can’t pick one fight because, you see, they are all related. F*ck the f*cking f*ckers. Elon Musk said he would put a baby in Taylor Swift. He wrote it as if that’s what she was asking for all along. As if that’s the message he received through her subtext. And what’s maddening is that maybe in his pea-sized brain, that is what he hears her saying when she fights back against the men in the world telling her what she should or should not do with her body.

If men don’t listen to our words as we mean them, what recourse do we have? We can avoid them. Live our own separate lives in small apartments alone. Carry on helping one baby at a time: a band aid on the knee, a steady set of hands to open a juice container, a well-timed hug. But we are never free to live without fear that one of those men might get so lonely and angry that he’ll hear what he wants to hear and justify a rape for our own good. Bullshit.   

I am not sick of being a woman. I am sick of living in a world with Elon Musk and his sycophants. You know, the ones that read his tweet on his soapbox platform[1] and aren’t immediately compelled to distance themselves from a dangerous psychopath. Why don’t they see him for what he is? Or is he too rich and well connected for it to matter anymore? When you have enough cool toys, you can get the other boys to play with you no matter how much your laugh makes their skin crawl. I want a turn with the flame thrower.  

Do they think we don’t notice?

I watched the recent debate and spent a portion of my therapy session this week recovering from it. Maybe I’m particularly sensitive or maybe that’s where we are politically, it’s hard to say. In my opinion, the whole thing was over at the start when she had to chase him down for a handshake. What a self-centered ass. I bet he thought everyone watching was only waiting to hear his brilliant concepts of plans. A few questions in and his routine fascist double-speak was falling on educated ears and he couldn’t gain any traction. It might help the candidates if we brought back the live audience. While we’re at it, let’s pass around a few baskets of overripe tomatoes. The dry-cleaning bills would increase, but we’d see some accurate polling.

I am sad that we live in a country where an experienced, rational woman proposing nuanced ideas is in a dead heat with a convicted felon. He was convicted of crimes against the country he wants to control, by the way. When someone says they don’t like the guy, but they’ll vote for his policies…? What exactly are these persuasive policies so convincing that you’d give a guy like him free reign? My pessimistic brain says the only reason you’d continue to support a man who lies like he’s breathing and changes his questionable morals with the direction of the wind, is because you admire the tactic. You wish you could be a little more like him. Not caring at all about what you become in the interest of almighty Gains.    

I can’t live like that. Don’t get me wrong, there are days when I would trade the world for not giving a shit. Sometimes I think about canceling my monthly charitable donations and using the money to purchase the sickest sneakers of the day. Then I search inside myself and find that it’s the sneakers I don’t give a shit about. You know, the last time I went in for an eye exam, my optomologist tried to sell me on a sneaker app. That’s very interesting sir, but I’m happy with a sensible pair of Dr. Scholl’s. Now, about my eyeballs? For now, my donations persist and I am hopeful they get where they are intended–onto the dinner plate of an anonymous eight-year-old in a house down the street. Is there something wrong with me? My therapist promises there is not. I trust him.

So, it’s hard to focus my attention on a single goal when the problem seems to be the men put in charge of solving it. I’ve tried to maintain a respectful discourse. I took them at face value and explained away their misused words. Surely, they didn’t mean it that way, their emotions got the better of them. You know how men are.

Although it doesn’t seem to be working so I need to reevaluate. I’ve been abiding by a motto I learned from the Simpson’s. There is an episode where all the commercial mascots come to life and start destroying Springfield. The day is saved when Lisa and Paul Anka sing a jingle. “Just don’t look! Just don’t look!” and all the monsters die without the town’s attention. For a while this was my method for all things moronic. I refused to feed it with my focus.

Careful observation found that method, while effective for fictional mascots, doesn’t seem to work the same way with the humans here in the real world. The lack of attention seems to embolden them to become more hysterical, more attention seeking. So, I think it’s time to switch it up. Shine a light on it. There is a discourse to society, and if you play games with it, in the end you will be seen as a fool. If you can’t pronounce your opponent’s name after several months of hearing it daily, you sir, are a dolt and will be treated as such. If many of your supporters believe you are backing an evil doctrine and you claim you know nothing about it and thus can’t distance yourself from it, you are an irresponsible idiot. If you assume you could absolve the rage of one of the world’s most influential women by mating with her, you are a delusional prick. Let’s look directly at these men. Let’s see them exactly as they show themselves to us.

Why say it if not to just quiet her down? Explain us your intention, Musk.

I went grocery shopping today. It’s a new thing I am trying. Achieving a semblance of routine. First, my local market for fresh produce. And man I’ll tell ya, I am all up in the ass of that tomato for the smells. There is nothing like the scent of a fresh tomato that has never been stored in darkness. The shop keepers know it too. The juicy ones are always right up front warming in sun. I’ll go through a couple of them while I’m there. Really try to identify the farm. *manifesting *fingers crossed emoji** But I only buy what I can eat. I go to an efficient chain for the rest of the ingredients needed. Today I made an extra stop at Target for dental floss and other weird things, and I stumbled upon a dinosaur bathmat. Naturally, I am the new owner of said bathmat. Now every time I take a shit, I can think of a t-rex. It’s the little things.

I’m back in my place now writing to you on this Sunday afternoon feeling grateful for the lessons of the morning and to myself for choosing to spend the time I am given on this earth in a way that is meaningful to me. And again…to myself… for making that meaning be good. I am most grateful to all the connections I made when I took a walk around town. Connection keeps us human.  

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[1] The platform everyone still calls twitter even though he tried to change it to something cryptic–we know what it really is