Passive Aggressive Bigotry

Now that the United States Supreme Court has ruled that barring same-sex couples from marrying the person they loved amounted to unequal treatment under the law, my social networks have exploded in a wash of rainbow colors speckled with dingy, gray flecks of hate. Even before the ruling, I had to endure daily flashes of undesired religious admonition. But now…


The parade of exhortation has become so repulsive and weighty, I am half a mind to hide certain friends for the foreseeable future to protect my sensitive eyes from the scrolling diatribe of Christian guilt.

So, imagine my (non)surprise when, the a day after Obergefell v. Hodges, one woman I know posted a meme showing a man and woman outlined in bathroom sign fashion with hands interlocked that said “straight pride.” Wow.

Of course, people – including me – called her out on it. Though she didn’t see fit to retain the comments that countered her view, she claimed she only posted the picture to show she was “proud to be straight,” and that she couldn’t see why anyone would be offended by her expressing her “straight pride.” The whole thing smacked of anti-gay sentiment.

Coming the day after the Supreme Court overturned state-sanctioned discrimination, her claim that she – a “Catholic, conservative” woman – only felt the need to boast to the world her pride at being a straight person in order to show she is “pro-me” was highly disingenuous and utterly and completely insensitive.

As a straight, white, Christian woman, she has never been made to feel inferior because of her race or her sexual orientation. She hasn’t had to fight for her rights for anything. She has never had to hide who she really is.

Her posting this sign is akin to posting a “white pride” sign the day after Loving v. Virginia. It was not meant to be a benign personal expression. And I found it extremely hard to believe that she didn’t think it would be taken negatively because I don’t think she is stupid. She posted it in an act of counter-protest to the many expressions supporting marriage equality, or in her words, the people “shoving gay acceptance” down her throat.

At best, it is a mockery of a day that was about freedom for an oppressed minority. At worst, she is just another bigoted liar.

Abuse Knows No Bounds

Domestic abuse does not discriminate. Abuse can happen to rich people, or to poor people. Abuse strikes the educated and the illiterate. Abuse doesn’t care if you are Black or white or Asian or Latino or any other something. Abuse hurts the weak and the strong. Abuse isn’t sexist, it can happen to women and men. Abuse stalks the young and the old. Abuse is cool with straight, queer, gay, lesbian. Abuse is everywhere, lurking behind closed doors, in open windows, at parties, and on the street.

Domestic violence is a chameleon. Sometimes abuse dresses in bluish-purple clothes. Other times abuse wears the Emperor’s New Clothes. But just because abuse is not written on someones face doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Abuse holds on tight. Abuse is shackles and shame, alienation and isolation. Domestic violence ensures the abused hears from his or her loved ones, “There is no point in trying.”, “Well if you wouldn’t…”, “You should just stay with…”, “It’s all your fault.”, “I don’t believe you.”, “You’re lying.” Abuse tries to take away everything you love, until it kills you.

If you know someone who is being abused, please don’t give up on them. It can take an abused woman, on average, 6 to 7 times to leave an abusive partner for good. It can be hard to keep “being there.”

But the abused needs your help. You can’t give up. Help is patience. Help is encouragement. Help is love. “Being there” is the best thing you can do.

Succumbing to Modern Advertising

Hook, line and sinker. My husband fell hard for a brilliant spot of in-program advertising today. It’s the new rage in advertising – ads inside the show. Carefully crafted, it sends thirsty gentiles running to the market for tasty drinks to whet their whistle. Crassly done, it is annoying and chintzy – immediately provoking the ominous eye roll.

I’ve seen both the subtle product placement and the cumbersome commercial exchange. It’s (apparently) utterly irresistible when that main character cracks that ice cold Red Bull Cola – no words necessary. But then there was the car ad in a soap opera I saw once – how friggin’ annoying – that neither flowed with the conversation nor provoked in me any desire to shop. Advertisers should capitalize on chances to promote inside the story; but not like that.

Advertising in the modern era must be hard. (Besides trolling social networks for privacy loopholes with which to exploit internet user navigation.) There’s a certain level of finesse to successful ad making that takes creative and artistic skills beyond the reach of most mortals. (Like the Old Spice ads featuring President Camacho (Terry Crews) – HILARIOUSNESS!!!) But somewhere, someone is getting it so right, it’s sending people running round the corner for a pop like a sucker.

My Husband Plays Tricks on Me, Part 2

Thus is my life.

Either we have one badass poltergeist, or Appa is up to his tricks again. (And since I don’t believe in ghosts, I am inclined to believe the latter. Plus, this poltergeist made clever use of scotch tape!) I came home to find my husband lounging comfortably on the couch surrounded by this*.

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Thus is my life.

*Note the only frame left un-sullied.


My Husband Plays Tricks on Me

The sodas, the pickle relish, the mayonnaise, no lid was safe!

I hate this wallpaper.

My house is a perpetual physical comedy act.

I just never know when someone is going to jump out from the shadows and propel my heart toward my brain. Like the other day when my alarm went off. I reached over to turn it off. It was a nice morning with the sun and chirping birds and the such. Until – AAAAARGH!!!! – up pops a monster from under my bed. Not a monster, per se, by my precious husband scaring me awake. There’s also the time he changed his alarm clock ring to a barn owl sound. (Seriously, I thought the cat was dying.) Trust me, that’s not the best way to start a morning.

When I met my husband – boyfriend then – I was wise to the tricks men typically like to play with the ladies. And I wasn’t having any of it. I like to think he got lucky – right time, right place, perfect amount of cuteness. Early in our relationship, he spent most nights at my apartment before we finally moved to cohabitation. After he (finally) proposed to me, he admitted that he had been playing a trick on me ever since the day we met.

Lid over-tightening. He didn’t go out of his way to crank down all the lids in my house. No. He’d only do it at his convenience. You see, every time he would get some jar or bottle from my refrigerator and put it back, he would twist the lid down as fast as his strong hands could manage. I remember being home one evening and trying to open a 2-liter of Sprite. I tried and tried to open it. I even tried one of those rubber grippy pads. But alas, to my utter disappointment, I had to put the bottle back.

When my (now) husband next came to visit, I can imagine his smug satisfaction in helping me open my prize. He probably knew that such “good deeds” would solidify my image of him as a manly man – able to open sticky lids with a single squeeze! The sodas, the pickle relish, the mayonnaise, no lid was safe!

These are the long-term tricks he plays. The lid tightening has ceased. But now he has turned to another trick – picture tipping. If you come visit my house, you may notice that several pictures are very crooked. Obviously crooked – like we live in some Dali-esque space. I caught him red handed, “adjusting” my art as he was brushing his teeth. But he still denies any involvement in this tipping scheme.

To my pleasure, he is not all mean tricks. Every time I travel alone he sneaks Badtz Maru in to tag along with me. He says Badtz is my protector. At least there’s one trick I’m okay with.

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