So I’m about 3 months shy of finally graduating from my dual masters program and I’ve really come to appreciate everything I’ve learned, and continue to learn in my last three classes and my 20+ hour week at my internship at a behavioral outpatient hospital. I’ve actually begun to feel like a therapist. My head swirls constantly thinking about all my clients and patients who have many mental health challenges and addictions, and how I can best help them. I have become quite knowledgeable about CBT and DBT and cognitive distortions–how what we think becomes how we feel and how we feel turns into how we behave and how hard it is to really grasp that ones’ thoughts truly are the most powerful things you can control.

We therapists teach coping skills, and it’s just about my favorite subject these days. The one takeaway I’d like to leave you with dear reader is my favorite one, which is the 80/20 rule. This is the coping skill of realizing that 80% of life is bascially “shit happens”: your dog dies despite spending thousands on vet bills, your mother berates you for spoiling your children, traffic is once again a nightmare, the weather is shitty, your boss is in a bad mood AGAIN, and the line at Starbucks is 8-people deep and you’re in a hurry. You left your phone at home, forgot your umbrella, and getting on the train your purse turned inside out and everything fell out. The 80 represents that shit is always going to happen and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. The 20 represents the 20% that you can control, which are your own damn responses to the shitty things that happen in the 80%.

So, what does “owning your 20” mean?

It means you have the power to respond or react. Many times we just “react”. Knee-jerk responses are how we end up with people mad at us, or mad at others, or with high blood pressure and short fuses.

Look at all the examples above again. We get so damn upset that it rains on our birthday, that our mother can’t keep her criticisms to herself, traffic happens, we are occasionally klutzes and lots of people apparently all had the same craving for coffee the same time you did. So what? Are you wasting your precious energy getting all heated about these types of things? How many times during your day do you get all bent out of shape over shit you can’t control?

And how many of us know people who just walk around angry at everyone and everything, people are always doing them wrong, everyone’s out to get them. And guess what! Their thoughts cause the very things to happen that they are complaining about. Why would you walk into Starbucks and get pissed off that they’re busy? These are your people! They love coffee at the same time of day you do!

What you think all day long is more powerful than you realize. Whether you believe it or not, your thoughts can bring you abundance or deprivation. This is what we call cognitive reframing. Seriously friends, this can change your life.

Say you are pressed for time and walk into Starbucks and they’re super busy and you’re disappointed because you’re pretty sure you won’t have enough time to get a coffee. Oh well. Shit happens, right? That’s the 80%. What can you do about how you feel? Well, you can honor your disappointment, but it is what it is. Next time leave earlier and don’t assume it won’t be busy. And maybe you didn’t really need that coffee or to spend $7 and your day really isn’t going to be any different is it? Let it go. Oh well. In the big scheme of things it’s really unimportant. If it was that important to you, wouldn’t you have given yourself a little more time just in case it was busy when you got there? It’s not the end of the world. Wherever you’re in a hurry to get to, you will now be early. What are the benefits of being 10 minutes early? If you’ve never been 10 minutes early, you will now know what those are. Maybe there’s a sense of peace not having to rush around.

Ok Lauren, I get that, but what about my mother’s criticism? You simple say, “thanks mom”, and let it go. You don’t get defensive, you don’t argue your case. You let it go. And then decide if having her babysit for you is worth the trouble, or maybe check yourself to see if there’s a kernel of truth there you can discuss with your child’s other parent, or therapist, or pediatrician. In other words, you don’t have to DO anything in the moment. Are you getting my drift now? This is a skill you can practice and TRUST ME, it takes work but it’s so worth it.

The things that happen in the 80% are going to keep on happening, and learning how to control yourself in how you react will literally change your life from one of frustration and helplessness to one of peace and greater self-esteem.

Feel free to leave a comment on what you think about this and if you’ve been able to utilize the 80/20 rule in your life!

“Promise me you’ll survive. That you won’t give upon matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now Rose, and never let go of that promise”–Jack

“I promise”–Rose says as she lets go of his hand

It all just kind of hit me this morning that the relationships with all the men in my life are like the people wearing life jackets, bobbing in the freezing water in the movie “Titanic”. They are all waiting for someone to come rescue them. Unless somebody “does something”, all these people (my relationships) will die. What if I “did nothing“??

Now of course, those people should’ve been saved, but I am speaking metaphorically. Imagine each person bobbing in that icy water is a man I’ve either had a serious or brief relationship with, or those who boomerang back and forth, never staying long, and don’t forget those who never actually made the effort to take me out on a first date. My phone is filled with men who are all basically not interested in me enough to text me on any regular sort of basis. Only one truly cares about what is going on in my life, but not enough to write me and ask about my life, he’s willing to listen and respond if I write first however. And when our Words with Friends game ended, he didn’t even “rematch” to begin a new game with me. Oh sure, if I hit rematch, he will play me, but again, not initiate.

And I got to thinking about the analogy of the bobbing heads because tonight is another night off with no date. I would really like to go out tonight and have zero men clamoring for my company. Oh sure, let me be clear, many would like to “Netflix and chill” but I’m not interested in that. Last week’s date cancelled at the last minute claiming a “migraine”. The old me would probably text, “Are you feeling up to meeting tonight?” Something pathetic and needy.

Having nothing to do on my night off triggers my anxious-attachment style. I need to know where I stand with the people in my life that I care about, and any kind of uncertainty as to “do you still love me/want me?” makes me incredibly unsettled. I cannot sit in that gray area for very long and if I have to, I will poke, prod, tap-tap-tap, annoy, beg, plead, argue, even double-triple-quadruple-quintuple text, negotiate, roll over and play dead, whatever I have to to get that person to make a decision or let me know where I stand in their heart and life. But here’s the kicker–I wasn’t even aware I have been doing this until I decided to “do nothing.” I’ll sit and scroll through the four dating apps I’m on and realize those I’ve previously right-swiped are bobbing in the freezing water with all the others. Just waiting for me to keep the conversation going. If I’m not doing all the work, they just keep bobbing.

