…Molly Sandwiches you cannot deny.
The ingredients that make this wheat whole, grilled or deli cold. Watch out for the party toothpicks.
I learned to read when I was 4 years old, thanks to my English teacher grandfather; reading Shel Silverstein and doing NY Times crosswords on his knee. Many poems of “Uncle Shelby” helped shape who I am today… one of which has been on my mind a lot as of late:
Invitation:
“If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer…
If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!”
Simply elegant, sweet acceptance… I’m forever grateful for being introduced to such a strange and gifted poet so early in life; I know he unknowingly helped shape not only my world-view but also my general approach to literature and people.
What/who did you learn to read from?
This is an experiment of writing a blog entry in a slightly different format… allowing for a completely organic/sporadic flow and tangents. A mental-free-for-all, if you will.
Hopelessly Devoted to Whom?
This time last year, it was the start of another new year; but a loaded year… Loaded with lofty expectations and high hopes, all resting squarely on the shoulders of one bright-eyed intellectual. Though he made it clear we all need(ed) to take personal responsibility, acknowledging no one person can do it all and he could only humanly do his best with the tools and resources he had, people still viewed him unrealistically. As some more conservative folks might have put it dryly; essentially a false deity. It’s at this point nearly cliché to comment on the hope Obama instilled in this country when it seemed like we most needed it. He was wise to not phrase this hope and encouragement of higher aspirations with any specific end results or finalities. Now it seems the American need of instant gratification has attached itself to a shamefully apparent sentiment of those millions who vehemently praised their Obama last year: disappointment. I dare not even bother to get into the ridiculous criticism he received before the first 100 days even passed, but it became quite the sickening train-wreck to watch those lofty expectations wane and the momentum of disappointment gain. As much as I personally tried to keep from getting too wrapped up in the excitement of this new administration, I’m guilty of setting my expectations a bit too high as well. I feel like many of the same folks who were just as verbose about Obama’s immediate impact as they now are mum about their whittled enthusiasm likely all share one thing in common…
Helplessness. Passing the buck. Feelings of worthlessness.
It really seems as if many truly missed the deepest and most beneficial message Obama gave us during the 2008 elections. (and actually still touts). Based on my own path and the choices I’ve made to improve my own quality of life from the inside out, Obama’s biggest message is what actually inspired me to finally become a supporter of him in late August/early September 2008. Sure, people say “he’s a motivator”, “he inspires through his words”… But what does that mean? He repeatedly stated the American people have to pull their weight, have to do their work to truly make the changes our country so desperately needs. The missed message of accountability and helping one’s self. Also vague, I took that to mean work beyond making an income… beyond just getting by in any sense. Beyond settling. His words reminded me of my biggest fear of settling. Settling for mediocrity; settling for the idea of some sort of finality I’ll reach before retirement and being “done”. Settling for an okay job with okay pay, an okay skill-set, an okay fitness level, an okay set of goals, an okay set of friends, an okay romantic partner with an okay interest in me with an okay self-awareness, an okay existence. What the fuck kind of life is that? One that should be viewed as worthless of living.
[Me]-liability.
Regardless of what one believes spiritually, we can all agree we are here right now; we are here and (assuming generally acceptable physical/mental health) we are all accountable for ourselves… We are literally the only guaranteed constant we can rely on to be there in our lives. If I smell horrible because I chose to go dancing the night before or just sit at home reading or playing video games all day/week… Nobody else is going to freshen me up. I am the only one who is going to change that unhygienic situation. Even with hygiene, there is no end-result one way or the other… One can always become filthier and one can always become cleaner because as soon as we’ve cleaned ourselves, our bodies begin dirtying again. Now, there are several ways to get to that acceptable clean status as much as there is a gradient of what’s acceptable. If one guy take a shower every 3 days, he will always be dirtier than the guy who takes a bath every evening. Take that metaphor and apply it to quality of life in the sense of emotion well-being.
There never has been and never will be one definitive thing/person/concept/noun/action that “makes” us happy. Realizing the only person that can raise us up is indeed our own Self is essential to even beginning such a process. It’s said ignorance is bliss, but with all the miserable people out there ignorant of even a sliver of their own inner workings, that statement generally rings as “false” to me. Put a depressed individual in therapy for 15 years because “they need to be there” and no progress will be made if he/she has not interest in utilizing the tools given. Humans are funny in the way information is perceived, we may actually subconsciously want to “fix” ourselves; but even with the proper tools our brains’ subconscious still routes a path of least resistance.
