Disclaimer: Explicit Language – Because Someone Grabbed My P****.

Maybe he didn’t grab it. Perhaps it was more of a slap. I don’t know, and to be frank I have no obligation to explain details – he put his hand on my private parts, end of story. It doesn’t matter how, when, why, where or what the specifics were that day. What does matter, to me anyway, is that I call him out publicly, in hopes that he stops being such a goddamn creep.
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I’ll tell you the whole story, but first I want to let other people know, if you’ve been disrespected, or sexually harassed – stand your ground. The humiliation does not lie on you. Maybe it doesn’t seem significant enough but at the very least… call them out. Spread the word, because shame on them, not us.
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So anyway, I went to a bar to celebrate my friend’s birthday and a guy took it upon himself to grab my crotch, unprovoked and absolutely uninvited. He legit, Donald-Trump-Pussy-Grabbed me. This man was, and is not a stranger but he’s certainly not a friend. I’d maybe call him an acquaintance if he wasn’t such a douchebag, and if that term didn’t sound a little friendly. Unfortunately, our lives seem to cross paths about once a week, so I was less than surprised when he was also there to celebrate.
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I was walking towards the bathroom when the birthday girl and crotch-grabber started walking in my direction, excited because they had just won some money on the gambling machine. Happy for her, who shouldn’t win on their birthday? I hugged her, not paying much attention to the guy at the center of the story. This is when it happened. I felt it, grasped my friend’s face and with wide eyes exclaimed:..
OH MY FUCKING GOD, HE JUST GRABBED MY PUSSY!
Yes, I am a lady, and sometimes ladies use that word also. Especially when the situation calls for more serious vocabulary, of the colorful variety.
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I walked away, shocked, passing another friend and without hesitation I told her too. I did not, and still do not care who knows. I have no interest in protecting him and ideally he’d be as embarrassed as humanly possible.
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So, here we are.
After I exited the bathroom he approached me, and hold onto your shorts folks because you’ll never guess what he said to me. He did not apologize, rather told me that I need to simmer down. Me. Simmer down. I am not typically one to have a filter, and looking back now I’m disgustingly surprised that I did not lose my shit on him right then and there. I was so offended that I simply walked away.
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Then, after already taking it upon himself to make my body his entertainment, and after his snarky attitude followed… he had the audacity to approach me yet again.
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He rested his elbow on my shoulder, I looked up at him and plainly stated: My husband will kill you. His response? “Are you threatening me?” If you didn’t stress that statement with a solid douchebag accent, feel free to re-read it. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, while all of this is taking place my husband is at the event with me. That takes balls, his confidence is astounding.
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I don’t know if he’s stupid enough to believe women, married women at that, are into grotesque social graces such as those or if he’s simply just a tasteless little boy with a lack of morals. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m not impressed, and sincerely hope he finds himself reading this and feels even the most mild sense of shame.
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This happened three month ago. Initially I kept this from my husband because 1.) I didn’t want him to go to jail and 2.) I didn’t want to put myself, or my man in a position where he’d have to ask me – Why would he think it’s okay to do that? It’s a fair question. Why did Creeper McCreeperston feel like that was okay? What gives someone that caliber of entitlement? I have no answers, but secrets out. Now everyone knows.
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So to you: you know who you are, you know that other people know who you are. I’m hoping that since I got this off my chest I can finally start doing what you asked and simmer down. None of the questions I asked here require an answer, you’re not worth my time. I’m not threatening you, but politely warning: don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, and keep your fucking hands off me. Don’t offer to put my drink on your tab, and stop pretending that we’re friends. To me, you’re nothing more than a disgusting bar rat. 
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Thanks, Walgreens Lady

Got off from work the other night, latish, around 10pm and made a quick stop at the local Walgreens. The hubs was fiddling with our vehicle so he strolled in a minute or two after me.

As I was checking out, he lagged behind near the end-cap. I heard him mumble something and I gave a kinda-quiet, what? He was talking about the new Lay’s flavors but I was too focused on getting outta there and home that I didn’t try hard enough to listen or respond. I know, wife of the year.

A woman who might have been training the young man helping me said something to him softly, something like, I didn’t think there was anyone else in the store. I took a look around and noticed my husband had wandered off and I figured maybe he had startled her.

She was cautiously walking in his direction when I said, I think it might just be my husband. She breathed a sigh of relief, which baffled me, I took my change and she blurts out:

I thought that man was bothering you!

Here, all along she thought this creep had followed me into the store and was trying to pick me up by talking about the new Lay’s Flavors. Keeping in mind that one is, Crispy Taco, and if said-stranger bought a bag I’d probably hop into his white kidnapping van, super irresponsible like.

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But With Tacos…

All jokes aside, I was most impressed with this woman having my back. She did more than just observe, she went looking for him. So, thanks Walgreens lady.

Appreciate you watching out.

Happy Birthday, Jenny!

I moved around quite a bit as a kid, changing schools and attempting to make new friends quick enough that I’d never be labeled, “the new girl”. In sixth grade it was as simple as having the same name, quickly becoming best friends with Jenny Hoffman.