So today I made a decision to just STOP. I am doing something completely foreign to me, and it’s called “doing nothing”. I am declaring to the world that as of this moment, I vow to continue to “do nothing” to keep all these relationships from drowning. I shouldn’t have to beg anyone to pay attention to me, and the truth is, I just keep reliving my insecure-anxious attachment style by pursuing avoidant men. Yes, I’m in therapy and we talk about this all the time. I am aware of what I do and why I do it, and change is hard. I’ve been this way a really, really long time and change is incremental.

This “do nothing” decision came totally organically to me this morning upon realizing that the most important of all these bobbing heads isn’t able or willing to climb up on that creaky piece of wood and grab my hand. He’d rather bob in the freezing water longer. Like Rose, I have to let him go. I have to let them all go. If any of them want me, they will do something to change the circumstance of the holding pattern in our relationship. I have always said, “I’m not that picky–whoever makes the most effort is the guy that gets me” but none has even tried half-percent.

And don’t get me started about letting men do the “chasing”. I could write a book on that. And it’s not that I want to be “chased”, I just really want to MATTER to someone. More than someone to have sex with, someone who cares about the kind of day I’ve had. “How was work? How was your drive in this morning? Did you get lunch? How’s that paper you’re writing coming along? Did you make time to get your nails done today?” We all know how that feels. THAT’S what I’m looking for. I have my cat to “Netflix and chill” with. I don’t need a man to watch TV. I need someone who gives a shit about me in between the sheets. It’s not quantity of texts (which would be a nice improvement!) but the quality.

So starting today, I will not text any of them to try to get reassurance they are still interested. I will not let myself sink into despair when my night off comes and goes and I’m still sitting home. I deserve more than crumbs; I deserve the whole cookie.

I’ll “do nothing” to revive these bobbing relationships. I will not extend my hand to them one more time. By doing nothing, I’m communicating that I want more. I am honoring myself by refusing to beg for anyone’s attention. By “doing nothing”, I am actually doing something quite profound. I am choosing ME. I “promise” I’ll survive, that I won’t give up, no matter how hopeless it feels.

I just found out my TikTok has been “permanently banned due to multiple violations of our community guidelines”. “MULTIPLE VIOLATIONS”???

In the year and a half I have had my Tiktok account, I have never received a single solitary notification or warning. I have never had a video banned. This has come completely out of left field

This morning my account had 12.4K followers and 58.4K likes. This is huge. This took time to build, hours upon hours of creating content, and it was bulldozed in an instant. No real explanation at all.

(I am so angry I just yelled, “SHUT THE FUCK UP! GO FORWARD ALREADY!!” at some stupid truck outside my condo who is going backwards more than forwards. The incessant beeping is making me insane!)

I know my TikTok was often sexually suggestive. So, this is news…??!! They’re called “thirst traps” for a reason. Like I’m fucking alone in doing this. How many shirtless hunks are there on TikTok writhing to music just like me? Why did I get banned and they didn’t? And what about the grey sweatpants trend a few months ago where guys would LITERALLY SWING THEIR DICKS so everyone could see them?? Why was this allowed but I can’t show some cleavage? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???!

Let’s talk about language for a moment. I have never used foul language in any of my videos. I’m educated. Sure I like to say fuck more than the average person but always in person. My Tiktoks were clean. I had my cat in many of them. I was often holding a glass of wine, but that’s still legal since I’m plenty old enough to drink. I have seen many videos of both women and men using the word “cunt”. And yet they have not been banned (that I know of). I have seen both sexes in provocative poses….legs spread wide open, a smirk on the face. I have never posted anything of the sort. I will admit to a come-hither wink that’s become my trademark.

Is it my age…??? Hmmmm…..a woman MY AGE showing her body off like that….disgusting….Am I being punished for being sexy?? A woman my age shouldn’t dress this way?!? And here I thought Tiktok was the one platform that didn’t judge, didn’t discriminate. I was dead wrong.

The question is, WHO HAVE I OFFENDED???? Who is this person or persons who looked at my page and said, “yeah, it’s gotta go”??? I think it’s shitty given that I had a such a huge following to just hit the delete button on me without any warning. Nothing at all. Zip, Zilch, Zero. Nada. Just “poof”.

I mean sure, I can start all over. I have most of the videos saved to my phone and I could repost the “least offensive” ones (if I can figure out which ones those actually are). I don’t know that I will. Maybe it’s served its purpose. The pandemic is (mostly) over, I have plenty other outlets now and frankly, they’ve taken the fun out of it for me.To know that it could all vanish in an instant makes me not want to bother. Having a complete lack of control combined with the misogyny of the platform makes it not sound fun anymore.

Making TikTok videos is something fun I’ve done for ME. It’s been a fun outlet since the quarantine (see my related post “How TikTok Saved My Sanity”). I’ve grown a following, and it’s been a hobby mostly. I never thought I’d even have any followers aside from my best girlfriend let alone twelve-plus thousand.

I sent an email appealing their decision but don’t expect to hear back. I almost don’t even care at this point. 85 % of my 12.4 thousand followers were men. I don’t think they were offended at all. So, who complained about me? A man?? I doubt it. Men liked my videos. So, did a woman, or panel of women, decide my Tiktok’s fate?

You might be thinking, “find another way to express yourself in a way that makes you feel the way Tiktok used to make you feel.” Thank you if you are thinking that. And ironically, I started an OnlyFans yesterday, since I enjoy making provocative (NOT pornograpic) content. So for now, I’ll stick to that.

I get it. Swinging dicks are ok and cleavage isn’t. They can do that. They can do whatever they want. But give a user notice. That’s all I’m saying, it’s just plain shitty.