An endearing phrase my father loves to embrace that at first listen seems crassly progressive, but really is the epitome of settling and underlyingly (creative adverbs ftw), the symptomatic American dream of materialism: “The more bread you have on your sandwich, the less shit you have to taste”. Settling is startlingly easy, for something that inspires so much sadness and disappointment; most aren’t willing to work to forge their way to a more fulfilling existence… Instead sticking to what they know and likely grew up with. Scraping their spoon at the rock with high hopes of tunneling through Shit Mountain which will probably lead them to an impasse. Shit Mountain spoon-scraping is so subtle that by the time exhaustion sets in, all you can eventually do is accept the shit and learn to live with it or turn around and start over (a reason I suspect people have mid-life crises). Some people are spoon-fed the dynamite to blast through Shit Mountain, but in the end the remnants of Shit Mountain still surround them because as it’s best said by Bat For Lashes, “a trophy of mercy is a trophy no more”. Though it would seem the most efficient way would be straight through, Shit Mountain’s contents will still be surrounding the person years or a lifetime after rather than simply taking the time to assess this obstacle/acquire the gear and learn how to keep Shit Mountain under-foot as it is scaled and conquered skillfully/efficiently/mindfully.
Take Back the Insight.
2009 was a lot of Things to a lot of people, but for the bulk of us; it seems trial and serious Work became overriding themes. In my own personal life, 2009 showed itself to be the most influential year of my adult life thus far; providing the most emotionally taxing and emotionally rewarding experiences beyond what I could have imagined prior to direct experience. It’s since dawned on me 2009 was actually what might be described as my “quarter-life crisis”… Though, more accurately it would be labeled as a quarter-life metamorphosis. The year started off with a bang in January (or perhaps the loss of one, as it’d turn out), a serious break-up from someone whom I love(d) deeply and was essentially engaged to be engaged to… Leading me on a long journey of reassessing every single value in my life. With the help of a dear mentor, I quickly realized in my last fraction of 23 I’d banked on and fallen in love with my previous partner’s potential, not the person. I also not only allowed, but enabled many of my values to be compromised and pushed aside as secondary concern not only in the context of that relationship, but within nearly all of my interpersonal relationships and MOST importantly… the inner-personal relationship with myself.
Not too long after that jarring incident, many other extreme highs and lows would follow; both pain-inducing and gleeful… As the year went on, I really began to embrace the concept of falling in love with myself… Putting Me first consistently instead of pandering to others, placating only what is best for the group at the cost of my happiness. This probably came off as selfish to some, but really it was being true to me… happiness became a deeply honest first priority for me. I pulled deeply into myself, an extreme extrovert who spent many nights home or coolly spending time with people I increasingly realized I had nearly nothing in common with… beyond a whole lot of surface views/mutual interests. The more important it was to me to share experiences with these friends that had Depth, the more distance I felt. This ruffled feathers of friends who were used to me being “the life of the party”, throwing that party, being the shoulder/the ear/the comic relief. As much as I stopped showing up to these friends’ various activities which centered around bullshitting usually under the influence, they stopped inviting me. I love bullshitting, but I realized that’s almost all I got from my main sources of closer friendship; the only deep conversations and moments I shared were when at least one of us was high and/or drunk. I realized, some time in mid summer that though I admire(d) and love(d) these friends in many ways; namely their lofty ideas/entertaining personalities/career paths… they all lacked one value I cherish(ed) highly: striving for and continually attaining increased emotional intelligence. I tried talking with a few of them about this concept, hoping perhaps my perception was wrong; but sadly communication wasn’t to be had on that level.
Losing nearly everyone I had hand-picked to let in, to be close with and share my life with in various contexts took a fucking serious toll, leading to some brutal depression which seemed to begin well before it was fact I’d lost them… I am still surprised (and albeit relieved) months later I was able to come to terms and feel at peace so quickly about the death of so many connections. Most all are still friendly with me, but I know we mutually will likely never be close in any sense and that’s okay. The upswing to that mess was of course the universe’s bunny-out-of-hat-trick… An amazing set of people came into my life whom I share most values with as well as a deepened connection with a true life-friend whom is both a sister and platonic life partner to me… Many might argue this positive balance is pure coincidence, but even as rational and often overly logical I can be; that is just ridiculous to me. I don’t attribute such things to luck or anything mystical, but I feel whole-heartedly people manifest what comes to them. A pessimistic quote by someone famous whose name I forget roughly states “Life’s lessons are just our mistakes.” Perhaps so, sir (of course I remember his fucking gender, but no name); but without mistakes, what have we got? Pride resides within all of us, we learn plenty from the words of others, written or otherwise conveyed… But only computers and eventually robots (oh, my beloved Data) can instantly process raw data into usable information. As humans, our brain has to receive the right updates at the right times to find such data applicable, we are our own producer and end-user.
Stop, Drop and Roll… I’m on Fire.
Through pain comes learning, through learning comes comprehension, through comprehension comes mastery, through mastery comes adjudication, through adjudication comes action.
