But he didn’t rape me

Image from KellyP42 at Morguefile.comI know I wasn’t the only teenage girl who had older guys who liked to ply them with alcohol.

One guy in particular, a football player, who should know who he is but probably still doesn’t want to admit it was really on the give her alcohol until she consents plan for sex.

We had known each other since we were in kindergarten, and in high school, he asked me out, so I started dating him. Of course, the dating generally took the form of me going over to his house when his parents weren’t there, and we’d spend the night drinking. Most of the time, it was the two of us, but sometimes there were a few other people around. I’d get drunk, we’d make out, I’d sober up, and I’d go home. The drunker I got, the more he tried to do.

The final time we hung out, we were making out, and he whipped it out. Even though I’d said no repeatedly. I laughed and told him to put it away. I don’t have a totally clear memory of what happened next, but I do remember kneeing him and then going home shortly thereafter.

I was safe.

I had escaped.

Fast forward a few months. I didn’t have anything to do with him. But one day, a friend (male, let’s call him B) came up to me. He had another female friend (let’s call her C). C had been raped by my ex-boyfriend. She hadn’t been given permission to date, and she felt like she couldn’t tell anyone or do anything, so she told B.

I couldn’t convince her to do anything – she thought she would get in trouble, that he would make her life more miserable, that her parents would punish her for dating.

She only wanted one thing: for him to leave her alone.

Ever since their “date,” he’d been acting like nothing happened. He’d talked to her, wave at her in the hallway. All normal behavior. He wouldn’t leave her alone, and she didn’t know what to do.

I’d like to think that I was a badass way back when. Maybe I was.

I found him in a local public hangout, and, with my new boyfriend hanging behind me), I went up to my rapist ex-boyfriend and told him that if he ever bothered her again, even talked to her, I would kill him.

I need you to get the full picture in your mind.

At the time, I was five feet tall and 100 pounds. He was a football player.

The next day, his father (who happened to be a Marine) called my mother. His father told me mother that I should stop threatening his son and leave him alone.

After that, he didn’t talk to me. He didn’t talk to C. Life went on.

Twenty-five years later, I got a message on FB.

From the rapist.

It said, “Remember me?”

I blocked him.


No, really. Don’t hug me.

do not touch - morguefile - davidpwhelanI’m not being silly.
I’m not being coy.
I’m not being shy.

I don’t want you to touch me.
I don’t want to touch you.

I’m not sure why it’s socially unacceptable to *not* want to hug someone. Why do we expect people to hug when they meet or when they part?

I mean, I get it if you’re trying to check for weapons or a wire. If I were a mobster, I’d hug the hell outta anyone who came by to talk to me. Groping would not be out of the question.

But I’m not a mobster.

My friends (to the best of my knowledge) are not mobsters either.

That rules out all the reasons to give me a hug.

Please don’t try to tell me that a hug will make me feel better.
Please don’t try to tell me that you can’t help yourself.
Definitely don’t tell me that I shouldn’t fight it.

I’ll repeat it one more time for those in the back. 


The review I wanted to leave on my AirBnB rental this past weekend

Haunted Cabin image by Lynette at Morguefile.comThis cabin was in the woods, which had me really hopeful.

But it was not haunted. Not even a little bit. No ghosts or ghouls. No spirits or spooks. Not even a friendly (that turns evil at night) wood nymph hiding in the trees around us.

I don’t ask for much, but since there was no haunting, perhaps the owners could have at least come by and rattled some branches and moaned and knocked around the house. Give it the appearance of other-worldly presences. It was not to be.

It still had promise, though. We were out in the woods, and there were lots of power stations. All it would have taken was a simple error, and we could have been besieged by atomic bugs that grew to ginormous sizes and needed to be defeated by the army.

Sadly, that didn’t happen either. There were a couple of roaches that came out in the kitchen at night, but nothing worth calling home about. And they definitely weren’t unusual in size. Just normal, boring run of the mill cockroaches.

I admit, I still screamed like a little girl and hid from them, but only in the normal oh my god it has wings and can fly way, not in a screaming in terror at a biologically impossible massive cockroach crushes the car and leaves you stranded while other massive cockroaches attack the house, forcing you to climb into the bathtub and pray for your life…

Which reminds me of another problem. The bathtub.

If there isn’t going to be some sort of wicked spirit in the mirror (and trust me, I tried all of the ones I knew about), the least the owners would have done is to provide a specter of some sort to appear in the water, maybe try to pull you underwater and drown you, make you fall asleep and dream of its life, just something scary. But nothing. Another big fail.

Overall, the cabin was nothing short of a relaxing weekend getaway, perfect for a family. And a complete disappointment for those of us who thought that a cabin in the woods still meant something.

Meme’ories to lose

Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil by clarita at morguefile.comHave you ever seen a meme that reminded you of something that you’d rather forget?

First, we need to flash back more years than I’d like to admit.

I was out of high school and had a job, but couldn’t afford an apartment. I was living at home, and our house was small. My bedroom shared a wall with my parents’ room.