“How many therapists does it take to change a lightbulb?”

“Just one, but it has to want to change”

I’ve been watching “Couples Therapy”, the VH1 reality show from 2012-2018 where a celebrity psychologist treats celebrity couples. Led by Dr. Jenn Mann (she was “Dr. Jenn Berman” the first season and quietly divorced her husband during season 2 and went back to her maiden name) and her team of staff therapists all agree to live in a house for 21 days and participate in group therapy to better their relationships. Not all are married; some are dating, some are engaged, (straight and/or gay) but all are monogamous couples (well some aren’t, but their partners don’t know this). And I’m OBSESSED.

I became aware of this show thanks to a classmate of mine in my group therapy class. As part of my masters program, we learn techniques and skills to run our own therapy groups someday, and we are required to have supervisory hours running group therapy to get our degree. I haven’t had this experience yet, (I will this summer) and I (not ironically) also want to become a marriage and family therapist. I have been binge-watching this show and I’m on the 5th season already (there are only 6). I’ve learned a lot about how to conduct a group therapy session watching Dr. Jenn. She is truly a gifted therapist.

On Season 5, rapper Ghostface tells his girlfriend Kelsey that he “don’t need no therapy, but I’ll go to support you”. This incredibly patronizing response should have been a big enough red flag for this chick to walk away, but she was “in love” and thought she could change him. (Ah yes. Drag the guy to get the therapy he doesn’t think he needs to make him commit to you. Not a very sound idea).

It’s obvious right away this dude needs therapy more than anyone else in this whole season. He’s a misogynistic, narcissistic jackass who actually has been cheating on Kelsey for the entire year they’ve been together with a woman he’s had a two -year relationship with that knows nothing about Kelsey. He wants the 2 year girlfriend to come on the show so he can “make a decision about who I want.” No regard for their feelings at all. (By the way, there’s a happy ending–*spoiler alert*–they both break up with him and leave his sorry pathetic ass!!) Hallelujah!

It got me thinking about how there are people who truly desire to get therapy and can’t get it due to lack of insurance, lack of transportation, and/or an overall lack of knowledge about how to find a therapist, and here’s this loudmouth jackass who has the amazing opportunity because of his celebrity to get paid to work on his relationship with his girlfriend, who by the way, had suspicions he was unfaithful. He’d done a pretty good job of gaslighting her for a year. He ended up blaming HER for falling in love with him because “you chose to go fast.” I know, right??! Appalling. What balls this guy has. Gigantic. He was cheating on two women at the same time, using them to feed his ego. He defends himself saying, “I’m a man, that’s what men do”, to which Dr. Jenn responded, “that’s not what men do. That’s what YOU do.” He truly did not see he was doing anything wrong.

And then, lo and behold, during a group therapy session, he bawls like a baby realizing his dad was never there for him blah blah blah and “maybe” that’s why he treats women the way he does. It was quite a moment, until the very end when he tells Kelsey he “forgives” her for “bringing me here to this hell.” Soooo, he got nothing out of it. He felt it was a waste of his time. I wanted Dr. Jenn to ask him, “why is your moniker “Ghostface”? Is it because you’re not really here? Because you have shitty values and no substance? I can only imagine what his “music” is like. No thanks.

And there you have it folks–therapy only works on people who want to improve their lives and their relationships. Like the joke at the beginning of this blog post, people change if they WANT to change. You can lead a narcissistic jackass to water, but you can’t make him drink. Therapy only works if people are willing to be honest and admit their struggles, to be willing to be vulnerable, to be willing to admit they’re not perfect and they don’t always know what the right answers are. And if you’re going to do couples counseling, listen to your partner when they tell you how they feel for chrissakes. I mean jeez Louise. Ghostface was screaming in Kelsey’s face that her feelings were “wrong”. (For the record, feelings are never “wrong”). Feelings give us information. We don’t always need to act on our feelings but we should pay attention to them. And for fucks sake, if your partner is sitting next to you–tears or no tears (there’s usually tears) and tells you “I feel” statements such as “I feel angry/sad/scared that you’re going to leave me/seeing someone else/ confused at your behavior/things you’ve said ” don’t disregard their feelings and be dismissive! It’s cruel and unusual punishment no one deserves, just for having feelings that are inconvenient for YOU. Grow up and grow a pair. Hold yourself accountable for the things you say and do that hurt others. Learn to say these words out loud: “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

But this blog post is about those who aren’t willing to do this hard work. Therapy works if you’re able and willing to admit you have shitty communication skills and want to understand why you get sullen when you’re angry, scream at your kids, or finally address how not processing or grieving the traumas you suffered are affecting every area of your life today. If you’re not honest, the therapist can’t help you.

Why did Ghostface think he didn’t need therapy (besides the fact that he’s a narcissistic jerk)? He truly believed he had no problems at all, it was his girlfriend that had problems because she didn’t trust him. Truly unfathomable. He has a need to think he’s all that and a bag of chips, side of guac and pico de Gallo. He ain’t. “He doth protest too much.” HUGE RED FLAG KELSY.

I have come to see that those who seek therapy are truly some of the bravest souls there are. To be willing to sit across from someone, someone who’s initially a complete stranger, and bare your soul takes trust in the clinician and a huge amount of trust in the process. I will discuss what this “process” is and “how does therapy work?” in my next blog post, but suffice it to say, the strongest, most humble, kind, and fiercest people I’ve ever known are those that have gotten mental health treatment.

It makes me crazy that there is still a stigma around receiving mental health care and treatment. No one judges someone for going to the ER to fix a broken bone or a migraine, but we judge those that seek to better themselves by talking to a professional. Why is this?? Especially in this day and age, I mean jeez we’ve got a greater awareness and acceptance of mental illness than any other time in history. And sometimes, it’s not a diagnosable illness but poor coping skills, maladaptive behaviors and cognitions that cause us often irreparable harm in our relationships. We can teach you these skills but first, you gotta admit your way ain’t working for you.