As a woman, I know all too well the subtext we are taught even in my generation and even more so in generations past of how “honorable” it is to put others first. Since when did it become dishonorable to put one’s own happiness first? Pandering to others already had one foot out the door by the time my 2009 started, but even before the year’s end it got shoved off that moving train. It’s funny how harsh it sounds to say “I come first”/ “I’m in love with me”/”If _____ doesn’t fit into my path and subsequent continued happiness, it/he/she/etc doesn’t have much of a substantial place in my life”… At first glance, ‘twould seem as though that person sees life and relationships as transactional, but in reality; the ebb and flow of giving couldn’t be more pure, couldn’t be stronger. More than ever I want to share with and give to people whom I share values with… More than ever I feel I can read people accurately with benefit of doubt considered as much as rational consideration.
More than ever I feel I have a fucking backbone, beyond making sure a disrespectful douchebag gets his ass handed to him; the kind that encompasses “sticking to my guns”… listening to my intuition and trusting it… Which means absolutely not allowing anyone or anything to dangle impasses between myself and my path and/or values. These impasses, these restrictions usually are conditions pressed upon another due to conflicting value-sets. I know what I want out of my personal interactions beyond what I believe are standards: shared creativity, intellectual communication, mutual inspiration, emotional intelligence… Balance. When one stops looking at the potential of what someone can be and instead interacting with the person as-is, it’s amazing how much easier it becomes to actually accept someone! Not surprisingly, it’s much easier to allow natural growth towards or away from one another to occur.
A dear friend recently said to me,”Man, I wish I could date people how you do… It seems so fun to have that variety!”
My answer?
“What? Trust me… As fun as it is to be slutty, a variety of partners is not my preference, quite the opposite is, in fact…I want something of substance… But, my standards are high and I have no idea when I’m going to find a partner that not only measures up but also actually has the balls to form a deeper connection beyond sweet words and my vaginal walls.”
Believe me, I’m fucking tired of being someone’s convenience… Someone’s “GFE” (girlfriend-experience) until something about our interaction intimidates them into realizing they have some unaddressed fears, until they feel they have to choose between “independence” and a relationship, until their concept of saturation is reached and they allow no further progression for irrational and often immature reasons, until I’m told I’m “too nice” or “perfect”, fuck it. It seems as if too many feel that interaction initiation and reciprocation is no longer important because the initial “chase” is over, I let them in sexually and have made it clear I’m interested. Beyond my standards, I require a partner who knows how to read him/herself as well or close-to-as-well-as-me… No exceptions. I’ve learned people that fail at those things have no worth romantically to me. When it comes to dating men in particular, even the most open-minded ones seem to hold tight onto the stereotype women just want to settle down asap, have babies and cut off their balls… I’m not a fucking stereotype and definitely anything but typical. There’s a reason Serious Ex came back 6 months later to basically get engaged… He realized that line of thought was complete bullshit, he realized I’m atypical. Excluding the last part (come on, why would most women or anyone want to take their partner away from the things/people they love? That’s some serious self-sabotage to force someone to be around the other that much when it’s not a mutual choice… or it’s an open invitation to some seriously codependent static cling), I eventually want both of those… But realistically babiez can’t happen till at least 30 after I finish my N.D. and even then, let’s see how far I get finding a partner that is just as into adoption as actual birthing… A seeming rarity. Let’s be honest here, besides some blatant physical traits; men are attracted to my brain and independence… But it’s been my experience that those two things that drew them in begins to feel threatening when it becomes clear how unapologetically I embrace the Whore as much as the Madonna and inversely. Fuck you, buddy; I’ll match or exceed your sex drive… confidently wear form-fitting clothing and still pamper you with fresh-baked goods and a nurturing approach when I have time to do so.
To quote Amanda Palmer in Dresden Dolls, “Even though you knew it from the start, I’d rather be a bitch than any ordinary broken heart.” In fact, for the most part; “Good Day” by Dresden Dolls is an excellent description of how I foresee 2010 going for many people in my life including me.
Laugh it up.
So it seems I needed to take a six-month break from blogging. It was never much of a conscious choice, but I can assure life has been a whirlwind within those six months I’ve been absent. Well, no need to get into the intricacies, losses, gains, opportunities and wanes; but Molly Sandwiches is back with a fucking vengeance. Perhaps you could say: “Molly Sandwiches 2: The Relishing”. In any case, I have a backlog of over a dozen drafts; some of which will never come to light… many of which have been begging to. I suspect some of my subconscious distancing from Molly Sandwiches was also the concern that perhaps my posts were under no pointed purpose or direction… I am still not certain whether or not this is the case, but I do know that even more than before I will provide entries of substance and sumptuous flavor; dishing out deeper sautés to the best of my culinary ability.
Expect some additions of recipes/foodie & cooking entries as well as a… ::gasp!:: experimental web comic. I’ve made some strides with my drawing tablet and now can’t stop, so we’ll see. I hope to continue whetting the palate of my (few) readers and maybe get some constructive feedback too.