We had notebooks we’d pass back and forth gushing over our latest crush, fully equipped with nicknames – based on their initials, of course.  We lived close to each other, but not close enough to share a bus stop so we’d alternate, meeting half way between our houses because best friends do not make entrances onto a school bus alone.  We also had (have, if we’re being serious) nicknames for each other… Fur-Fur and Imp – we were pretty unstoppable.

When I think about the shit we got into I often wonder how we are still here to talk about them. Both of our parents considered the other the bad influence when in reality, depending on the day and whose outlandish idea was better for that moment, we both were.

Today is Jenny’s birthday, and as a gift I’m documenting my most favorite memories of us.

Pizza Party

Not for us, for unsuspecting folks like our sixth grade teacher and a few others. We found it hilarious to call Pizza Hut and order pie’s for people, but it did not stop there. When we were able, we’d perch ourselves up on the hill outside and watch them get delivered. Looking back we probably should have felt bad for the delivery driver more than the recipient.

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College, Cat, and Cornfield

While visiting Jenny at college she had a simple question for me: Have you ever driven through a cornfield?  Growing up in the cities, this sounded intriguing: Sign me up!  When two nineteen year old girls borrow a car (please keep in mind that this was not our vehicle) to speed through a cornfield, what could possibly make the decision worse? Let’s bring a cat with us. This actually happened, people. It wasn’t our proudest moment, but hot damn did we laugh hard. She drove, I held the kitty. It was all fun and games until  we began spinning out of control, I was screaming at the top of my lungs and looked over to my BFF – there she is, perfectly calm, claiming: I got this, I got this… The car came to a halt and while she looked for the cat I sat examining my scratched up body, just happy to be alive. This was the night we realized we were indeed, ride-or-die bitches.

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Jenny’s College Days, My Visiting Days

Band – Last Two Chairs

We both played the flute and if you’re familiar with band you know about the “chair” system to show how great you are, or how much you suck at playing an instrument. Maybe it’s supposed to push you to be better, Jenny and I? We were last and second to last chair consistently and never got any better, and we did not care. We had a great time pretending to play at the concerts and socializing during class.

264698_10150300792770452_2736098_n.jpgCosmos Upstairs

We sat up in her bedroom one night and made Cosmos. I do not remember how old we were, but absolutely not 21. I do not even know if they were actually cosmos, but I trusted her bartending skills then just as I would now. I’m not sure if ‘cosmo night’ was the same night we decided to play out an entire photo shoot and tell each other how hot we were. I mean, look at these pictures, we probably should have sent them to agents or something – is that how modeling works?

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Kinsmor Drug

My first job, at fourteen years old, was cashiering at a drug store. It wasn’t long before I recruited Jenny and we basically ran the place. We worked a lot so we could afford to walk to the mall and buy one shirt from Abercrombie & Fitch with our earnings. We had creepy boys come in and flirt with us, and we liked it – giving them discounts on disposable cameras…because those were still a thing then. We had full access to the magazine rack, providing us free Teen Bop reading pleasure and while I hope we didn’t steal the posters, I wouldn’t have put it past us.

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Phil, the pharmacist is pictured at the bottom.

Karaoke Videos and Stickers

Do malls still have the karaoke booths? If not, they should. We choreographed these things, like, legit practiced dance moves and executed them (not so) flawlessly in a 4×5 box. If I had to guess, we did this at least 10 times. Picture this: Lisa Loeb, Stay, matching tye-dye gap purses and terribly frizzy hair. We’d exit the box after our stellar performance and wait for the VHS to pop out of the machine so we could run home and watch it, and talk about how awesome we were. Looking back, this hobby of ours (yes, I called it a hobby) was my favorite. The mall also provided us with picture booths and The Limited Too had the best one – it made stickers out of your photos. What more could we want? We stuck those bitches everywhere. The metal poles at the tennis courts in Richfield probably still have the faded goodness on them.

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Grand Am

It was with Jenny that I stole my step dad’s car to skip school and go shopping. I will take credit for this idea, but let’s get real – she thought it was a spectacular one. You can read the full story here… but just know that I drove from Wisconsin to Minnesota, picked her up at the bus stop, bumped to some Missy Elliot, threw some tuna fish sandwiches out the window and got home without getting caught – until three or four years later.

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Jenny is one of those people who entered my life at just the right time, I sincerely hope that our children will find friends like we were for each other… while especially hoping they don’t do half the shit we did.

Happy Birthday, Jenny!

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Y is for Yelling [At Kids In The Alley]

I took a right turn into the parking lot and saw two young boys, if I had to guess I’d say around 10 or 11 years old. They were huddled near the garages of the townhouses I used to reside in, bikes laying on the ground beside them. Driving pass slowly I tried to observe what was going on and at the last second before turning into my parking spot, I took a glance in my rear-view mirror.

These little shits are starting fires!

I slammed on my brakes, threw my car in reverse and with a squeal of my tires and a mark left on the pavement – I met them at the garages.  I went into full blown, she-must-be-a-mama mode. I opened my door with conviction and these delinquent little beasts got pummeled with my angry mom voice.