But there will always be those people who think the problem lies outside of themselves, and blame everyone else for everything that’s wrong with their lives. We psychology nuts call this an “external locus of control”, and people who blame everyone else are truly some of the most unhappiest people on the planet. Imagine how powerless that would feel! It’s like if you get all green lights on the way to work, you will have a good day, and all red ones, well, the powers that be are out to get you. And you spend all day projecting that helplessness in the form of being a Negative Nelly or Debby Downer. We all know people like this.

Sadly, many many people have this mentality that they’ve just been given a “bad hand/everyone’s unfair/everyone’s mean/life is hard/it’s not my fault”. And then there are just those who have a real lack of self-awareness, or those who truly can’t see the forest for the trees. The obvious can be right in your face but only someone as skilled as a therapist can point it out to you in a way that doesn’t diminish you, insult you, or belittle you. We therapists are very curious creatures and we thoroughly enjoy getting our hands dirty helping you figure out your shit.

I beg of you to ask yourself, or better yet, ask your partner or a trusted friend, “am I an asshole sometimes?/do I talk over you?/do I shut down when you try to talk about difficult things with me?” and LISTEN TO THEIR ANSWER. If they say yes, thank them for caring enough about you and their relationship with you to tell you the truth.

And go find a therapist. You’ll thank me, and so will everyone around you.

*How to find a therapist near you? Go to http://www.psychologytoday.com, enter your city for a list of qualified therapists near you*

“Promise me you’ll survive. That you won’t give up no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now Rose, and never let go of that promise”–Jack

“I promise”–Rose says as she lets go of his hand

It all just kind of hit me this morning that the relationships with all the men in my life are like the people wearing life jackets, bobbing in the freezing water in the movie “Titanic”. They are all waiting for someone to come rescue them. Unless somebody “does something”, all these people (my relationships) will die. What if I “did nothing“??

Now of course, those people should’ve been saved, but I am speaking metaphorically. Imagine each person bobbing in that icy water is a man I’ve either had a serious or brief relationship with, or those who boomerang back and forth, never staying long, and don’t forget those who never actually made the effort to take me out on a first date. My phone is filled with men who are all basically not interested in me enough to text me on any regular sort of basis. Only one truly cares about what is going on in my life, but not enough to write me and ask about my life, he’s willing to listen and respond if I write first however. And when our Words with Friends game ended, he didn’t even “rematch” to begin a new game with me. Oh sure, if I hit rematch, he will play me, but again, not initiate.

And I got to thinking about the analogy of the bobbing heads because tonight is another night off with no date. I would really like to go out tonight and have zero men clamoring for my company. Oh sure, let me be clear, many would like to “Netflix and chill” but I’m not interested in that. Last week’s date cancelled at the last minute claiming a “migraine”. The old me would probably text, “Are you feeling up to meeting tonight?” Something pathetic and needy.

Having nothing to do on my night off triggers my anxious-attachment style. I need to know where I stand with the people in my life that I care about, and any kind of uncertainty as to “do you still love me/want me?” makes me incredibly unsettled. I cannot sit in that gray area for very long and if I have to, I will poke, prod, tap-tap-tap, annoy, beg, plead, argue, even double-triple-quadruple-quintuple text, negotiate, roll over and play dead, whatever I have to to get that person to make a decision or let me know where I stand in their heart and life. But here’s the kicker–I wasn’t even aware I have been doing this until I decided to “do nothing.” I’ll sit and scroll through the four dating apps I’m on and realize those I’ve previously right-swiped are bobbing in the freezing water with all the others. Just waiting for me to keep the conversation going. If I’m not doing all the work, they just keep bobbing.

So today I made a decision to just STOP. I am doing something completely foreign to me, and it’s called “doing nothing”. I am declaring to the world that as of this moment, I vow to continue to “do nothing” to keep all these relationships from drowning. I shouldn’t have to beg anyone to pay attention to me, and the truth is, I just keep reliving my insecure-anxious attachment style by pursuing avoidant men. Yes, I’m in therapy and we talk about this all the time. I am aware of what I do and why I do it, and change is hard. I’ve been this way a really, really long time and change is incremental.

This “do nothing” decision came totally organically to me this morning upon realizing that the most important of all these bobbing heads isn’t able or willing to climb up on that creaky piece of wood and grab my hand. He’d rather bob in the freezing water longer. Like Rose, I have to let him go. I have to let them all go. If any of them want me, they will do something to change the circumstance of the holding pattern in our relationship. I have always said, “I’m not that picky–whoever makes the most effort is the guy that gets me” but none has even tried half-percent.

And don’t get me started about letting men do the “chasing”. I could write a book on that. And it’s not that I want to be “chased”, I just really want to MATTER to someone. More than someone to have sex with, someone who cares about the kind of day I’ve had. “How was work? How was your drive in this morning? Did you get lunch? How’s that paper you’re writing coming along? Did you make time to get your nails done today?” We all know how that feels. THAT’S what I’m looking for. I have my cat to “Netflix and chill” with. I don’t need a man to watch TV. I need someone who gives a shit about me in between the sheets. It’s not quantity of texts (which would be a nice improvement!) but the quality.

So starting today, I will not text any of them to try to get reassurance they are still interested. I will not let myself sink into despair when my night off comes and goes and I’m still sitting home. I deserve more than crumbs; I deserve the whole cookie.

I’ll “do nothing” to revive these bobbing relationships. I will not extend my hand to them one more time. By doing nothing, I’m communicating that I want more. I am honoring myself by refusing to beg for anyone’s attention. By “doing nothing”, I am actually doing something quite profound. I am choosing ME. I “promise” I’ll survive, that I won’t give up, no matter how hopeless it feels.