Much love,
*Molly Sandwiches*
In the instance either you don’t typically read up on these things or just have been hiding from the news (don’t worry, we ALL do it; decompression is healthy!); allow me to recap one sizzling side salad we should all be ingesting:
Not to be confused with the GOP, the GPO (Government Printing Office) accidentally released a highly sensitive document containing a detailed list (complete with most addresses and stated reasons) of all the nuclear facilities in the US. The FAS (Federation of America Scientists, aka government secrecy watchdogs) got ahold of the mistake and posted it before the GPO could correct it, thus- proliferation ensued. I haven’t read through the document in full yet as it’s a whopping 267 pages, so I won’t yet comment on whether I think it’s truly a “security risk” or not… But I do encourage everyone to download a copy.
From what I’ve read so far, it seems to show some of the R&D at these sites is focused on figuring out what to do with the facilities’ nuclear waste… in a profitable or “commercial” way. Regardless of whether there’s a risk… it’s leaked for good and it’s our responsibility to be well-informed about it. I’ll be posting more detailed analysis to the best of my ability with screenshots as I digest it, dissection isn’t out of the question nor should it be.
The conspiracy theorists within us may state that this “leak” was, in fact, intentional and this is to create distraction and/or lead “terrorists” in the wrong direction. I’m voting “unlikely” on this simply because of the fact that there are physical addresses listed for each facility.
What impact does the release of the nuclear sites document have on us as American citizens?
Nuclearly yours,
Lady Sandwiches
After a detailed conversation about it, I decided to read up on foot fetishism more in-depth. Wikipedia’s entry is interesting and surprisingly well-cited, though many references are ‘news’ articles backing up claims of certain celebrities’ foot-thusiasm.
“Foot fetish[ism] has been defined as a pronounced sexual interest in the feet or footwear. Freud considered foot binding as a form of fetishism.[3] For a foot fetishist, points of attraction include the shape and size of the foot and toes (i.e., long toes, short toes, pointed toes, high arches, slender soles, fat toes, long toenails, short toenails, small feet, toenail color), jewelry, toe rings, ankle bracelets, treatments e.g.: french pedicure, state of dress (i.e., barefoot, flip flops, or clad in socks or nylons), odor, and any form of sensory interaction, e.g. licking, sucking, tickling, people giving foot jobs.[3]“
Sure, we can all likely accept this definition without question. According to this entry, foot fetishism is the most common; so we all know someone who gets off on pedjoyment. I’ve actually caught a couple men giving my high-heeled feet the stare down, it’s fascinatingly flattering, considering I find my feet unsightly. I’d rather a strange man silently stare at my feet than scan my whole body with prodding eyes. 
Then ‘Treatment’ enters the Wiki scene a few points down in the entry. Wait- what?! Excluding extremism and delusional necessity, why would one need treatment for healthy sexual enjoyment of another human’s (or his/her own) body part beyond what is more typically associated with pleasure? Like most fetishes, sexual enjoyment of feet does not hurt anyone and, in fact, it does quite the opposite for said ped-thusiasts. Claiming the necessity of ‘treatment’ for bodily enjoyment is like saying a screen door needs to be blocked to disallow the cool summer breeze from grazing my face. And for what? Because it’s abnormal? That cool summer breeze may have smelled like peppermint instead of wildflowers, but that doesn’t make it feel any less wonderful.
I’ve long stood by my personal quote of “normal is just a stereotype of the status quo”, which in this case means: “enjoy your genitals and missionary position 2.5x a week”. Deviation of this to more fully enjoy sensory fulfillment is apparently a cry for a prescription.
More surprising is much of the wording in this entry: indicating that finding pleasure in feet is a choice. The article’s section entitled ‘Relationships to Health and Disease’, suggests that people chose to mix sex with feet as a safe alternative when gonorrhea was rampant among other STIs. (What about Scatplay’s relationship to health and disease?) This is like suggesting I chose to find that chick’s ass to be sexy or that guy’s smile to be alluring as opposed to the reality of me just accepting my interests and perhaps running with them. While Ms. Sandwiches respects and has deeply studied much psychological research, she calls bullshit on one’s sexual enjoyment being a choice. I highly suspect those people who were a bit wary of the outbreaks simply got creative with their bodies and realized there is a whole new world of enjoyment within their very own beautiful bodies, then passed on this information for others to try and discover for themselves. People don’t decide one day to just ‘like’ being rimmed or having their cocks footjobbed, they decide to try it and then possibly realize they love it. We are creatures of variety, it’s only natural to have a plethora of outlets for this.
Breaking News: Jerry and Sandra Watkins end 17yr relationship on grounds that Jerry pampered her feet and bought her gorgeous shoes too much, Jerry is now digging into his childhood to save his marriage and banish his enjoyment of his beloved’s feet. Crumpled up passages of biblical footwashing found in glove compartment of Mr. Watkins’ car.
I just stumbled across this amazing gem of a gadget on Babeland… It seems this might just skyrocket to the top of my birthday wishlist! A cute robo-vibrator that learns?! Complete proof we are living in the future and mere moments from our own sexbots.