I woke up, and from the room right next to mine, I heard my father moaning.

It was about 6 a.m.  I really, really needed to pee. The bathroom was right there – if I walked into the hallway that both bedrooms went out into. And it didn’t sound like their door was closed.

I stayed quiet, and I stayed in bed.

Now we need to flash back even further.

When I was a teenager I had an awesome cat, but he had asthma. The poor kitty would get all not-breathing-so-good and we’d bring him to the vet to get a shot, and then he’d be better.

Of course, this not-breathing-so-good normally happened on evenings, holidays, and weekends. You know, when the normal vet office was closed, so we’d have to go to the emergency clinic.

That’s where we were. Waiting. I’d brought a book (probably science fiction or horror at that age), and my father had brought a programming book.

He shifted the book, and a piece of paper fell out and hit the floor. I grabbed it, being the oh so awesome and nice person that I am. But then I looked at it because I’m not really that awesome and nice.

It was a checklist of symptoms for depression. Clearly, my mother had filled it out and given it to him.

I don’t remember all the things that were checked off, but one of them was quite noticeable.

It had been checked off, circled, starred, and highlighted.

Which one?

Lack of sexual desire.

Continuing with my lack of niceness and awesomeness, I laughed.

“That’s so funny!” I said.

My father looked at me, as serious as I’ve ever seen him.

“No,” he said. “No. It’s not.”

That just made me laugh harder.

Now flash back to the moment when I woke up and heard noise from my parents’ room.

I didn’t want to interrupt anything. Sure, it was super gross to think of my parents having sex, but I wasn’t dumb enough to think that they weren’t human beings with needs.

I thought I’d be quiet. Just hum to myself, cover my ears, pretend that nothing was going on. Ignore my bladder.

More moaning. Sounds of the bed moving.

I pretended more. Ignored more.

Then I heard it.

My mother.

“Should I wake up Kate?”

“Goddamn it!” I yelled. “He has another kidney stone, doesn’t he?!”

And that’s all I could think of when I saw this meme.






Hold on…

Image from LCG2001 at Morguefile.comBecause it’s a three day weekend, we used it the way that all super cool awesome rock stars used it. We went to three used book stores to try to stock up on books and records.

We drove out about an hour to the west side of Houston, and on the way there, we listened to our free trial of XM. “Hold on Loosely” (.38 Special) came on.

I began singing along, and Patrick ruined it for me.

“You know that’s about masturbation, right?”


I thought about the lyrics.

Oh. My. God.

It totally made sense.

The song was burned into my brain, like Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison. (It’s about anal sex. Go read about it here.)

Into Half Price Books we went. I scanned the records while Patrick took Simon to check out the books

Couple behind me:
Guy: This is what I was looking for! It’s a Southern rock collection.
Woman: Let’s see what’s on it. (She starts reading the song titles. Stops.) Hold on loosely? Wait, is that… (And she begins singing it.)

I try to avoid laughing and keep flipping through all the records. I’m going backwards from Z, and I’m at U, discovering that someone offloaded a dozen “Utopia” albums.

Couple behind me again:
Woman: How is that Southern rock?
Guy: Mumbles. It’s sort of what I’m looking for.
Woman: But it’s not Southern! (Starts singing it again.)

They start arguing for real.

Woman: Time Life *does not* have a Southern rock mix. I remember their commercial.
Guy: I didn’t say they did. I just heard they had something with Southern rock.
Woman: But this isn’t it. (She sings even more of the song.)

I finally made it to T.

There. Right in front of me.

.38 Special.

Like a sign from the universe telling me something. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to buy it or masturbate.

I didn’t buy the record.




More weirdness that I swear does not make me crazy

My computer was searching for underwater hotels without me...and listening to music.

My computer was searching for underwater hotels without me…and listening to music.

So about a month ago, I posted about a weird thing that happened.

Well, more things have been happening. Weird things. Unusual things. Strange things.

They all seem to happen in my office.

The biggest one was that the radio and TV would change channels when I left the room. It happened once or twice, and I wrote it off – Molly is magic at stepping on the remote control in the bedroom and turning off the TV. Her feet find the exact spot. It could happen in my office, too.

At least, the TV changing channels could.

But I’m not sure how the radio could change channels. I don’t have any presets, and the cats would have to be super talented in order to change from one to the next without the use of the remote or any presets.

I was willing to let that pass. I mean, strange things happen, right? And maybe I was just forgetting what I had set things to or I had done it before leaving the room. I doubted that, but, hey, I’ve done weirder things.

Then my computer got in on it.

Okay, so this I know for a fact was not me.

I closed my computer, and I went to bed.

The next morning, I opened my computer…

And apparently it had been searching for vacations while I was asleep.

I don’t even use that browser! How did it open a browser and do that search?

I. Did. Not. Do. That.


But I’m not crazy.

I am beginning to look at my cabinet of curiosities a little funny, though. There are an awful lot of weird toys in there. Did I buy the wrong one?

Where to Find Me, Part the Second (A Spam Poem)

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