You guys know me, I was born wearing rose-colored glasses and I refuse to take them off, but like most of us, 2020 was a year that truly challenged me. I can’t embrace 2021 without paying tribute (and by “paying tribute”, I mostly mean “flip off”) a very weird year.

I am one of those people who “feels” things before they happen, but still, I did not predict a pandemic. I did however, “feel” on New Year’s Eve last year that 2020 would be personally challenging for me. I was separated from my husband of 30 years, living alone for the very first time in my entire adult life. I was in a state of shock mostly, questioning my sanity, my judgment. My therapist refused to allow me to call it a “midlife crisis” but rather I was “redefining myself “. I like that.

If 2020 taught me anything, it’s that we have absolutely no control over anything whatsoever, only ourselves and our reactions to the things that happen to us. Also, some things are irreversible.

Since the quarantine in March/April, I, like most of you, have been living in fear of contracting COVID-19. It was a new world of masks and hand sanitizer and everyone looking at one another fearing each other’s cooties. It’s horrible way to live. We humans are social creatures and we biologically crave connection. Not being able to see one another’s faces, or hug has taken its toll on us all collectively.

Picture if you will Burgess Meredith in the old Twilight Zone episode, at the very end where the world has come to an end, everything destroyed, and he’s the only surviving human. He is thrilled with this thought because ironically, as the world was being destroyed, he was apparently safe somewhere in the library, and he is now laying on the crumbled steps of this library, and books are strewn everywhere. He can read now to his heart’s content with no interruptions, only guess what??? He can’t find his glasses. Frantically he waves his hands around, the world blurry, and he joyfully finds them, only guess what again? They’re broken and unwearable. He’s basically in hell and realizes it.

Metaphorically, that was me this year, “waking up” to realizing life as I knew it had been completely obliterated, my rose-colored glasses shattered for the very first time. How to deal??

If you read my “How Tiktok Saved My Sanity” then you already know how the pandemic affected my mental health. I am still enjoying being a very minor celebrity as the conditions under which I started TikTok back in June are still present. There are still no sporting events to go to, no live music (my band probably won’t survive this sadly), I can’t go to the museum or the library, and no hanging out in coffee houses. If you’re a social butterfly like me, “staying home” is like a prison sentence. I have heard a few of my introverted friends say, “the pandemic hasn’t changed my life at all”, and I just want to scream. One friend said, “I didn’t really notice”. WOW.

I am so sick of “staying home”. When you live alone and you’re an extrovert, “staying home” every single Friday and Saturday night for a year IS a prison sentence. I have a need for socialization, and well, FUN. Netflix is ok for weekday nights but come the weekends, I miss going to clubs. I love dancing, I love live music, I miss performing and I also miss going to see other bands. I miss plays and fuck I just miss being able to go to a nice restaurant on a weekend night if I have no one to do anything with and sit and chat up the bartender and whomever’s on a barstool near me. Wisconsites are a friendly bunch and especially friendly to one another at a local tavern. “Hanging out and having a beer” is how we connect in Wisconsin. We are serious hangers-out here. We bond over wings and fries and cheese curds. We are also die-hard tailgaters and to have a summer without Brewer baseball and tailgating is just well, unthinkable. Same with Packer season. I have been blessed to have been able to attend a few games with my sweet son’s girlfriends’ parents who have season tickets, and of course, we didn’t go this year. I look forward to this so much every fall.

COVID stole some profound Proud Mommy Moments from me too. I didn’t get to dress up and take Proud Mommy Moment pictures with my son and ruin my makeup with my proud-mommy tears for my son who first graduated with his Masters in Public Health with honors in May nor his White Coat Ceremony in August as a medical student at Madison. This was a big deal. Their White Coat Ceremony was cancelled this year and in its place the University did a wonderful job of celebrating the new incoming doctoral students with a live-streaming ceremony of pictures of the students in their white coats and stethoscopes and a short bio of each student instead. It was nice, I got to watch it with my son, but not the same thing as BEING THERE, watching him being handed the coat by his professor, and ceremoniously putting the coat on for the first time, seeing his smile a mile wide, feeling his own pride at his accomplishments, tossing the stethoscope around his neck symbolically. COVID-19 took that away from my son and away from me. He handled it way better than I did as he was just so happy to have the coat and stethoscope and be a medical student. I love his resilience. But for me and all the other proud moms out there, we were robbed.

My grad school classes (like everyone else’s) went online. How I miss being IN school. I moved last year to be close to campus for the whole school- environment experience and two months in, in-person classes were all cancelled. I’ve yet to meet my professors and classmates.

I had two trips planned this year and had to cancel them both at the last minute because I had to accept that it “wasn’t safe” to travel, and one would’ve required a 14-day quarantine when I got there. At my own expense. Insert broken-heart emoji. This was so disheartening. After months of “imprisonment” in my apartment, my need to get away was fierce. I mean yes, I’ve got flight vouchers good for a year I can use when it IS “safe” to travel again, but I worry my father won’t live long enough for me to get to see him. He will be 92 in March. And speaking of my dad, he actually caught COVID and is recovering at this writing. He and my younger brother who lives and cares for him caught it despite not having gone anywhere but the grocery store and doctors’ appointments for 10 months. How they caught is remains a mystery. I’m just so so grateful that despite having COPD and emphysema, he was never hospitalized. My brother as well had a mild case.

I’m sure what I lost is small bananas compared to many and I realize I sound like a spoiled brat. But what I’ve lost personally is something many of us have lost, and that’s the ability to truly connect to other human beings. We had just come from an era of a collective anger and annoyance over people’s overuse of technology vs person-to-person communication, and COVID put us right back there, staring at screens 24/7. We’ve lived this way for almost a year now, and the end is still nowhere in sight.