I’ll keep this short and sweet, the video tells all and shows even more; I’m in awe. 
I figured this would be nice to lighten the mood after my last post… I wrote this back in late 2006 I believe, the last worthwhile post from the ol’ myspace blog.
*********************************************
Okay ladies, I think many of you can relate or at least understand where I am coming from here, and guys- just imagine as best as you can.
You’re walking down the sidewalk, not sexily or really anything special, just walking. You may be wearing a slightly fitted tee that gives an idea of your figure and just some jeans, again- nothing special. Walking along you are, then all of a sudden [most likely repeatedly] you are aurally accosted by the obnoxious honking of a mid-90s minivan. You know what the reason for it probably is and if you’re wearing shades, then it’s a smidgen easier to get a good glance without seeming obvious. Ooh baby drop your pants already, you’re thinking. It’s some fucker giving you those ‘come hither’ glances most likely accompanied by lewd… I mean sexy facial expressions and if you’re a lucky enough girl, hand gestures as well as outrageous comments. The ideal situation is when you’re waiting at an intersection and they pull up to a red light, it’s almost impossible to NOT jump in their family van with them.
Now, I’m sure all you boys may be wondering, “What are these guys doing or saying that’s so effective and how can I accomplish this to pick up chicks?”. Well, if you follow these simple steps then you’re well on your way to scoring ladies much like myself:
1.)
Make sure to not wash your vehicle for at least 1 month and drive on a lot of dirt roads, if not something filthier. [Note: if you're on a BMX bike, make sure it's muddy and squeaks a lot when riding by said girl of interest]
2.)
Do not ‘dress to impress’. I repeat DO NOT DRESS TO IMPRESS. It’s severely overrated… The more torn up and shit-stained your clothing, the better and higher chance of you getting laid-ies.
3.)
Please make sure to wear a filthy [Again, ideally shit-stained] baseball cap with preferably an animal or possibly something along the lines of ‘P.I.M.P’ or even a hand flying the bird.
4.)
Be or be able to look at LEAST 35 and have at least one child in the back seat.
5.)
Please please please, be missing at the very least your two front teeth! Now, if this isn’t already a reality for you, have someone curb-stomp your face. I am available most evenings and weekends to assist. [You can cheat here by using simple black grease paint to 'black out' a few teeth, but that is false advertising once you get the inevitable hot girl in your minivan. It's much like a chick with a dick tucking that shit under- someone's going to find out and who likes surprises... really?]
6.)
Don’t just limit yourself to dirty talk in another language, make it filthy. Aim to do this while hanging at the very least your elbow out the window, especially to the white girls. Females are never educated, so why would we know another language? Anything you speak out of your erotic lust hole is going to be nothing but silky poetry. ['Damelo cabesa ahora' or 'Chupame' are both great starter phrases]
7.)
Now, this one is more of an advanced practice, but please don’t get discouraged, it’s a man’s job of course- you’ll get hot pussy every time, guaranteed. Basically- you need to take one hand [note: it's best to use the one closest to the window for the most mobility] raise it to your face, lower all fingers except your index and middle fingers to form a ‘V’-like shape with the palm facing in. Bring your newly shaped hand to your mouth with the bottom of this ‘V’ closest to it. Next, open your mouth just enough to curl out a sleaz-… I mean sly grin whilst inserting your tongue past your oh-so luscious lips through that ‘V’ shape of your fingers much as you I’m sure normally do to a sexy and very eager pair of smooth inner thighs. Lastly, [though this is more a personal preference regarding the exact movements] move your tongue in an erotic fashion in such a way it emulates the oral sex I’m sure you often perform on many willing clitori. The more desperate and sloppily you portray it, the better. *This is essentially the créme de la créme [ie: most important part for you boys who have realized that education is of no importance to a true man] of the process, so make sure to include this every time you pick up a lady on the street or even in her home if you are man enough.
Well, there you have it- you males always ask for the ’secret’ to what women/chicks/sluts/beef curtain owners want and I got drunk enough to reveal it. Ignore those “touchy-feely” articles about relating to a woman’s inner sexuality and emotional well-being. We need none of that. All we need in terms of sex/relationships is a real man to just take charge and give her what he wants, as that is definitely what she needs. We ARE in the 21st century, people! Get a grip and succumb to the pleasures of heterosexual real men already. Fuck feminist ideals, men are superior and really do deserve the respect that fear tactics should have already infused into we inferior women with intellectual inferiority and emotional weakness(es).
I could literally host a lecture on this subject, perhaps I will soon enough at a local middle school… But I wanted to share this great little post over at Feministing, it touches on something everyone really should be aware and even more informed about.