While throwing my hands in the air…

WHAT EXXXACTLY DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!

Then, without skipping a beat, shaking my head from side to side to show my dislike of the situation…

STARTING FIRES?!

I took one step closer to them, gave them a good stare-down for few seconds and finished up with…

I SUGGEST YOU BOYS GET OUTTA HERE BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!!

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In my mind, that is what I looked like.

Legit fear immediately covered both their faces. The taller boy threw his hands in the air as if I was an actual police officer myself, with a gun drawn. The smaller blonde boy just stood there with a blank face, nervous.

I make my way back to my house and as I am walking in the front door I notice them taking off on their bikes. Shit, they know where I live. I don’t know these kids… for all I know I just messed with the wrong 11 eleven year old.

A while later, while I was getting ready to make dinner my doorbell rang.

We just wanted to say that we are really sorry for playing with those matches by your house. Is there anything we can do to repay you?

First of all, I never requested or felt as if they owed me anything but I did step outside and chat with to these two young boys. I did my best to explain the serious consequences and risks of starting fires and playing with matches – especially on other people’s property. The taller boy says: Yeah, like……he could have started on fire… pointing at his buddy.

There was a pause, but I replied: Yeah…I would have totally hated that.

We had a little laugh and they went on their way. They never had to come back and say anything, they easily could have gone around the corner and kept doing what they were doing or went home and laughed at the crazy woman in the ally; instead, they made a choice that made me feel good about them, which was so pleasantly unexpected.

They aren’t little shits after all, just young boys.

Live & In Color: Bernie Sanders in Appleton, Wisconsin

The dynamic I witnessed today at the Bernie Sander’s Rally in Appleton, Wisconsin was unlike anything I’ve ever seen or been a part of, ever. When thousands of people come together with one common denominator there is a vibe that makes you want to pump your fists and high five until it hurts; and that’s before even getting inside.

We had a hard time deciding what time to arrive, how early is too early? Living less than ten minutes away, logically my husband and I pulled out of our driveway at 7:45am  with a door-opening of 9:30am.  Come to find out, the first people showed up at the Appleton Performing Art Center, ready to wait for Bernie, at two o’clock in the AM and a few hundred earlier than us.

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Our POV
Photo by Graham Washatka - www.grahamimages.net
Photo by Graham Washatka – www.grahamimages.net

Scanning the faces of all these people we are passing while making our way to the end of the line, which weaved around the venue and down the block at this point, I’m finding average college kids, hippies galore, old ladies and any other stereotype you can come up with. There are street vendors with wagons filled with T-shirts and buttons screaming into megaphones about a revolution. There are people running for congress handing out information – and an old Jewish socialist brought us all here.

If you’re in need of some free education…

Democratic Socialism Is Not: Communism

Democratic Socialism Is: People Over Profit

If you’d like further information… click here. 

I’ve never been in the presence of the Secret Service before and scenes from The Blacklist just started spinning around in my overly-excited brain once we got inside. I’ll go ahead and state the obvious… those guys mean serious business. Don’t make a joke… is all I kept repeating while making my way to the metal detector.

When we made our way to the seats, up in the 2nd balcony, there were roughly two hours before Senator Sanders was scheduled to begin speaking. The anticipation was not to hear what he has to say… I know what he’s going to say. I’m well versed in Bernie’s speeches and policies – but it’s like hearing your favorite song live for the first time.

Photo by Graham Washatka - www.grahamimages.net
Photo by Graham Washatka – www.grahamimages.net

Chants of his name echoed throughout while people started the wave; I saw high fives, people embracing and shaking hands that I feel never would have crossed paths otherwise. Everyone was happy. Everyone was there with the same radical ideas. Bernie Sanders has brought people together, he has opened the minds of people who have dismissed politics and felt complacent with more than a few terribly corrupt government happenings.

When the Senator made his way to the podium, I made a conscience decision to take in my surroundings and if I’m being honest, I’m having a hard time putting my experience into words. There was so much hope, excitement and awe at once, but it was so far from being overwhelming – I didn’t want the cheering to stop. He expressed his views, plans and hopes for our country while the audience never stopped encouraging him for more with standing ovations and outbursts of support. I’ll tell you what there was not also, there were zero violent incidents.

When it was over he made his way to shake hands with supporters and even offer some hugs to attendees who were close enough – like those dedicated 2-am-ers.

Photo by Graham Washatka - www.grahamimages.net
Photo by Graham Washatka – www.grahamimages.net

For the husband and I, seeing and hearing him with our own eyes was plenty to fill our cup. Bernie Sanders reeks of genuine compassion and truth. I left feeling proud to be a part of his movement and ready to place my early vote for him here in Wisconsin tomorrow. I urge all my Wisconsin friends and followers to at least take a look at his policies and if he’s not the candidate for you – at least go out and vote for who is on April 5th. Find your polling place: HERE.

[Okay, okay…I know I said if he’s not for you to vote for who is, but I challenge you to find another candidate running for president who flies coach, has voted consistently for 20+ years and radical or not, has the American people’s best interest at heart.]