What I worry about is how this will affect us all in the long run. There’s an old saying that goes “do something for 21 days and it will become a habit”. Well, how about things we do for a year or more??? Like, being afraid to get close to another human being? Yesterday I was alone in an elevator, mask on, and the door opened and someone with a dog refused to enter, choosing to wait to ride when he could ride alone. I mean, everywhere we go, elevators have signs saying “two-at-a-time only”. With his dog that would be 3 but the dog doesn’t count. What was he so afraid of??? It hurt my feelings. Like wow really.

We are all so used to taking huge steps back from one another in line at the store (let’s face it, that’s the only place we go). We are so afraid of one another’s cooties we behave horribly to one another. I have always been friendly and I have always chatted with cashiers, asking how their day is going, chatting to other people in line, you know, if I see a cute purse or hat on someone or they’ve got something cool in their cart I’ll mention it. Those days are GONE. People are so afraid of one another, I get cold stares or just plain ignored as if I was invisible. On Christmas Eve I went to the grocery store and there was a super cute guy wearing one of those cheesy Christmas suits, you know, like a business suit but all green with little Santas all over it. I told him how cute he looked and he brandished an angry stare and kept walking. Again, like “Wow. Really”.

One time (again, in an elevator, because that’s how exciting my life is now), a mother with a baby who was sitting in the shopping cart facing me began to scream when I said, “Hi baby! What a cutie pie you are!” in my bestest high-pitched baby voice. Now that baby might’ve screamed anyways had I not been wearing a mask, but it made me gasp and wonder, without the ability to see my whole face, this generation of children doesn’t benefit from seeing a person’s smile. You know how babies love when you make a really big face with your eyes super open and mouth wide open? Playful and fun. And I can’t do that and that baby doesn’t get to see my over-the-top “you’re such a cute baby” face. Can you even imagine being a baby right now? Babies learn to read and interpret from facial expressions and all they can see are eyes. They are either going to be seriously fucked up or masters of reading what they call “micro-expressions”. I don’t know, but it’s sad I can’t even coo at someone else’s cute baby anymore.

What’s gone is simply “being nice” to one another. Have you dared held the door open for someone lately? OH MY GOD you’d think I was committing attempted murder. Sorry, I’ve been holding doors open for people for hmmmm, about 40 years, and it’s instinctive. Sorry it doesn’t occur to me you would reel with horror and refuse my chivalry.

I refuse to kowtow to this fucking virus. I will not let it change me. You people can go about being rude and mean and giving me the stink-eye for continuing to be my happy-go-lucky, friendly self. There is no reason to be this way and you know it. If you’re that afraid of the virus, stay home, or shop at 6 am when stores allow the higher at-risk shoppers to shop. I will not become like you. I will not stop saying hello even if it’s behind a mask. I will not stop thinking of my fellow man when I hold a door open for you or allow you to go ahead of me in line when I’ve got a cart-full and you’re holding just a loaf of bread. Stop looking at me like I’m the enemy here. I am sick of it.

The worst thing COVID took away from me? Of course, it was the ability to see my family and friends while I try to “stay safe” in my apartment cocoon. I am grieving the losses of everything fun from Burning Man, Summerfest and State Fair being cancelled, all the venues and clubs, and inconceivably at one point, the beach was closed during the measly three months’ summer we get here in Wisconsin. I mean, I get it, we all “get it”, the hospitals are over-capacity and they’re stretched to their limits. My heart goes out to front-line workers everywhere and I think they are definitely the angels in this whole fucking catastrophic world we are living in. But much lip service has been given to how hard it really is to just “stay home”. And I’m not even going into those who’ve lost their jobs. “Staying home” isn’t fun or an option for many of us, and even to those whom it is an option, it’s fun until it isn’t.

I have accomplished much since the pandemic started, some good and some not so good. The good?? I am a second-year grad student with a 3.80 GPA (that one B in Stats but hey! I was very happy to have gotten a B!!) and I have an amazing job I love. I’ve gotten so much closer to my two kids, one I see nearly every day and the other lives a little further away who called me frequently just to say hello. And living alone I’ve gotten to know myself better and learn to budget and also shop just for myself. I’ve gotten to cuddle my cat more than ever before. The not-so-good? I’ve learned that if I open a bottle of wine at dusk (which is now 4:30) I can finish the whole bottle by myself in one evening. I also have found a way to make nachos at 1 am when I get home from work. I’ve developed some bad habits thanks to six months of no gym being open and living in an apartment where I can’t even walk from one room to another without annoying the person living below me. Can you imagine if I tried to exercise??

I did take up walking during summer since I had to get out of my apartment. I started listening to books on Audible and would walk for 2-3 hours just to get outside. But it’s January now and snowing, so forget walks. My gym did open but it sometimes scares me to go because they don’t require masks while exercising. So while I’m trying to get healthier I might catch something that might kill me.

The risk is real and I’m just plain sick of worrying about it. Aren’t you? Thankfully, it looks like I’m next in line to get the vaccine because I am a health care worker. It cannot happen fast enough. I know you feel it too.

Little by little, it will happen. For those of us who haven’t lost a loved one due to COVID, life will get back to normal and this will all be just one big horrible nightmare.

I’m ready for the era of debauchery we haven’t seen since the roaring 20’s to begin. I’ve got a bottle of champagne in the fridge that’s symbolically sitting there to open when I can throw every single mask I own in the trash. Or better yet, burn in a dumpster.

Who’d have thought a simple 15-second video could be so powerful??