I’m really not fond of giving attention to most celebrities, especially the ones that fail to utilize the power of their voices for something beyond trendy couture and public breakups (a soon-to-be-published post all within itself entitled ‘Fame Over’), but I feel the way the whole Rhianna/Chris Brown thing has played out is beyond disgusting… Glamorizing abuse could actually be a good message if it weren’t for the fact Rhinanna isn’t stepping into her new role as a domestic abuse ‘victim’ and is failing to make the choice of empowerment for all the young women (and men) that look up to her as a ‘badass chick’ and role model, let alone the grotesquely high percentage of those people who are in abusive situations. I barely am familiar with her musically and didn’t even know who Chris Brown was before this, but it’s blatent enough to recognize when people have a heavy-handed influence over their followers’ attitudes and choices.
It’s acceptable to feel bad for the abuse that Rhianna endured, but it’s unacceptable to excuse the fact she has gone back to that situation. People who get trapped in the cycle of abuse often seclude themselves at least emotionally, looking forward to the ‘potential’ of things changing and focusing on the supposed love shared. People in this situation need what happens publicized more than ever and shown that it’s not shameful or weak to stake claim on their experience. Rhianna is perpetuating the dangerous patriarchal mentality that even though we don’t say it, it’s the abusee’s fault and they must carry the burden of pretending like it didn’t happen and subconsciously it was deserved.
I commend Do Something for making this graphic PSA and utilizing the learning tool within a public relationship violence these two ‘lovebirds’ have been through and apparently are still in… Interesting that the reenactment couple is white, however.
Whether we’re aware of it or not, we are ALL in contact with someone who is either being abused or abusing someone… Abuse isn’t just physical, it isn’t just pushy coercion, it isn’t just neglect or rape; abuse is power… Abuse is controlling someone after breaking them down sometimes so subtly to the point where the abusee truly does feel worthless and as if it is their fault. Abuse it raw manipulation and can catch anyone within its web of mindfuckery, anyone. These people aren’t weak, some have even had training to take care of others in these situations; but all it takes is a certain spark to ignite a fire that sometimes completely engulfs. All are strong inside and need well-known public voices to step forward and admit what happened… to share their experiences, not show the world that even when all the details are online (I’m not going to link, no reason).
I was genuinely excited when this came to surface last month, I thought- finally! A spokesperson of inspiration for all the women (and men) who are in this same situation feeling hopeless… Perhaps I’m jumping the gun by assuming she won’t, but at this point; I doubt Rhianna will be a real woman and advocate. We have to spread the efforts of those like Do Something, the new White House Council for Women and Girls, Girls Inc and the Portland Women’s Crisis Line (among so many others) who are continuing to get inspired and put a collective strong voice to this realm of violence.
Claiming victory over getting more victims to come forward isn’t victory at all, but perpetuating the American view of treating the symptom instead of preventative actions to alleviate the baseline mentality that convinces namely men that it’s still acceptable to treat women like lesser creatures and convinces too many women that we can’t do anything about it.
I guarantee within 10 years’ time, true victory over changing the way our people think about this topic will come, call it cheesy if you want; but it’s fact.
…run away.
Seriously.
After a wonderful, but early-ending evening with the ladies at sushi and Boxxe’s…
Wait- let’s talk about Boxxe’s for a moment…
It’s a quaint, non-smoking and quite fun little gay bar downtown around 11th and Stark. We’ve been regulars there on Thursdays for ages, typically the only females in the damn place!
Some people may be familiar with the videos at CC Slaughter’s and Silverado’s (read: hardcore gay fucking)… When we first started coming there, Boxxe’s showed music videos on the big screen and corresponding on the screens above the bar.
Slowly, it progressed to dance videos of go-go boyz at various events…to videos of built, fem boyz making out and caressing each other… to that same genre of boys showering and ‘getting clean’, but still nothing sexual…to naked men touching each other and literally swinging their dicks around…to finally what we witnessed last night… Hard core dick in ass fucking. I’m not new to porn, I’m not new to seeing gay porn… but something about seeing it at a bar is very very distracting!! Every time I went up to order a drink, the bartender had to regain my attention. Am I disgusted or put off by these videos? Not at all, just so taken aback to see any sort of porn at a bar. I commend Boxxe’s and any alcohol-serving bar that will show porn, it’s awesome. Gay porn may not be my specific ‘flavor’ of choice, but it’s better than none at all and seeing it like that just made my mind wander even more than it already does.
Okay- after that romp, the Ladiez brought me home since K is student teaching and had to work on some stuff for the in-service today.
My roommates and I end up going to Noir where they are extremely good friends with the owner who is an absolute doll, she took really good care of us. 
So I’m standing around while two of my roommates are off somewhere, slightly inebriated and had been drinking whiskey sours off and on since 8pm (it’s now around 11:30ish). I had just set down my empty glass, thinking about getting another when this dude comes up to me hand out in front of my face.
“WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” he shouts through the blaring jungle beats as I return with a firm handshake.
“MOLLY SANDWICHES, WHAT’S YOURS?”