Lauren ThomasSep 17 · 5 min read

I was living alone for the first time in my entire life, just me and my cat, and feeling jailed in my 850 ft. apartment thanks to COVID. Feeling lonely was an understatement given that I was recently legally separated from my husband of 27 years, and the guy I’d been seeing decided to join the Army. The quarantine had just been mandated and after 6 weeks, I felt myself slipping into a depression. I’ve never been depressed a day in my life; I am the annoyingly cheerful co-worker who doesn’t need coffee to be extra-exhuberant at 6 am (or midnight. I work a lot of second and NOC shifts). This no-job, no-human-touch existence was taking its toll on this social butterfly. Bored out of my skull, I found TikTok like millions of others during COVID, and something about it really began to resonate with me. I realized that it wasn’t like the similar-yet-extinct platform “Vines” at all — there weren’t any skateboarding massive-fails that ended in broken bones or other dumb staged “accidents” making fun of people getting hurt. I realized TikTok did one of three things for me: it either turned me on (all the shirtless hot men!!), made me laugh (goofy and genuinely goofy) or it inspired me (lots of positive affirmations and girl-power videos).I realized Tiktok wasn’t just for teenagers; there was a smattering of 30 and 40+ aged men and women on there and even a hot 50+ woman that had thousands and thousands of followers and likes.

I had not gone out for 4 months; I had no life, no job, no man, nothing but boredom. No boyfriend, no sex. There was snow on the ground outside, my gym was closed, I mean, wtf did I have to look forward to? It had been so long since I’d even worn make up or gave a shit about my looks. My roots were showing, I needed a manicure and pedicure and a waxing. Like everyone else, I was gaining weight and a drinking habit to go with it.

Seven weeks into quarantine, I decided to join and make a video. (The platform is free). I decided to make a sort of PSA; it was a “mental health awareness” video. If anyone I knew found it, I wouldn’t be embarrassed. And I had exactly 6 “hearts” (likes) and that was fine with me.

The following night, two glasses of cabernet in, I thought, hmmm, I’m going to dress sexy and see what happens! I put on full make-up, a hot cocktail dress I used to wear out with my guy, and my favorite rhinestone stilettos. I scrolled to see what the trending song was, and made a “thirst trap” video of myself, the camera voyeuristically looking me up from heels to head to the sexy rap song “My Type”. I sent it to my 20 year old daughter (she’s my best friend) and told her, “Your mom is too old for TikTok LOL” and I felt ridiculous. She said, “OMG!!!!” When I went to bed that night, I had zero followers.

I woke up the next morning to a message from my daughter that said, “OMG MOM YOU WENT VIRAL! YOUR VIDEO’S GOT 14.1K VIEWS!” I could not believe it. I immediately went to my profile and sure enough, she was right: I went viral overnight. I smiled just thinking about how awesome and silly it all was. And at that moment, I knew I was hooked.

I began dressing up a couple times a week and writhing and posturing seductively to various songs. It felt so good to get dressed up and feel pretty again, and to have hundreds if not thousands of men tell me I was pretty. Many have commented that they “cannot believe I’m single”. Haha.

Making these videos has been a great boon to my ego and self esteem; when the one you love fails to tell you you’re pretty, or amazing, or make time to even text you back, it’s a pretty solid subsitute. And the followers kept increasing, and the likes and views and kind comments kept coming. TikTok has become my boyfriend, and he’s so much more giving and reliable.

I made my first video June 18th, and since then, I’ve made a total of 53 videos. I’ve got almost 5000 followers, nearly 20K likes all videos combined. One video has over 100K views. I have so much fun getting all dressed up and making them! It’s my reward after a long day at work or studying (I’ve since gotten a job and I’m in grad school). I never plan what I’m going to do; I let a feeling come to me or a song and I spend less than an hour total making them, and I always feel light and happy afterward. Having to keep coming up with new outfits, hairstyles and makeup has helped me take better care of myself. I even joined a gym and go 6 days a week.

I feel so much affection for my followers; they are so loyal to me, I’ve got thousands of comments from them professing their admiration of me from the sexiness of my legs to admiration of me as a human being who’s a residential mental health care specialist and grad student. I don’t have haters or men that are rude or obnoxious; amazingly, everyone has been so nice to me and enjoys watching my videos. Several have sent me DM’s that suggest I put my Venmo account up so men can send me money. This is not something I’d ever do; I am not a prostitute (I do not judge) but I’m not making these to make money. I’ve had hundreds of marriage proposals. They’re a substitute for real human interaction in the COVID world we live in.

I am grateful to TikTok and know Trump has threatened to destroy it; there is speculation that the company that created TikTok — ByteDance, a Chinese company, is a threat to the U.S. I pray a U.S. company buys it to keep it afloat. There are approximately 500 million users — it’s available in 39 languages and in 150 markets around the world. What I love about TikTok is it is culturally sensitive and diverse; everyone is welcomed — from the LQBTQ+ community to people of color. The lack of judgmentalness on this platform is what really inspires me — there is zero bullying and all shapes and sizes and ages are accepted and applauded. If ever there was a platform that screamed the Billy Joel song “I love you just the way you are”, TikTok is it.

It’s been three months since my first TikTok video, and I still haven’t gone out; dating during COVID is a lonely joke, and it will be a year until my Army guy will get leave time to come home. He’s half a world away. Who knows what state our relationship will be in then. We aren’t exlusive. In the meantime, I’m having fun making scandalous 15-second videos that have helped me lose weight, feel more confident, and have given me motivation to self-care. My depression has lifted and I have something to look forward to when there’s nothing to look forward to.

• Tik Tok

I didn’t report because the man was my first husband, and I didn’t know any better. Oh sure, on some level I knew that being forced to have sex against my will wasn’t “nice”, but I was raised to be a “nice” girl. 

Two-plus decades later, I am reminded of that relationship that I had buried.

A byproduct of the #MeToo movement, #WhyIDidntReport has become an national obsession. I have spent much time scrolling and reading through the heart-wrenching tweets of sexual assault victims from every corner of the world. And as I read through them, two over-riding themes seem to keep resonating with me and that is that victims often don’t report sexual assault because they feel one, that somehow they caused it and two, they feel ashamed–too ashamed to tell anyone.  Compounding this shame, victims often are not believed when they do have the courage to report. I’ve read way too many stories of male and female police officers who patronizingly say to victims, “it’s your word against his/her and no one will believe you.”