This skinny, shaggy-haired early 20-something wearing one of those lame engineer hats informs me he goes by Aaron. He asks me if I’m here with anyone…
“My roommates” I inform him.
Here’s where Ms. Sandwiches becomes surprised… After telling me how much he likes my ensemble (I was wearing all black except green high tops), he not only asks me what I’ve been drinking… he asks if I’ve yet paid for another (little does he know the owner is treating me) and proceeds to buy me a drink!
Random dudes NEVER buy me drinks…seriously NEVER. My mouth was agape that this nice guy actually wanted to do this and was obviously not a scumbag… So he returns with my drink, we chit chat a bit, he tells me more than thrice how cute/pretty I am…
“Not to be a pervert but…” I cut him off.
“If you don’t want me to think of you as a perv, don’t start your sentences that way” I quipped.
“Err, gotcha. I was just wondering if it would be okay to ask what your tattoo on your chest is…”
“Sure, check it out” I cooly reply as I pull down the bit of shirt that is covering the bottom half of my inkage.
“Whoa, is that the anarchy symbol?!” The lighting was dim.
“Whoa, no. Look again” I say as I step nearer to the bar in better lighting.
He looks, his eyes begin to widen… They dart back a few times from mine back down to the tattoo.
“Is… is that for real? Are you some sort of trekkie or something? YOU like Star Trek?!” He spews.
“Yeah, I dig it- got a problem?” I tease.
(I fucking kid you not- this is what happened next)
“Wow. You…you’re… wow. You’re too cute. TOO CUTE!”
He turned around and RAN AWAY. Literally ran away. My half-drunken mind couldn’t comprehend it and currently I still am unable to. He was there with friends, he didn’t leave… He came back downstairs eventually but avoided talking to me the rest of the night. I don’t understand- it was such a bizarre thing to do.
I’ll probably never know why he ran away- if it was out of fear, lust, disgust, or possibly overwhelming anxiety… But I do know he ran away.
Thanks, Aaron- you gave me a laugh and an experience I’ll never forget.
When one thinks of Star Trek (any series) and more specifically, its fans; images of said fans conjured up typically are of the greasy, heavy-breathed and sometimes even heavier-set variety who barely see the the light of day. Though this may be an accurate depiction of a good portion of the fanbase (see: Trekkies 1 and 2), there is the subset of day-walking individuals as well who have equally passionate love for all things Star Trek- yet they tend to have more nerd-shame than their more outwardly nerdy sisters and brothers.
It seems with the upcoming new Star Trek movie afoot, the marketers behind the Star Trek franchise are scrambling to lure in more of these ‘day-walkers’ (or perhaps bring the current ones out from hiding) as well as give all other current Trekkies that much more allure. Alternately, these tactics could be seen, by fans especially, as a cop out to the sexualization so prevalent in today’s society. Though I myself see a hybrid of the two as the likely answer, it’s best to let the reader be the judge.
Exhibit A: The Star Trek trailer itself… The first one more so than the newest one.
Sure, the last movie trailer for Star Trek: Nemesis featured a touch of romping- but nothing near what they could have revealed with it… Seeing as that sex scene in Nemesis briefly showcased was so much more sexually deviant (complete with literal mindfuckery) than I suspect the scene(s) in the new film likely are, one could argue that is why more is shown in the new trailers. Personally, I think it’s paying a touch of homage to the fact Kirk was a horndog, plain & simple.
Okay, okay… “So what? A measly trailer, how does this equal more sexualized advertising for the Star Trek marketing?” you say.
Let us move on to…
Exhibit B: Custom sexy Star Trek garb.
That’s right, for a mere $200.00 you can be the proud owner of a series-indiscriminate Star Trek corset. (Or I can, I’m currently taking donations) A far cry from the typical suits, this is sure to cause a stir in the Trekkie community.
Exhibit C: The clincher… Star Trek fragrances…
Three different scents are set arrive for sale in April, only one of which is for females and happens to be at least a smidgen sexist.
Tiberius
The Tiberius cologne, named in honor of the Mirror Universe James T. Kirk’s challenges users to “Boldly Go” with a perfume described as being spiked with “notes of freshness and sensuality.” According to Genki Wear, the perfume has sweet citron zest, black pepper, and cedar as its top notes (top notes refers to those scents that are noticeable first) and warm vanilla, white musk, and sandalwood as its base notes (scents perceived last, usually about a half hour after application). Genki Wear promises that “Tiberius Cologne for men is difficult to define and impossible to refuse” which is also a pretty good description of the Mirror Kirk himself.
Red Shirt
Genki’s “Red Shirt” cologne (whose tag line “Because Tomorrow May Never Come” is priceless) celebrates the sacrifices of those often nameless crew of the USS Enterprise. Described appropriately as a cologne for those with a “devotion to living each day as it could be your last” the cologne has top notes of green mandarin, bergamot, and lavender, with base notes of leather and grey musk.
aaaand… the cryptically mentioned:
Pon Farr
The most risqué titled of the new Star Trek fragrances is “Ponn Farr” which is a perfume designed to “drive him wild.” It should only be used once every seven years (okay, that isn’t true). Named for the Vulcan mating ritual first introduced in the episode “Amok Time,” this perfume is one of the newly designed products meant to appeal to female fans. More details and an image on Ponn Farr will be available soon.
(Errr, what about ‘Vulcanic Vixen’?)
Ignoring the disgustingly tasteless title for the ladies’ perfume, let’s focus on the text of each fragrance’s description… They are all highly charged with suggestive and quite alluring text. Whether it’s conscious or not, we are all always looking for ways to be more attractive or sexy… What a way for a nerd to get that much closer to nergasm with one of these scents.
Depending upon the success, I truly hope they don’t stop with these three… I’d love to see/smell ‘Emotional Android’, ‘Klingon Musk’, ‘Picardian Passion’, ‘Rhythmic Romulan’, ‘Beguiling Betazoid’, etc.
Between these three exhibits, it seems sexualizing Star Trek is higher than ever and I think I mostly am in support of it… I’d love to see what others think as well as any other exhibits or fragrance name ideas.
Make it so.
A lovely gem from PETA was uncovered today thanks to Nintendo Wii Fanboy, right in time for Cooking Mama: World Kitchen which debuts on the Wii tomorrow.
Cooking Mama: Mama Kills Animals is a carnage-filled PETA twist on the sexist and indulgent Cooking Mama series, though it seems its audience may find it more cutesy and fun than a reason to switch to tofurkey this holiday season.
On their website, PETA prefaces Mama Kills Animals with the following:
“In PETA’s Thanksgiving-themed parody of a popular Nintendo cooking game, Mama the Chef is evil and thirsty for blood! Try it now and see if you’re meaner than mama!”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say PETA is damn near pandering to the gamer audience with that language.
Sure, you bloody your digi-hands from feather plucking and the game is peppered with undercover slaughter videos and hard-to-swallow facts; but the internet crowd is albeit full of gamers who have been playing with rotting corpses and sliced limbs in far more graphic detail than a simple flash game-parody-of-a-children’s game could ever depict.
Why, we could even go all the way back to the innocent Nintendo 64’s Turok 2 and likely lose our lunch by the graphic depiction of the cerebral bore; a honing weapon that seeks out a foe’s head and bores in- causing the fluids to literally gush out while the target stands there convulsing until dead. Considering that game was released in 1998, PETA is just a bit behind the hinds in the gory gaming community.
PETA, if you want to really turn people’s desensitized stomachs; you need to get a more realistic approach to your web-based animal killing. We all need our outlets, splat us with some RL giblets too. But why stop at the internet community? Why not slaughter the home console sales? Why not slide an arcade game up next to the ever-popular Big Game Hunter series popular with the drunks in bars and hicks on the ranch? They already kill the animals, you need to go 10 steps further. Bring the slaughter to our baby-smooth city-slicker hands. Since it’s clear you all at PETA are suckers for parody, why not call it “Big Game Slaughter”?
A whole franchise awaits; Big Game Slaughter: Farmhouse Follies, Big Game Slaughter: Puppy Mill Peril, Big Game Slaughter: Turkey Trough Tromp and my personal favorite: Big Game Slaughter: Chicken Coop Carnage. In the BGS: Chicken Coop Carnage console edition (available through XBOX Live and Wii downloads), the player would start with a coop and a range of baby chicks. The player must inject hormones, clip beaks and provide the most inhumane conditions possible to advance in levels and be given options of chicken cannibalism and deformed bodies… sparing no cute chicken sounds or feathers a-flutter. The killing process would be the most fruitful for the player, a sort of ‘pay-off’ for how bad the player makes the conditions; using rapid tapping to bash their little heads in as fast as possible. Since players would be paying or willingly torrenting these games (that’s right- torrent can be a verb), the ‘bonus videos’ would not be optional.
Worried about being too gender-neutral? Powder your nose with “Let’s Makeup: Maim my Monkey and Call Me Sally!” Too wordy? “Beauty Beagles” is up for grabs too.
I get it PETA, you want to form a more community-based informational slaughterhouse for everyone… Good thing I’ve got that figured out too with the next MMORPG for the (un)ethical hearts in all of us; Animal Torture: The Gathering. In this colorfully graphic world, a player can band together or go rogue starting out with different classes such as: ranch-hands, novice reporters, the animals themselves, upstart politicians, animal black market serfs, etc. This world would be ever-evolving and brutally unforgiving.
Think about it, PETA- you could capitalize on the gaming addiction epidemic, market to nearly everyone technologically savvy and pay for it all with your own and various ethical companies’ advertisements. A measely Thanksgiving parody game isn’t going to do anything but whet the appetite, take it further- you’re a hard left organization… Put the bleeding heart back in liberal.