And then of course, the creme-de-la-creme is our own president standing up and mocking a sexual assault survivor on national television. (see https://youtu.be/AWv1ipoi-c8)

Is it any wonder victims just keep silent, until they can no longer keep silent??

Here are a few common responses to #WhyIDidn’tReport

1-the perpetrator was a family member

2- the perpetrator was a boyfriend/husband

3-the victim was a child when the abuse occurred and had no frame of reference to even suspect it was a crime

4-the victim had been drinking

5-fear of saying no (due to fear of being harmed further)

6-not realizing it was sexual assault until many years later with the perspective of time, maturation and knowledge (especially when others are brave enough to come out about their own stories–victims’ memories are often triggered upon hearing a story similar to their own).

And the most common mind-fuck of all are the perps who told their victims a variety of excuses to keep them from reporting:

1-“What did you think was going to happen?”

2- “It’s not rape if we’re dating/married”

3-“No one’s going to believe you”

4-“You’ll destroy this family”

5-“If you tell anyone I’ll kill you/harm your family”

6-“I’m your boss–I’ll fire you if you tell anyone”

7-“You asked for it…look at the way you’re dressed”

So it boils down to this: sexual assault victims often don’t report because they internalize that they caused it to happen, and in turn become ashamed that they “caused” it and simultaneously were unable to stop it, which causes the victim to feel responsible and therefore what’s there to report? That they had poor judgment?? That they got themselves into a situation where they “should’ve known better”??

We can use any type of sexual assault to make the point that from the perspective of the victim, they have to endure yet more trauma if the assault is reported. Have you ever stopped to really think about what a victim must go through to have a rape kit taken? Imagine you’ve just been sexually assaulted and have gone to a safe place. You tell someone. Hopefully this someone believes you and encourages you to call the police. The police show up and tell you you need to have a rape kit done to “prove” this assault took place by this perp.

The cop has probably advised you not to shower, not to even use the restroom as precious evidence can be destroyed. In your traumatic emotional state, you’ve got 72 hours to get to a doctor or hospital who’s trained to do this procedure. Not all are. You’ve been advised not to change clothes or even comb your hair. In this traumatic state you’re in, you hopefully have your supportive friend/partner drive you and take you to have the rape kit examination performed. They are encouraged to remain with you at all times during this  extremely invasive act. Thanks to the Violence Against Women Act (see https://www.gpo.gov/fdsys/pkg/BILLS-113s47enr/pdf/BILLS-113s47enr.pdf)  states are required to provide sexual assault victims forensic exams free of charge.

In addition to collecting your clothes and an all-over external body exam (for bruises, scratches, etc.) getting evidence for a rape involves a vaginal/genital and rectal exam. This can often feel like a second trauma, and any victim who is brave enough to have this done needs to have it taken seriously. I am mortified and angered that there is a backlog of rape kits that have been ignored and untested due to a ridiculous law that law here in Wisconsin that “doesn’t require the police to send in DNA samples when they already had a suspect, because legislators were more concerned about rapists who were unknown and on the loose.” (see https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.postcrescent.com/amp/483761002).

Dr. Christine Blasey Ford took a lot of criticism for “waiting 35 years to report”, and so may thousands of sexual assault survivors came forth to tell their stories of why they too waited so long to report. Without trying, Dr. Ford started a movement empowering survivors to be heard, thus the #WhyIDidntReport hashtag.

So much more can and needs to be done for sexual assault survivors. I suggest it starts in the home; parents, we need to be better communicators and teachers of both our sons and our daughters. Sex ed needs to go way beyond “the birds and the bees” to “no means no”. We need to have conversations with our children from the time they’re very little all the way through the embarrassing teenage years to educate them on how to behave in their personal relationships. Our sons need to be taught that girls want boyfriends and will often allow boys to go farther than they really want to so they don’t lose them, and our daughters need to be taught self-love and how to have healthy emotional boundaries. Our sons need to be taught that their bodies are their own; that it’s ok to say no to pressure to be sexual before they feel ready, and our daughters need to be told that it’s not ok to pressure their boyfriends for sex. We need to be constantly vigil for things that don’t add up: an uncle or coach or teacher or family member that’s overly involved with our child and be willing to risk being wrong to protect our children. We need to be on the lookout for female predators to protect our sons as vigorously as we do male predators and our daughters. AND IF YOUR CHILD HAS THE COURAGE TO COME TO YOU AND TELL YOU SOMETHING INAPPROPRIATE HAS HAPPENED TO THEM, FOR FUCK’S SAKE BELIEVE THEM!!! Do NOT betray them by saying Uncle Jerry ‘couldn’t possibly’ have done that to them. Or their new step-dad or step-mom, new step-brother or the friend of someone in the family. BE VIGILANT AND BE THERE FOR YOUR CHILDREN!!!

And we need our lawmakers to take sexual assault more seriously. Here’s what can be done RIGHT NOW:

1-Trump can make law RIGHT NOW cancelling all statutes of limitations on reporting of sexual crimes. So even if it’s 35 years later, the perpetrator can still be prosecuted.

2-Rape kits need to continually be tested whether or not the victim has given consent. This is a quandary not everyone agrees to, but IMO, victims often change their minds about pressing charges even after enduring reporting and doing a rape kit for fear of repercussions from the perpetrator. These victims need additional protection, not invisibility.

3-We need to change our collective mind-set as to what constitutes “proof” of sexual assault. It was reiterated over and over and over during the Kavanaugh hearing that “no corroboration exists” to “prove” Dr. Ford’s allegations against him were true. SEXUAL ASSAULT HAPPENS IN SECRECY. THERE ARE USUALLY NO WITNESSES. We need to have a different burden of proof other than “who else was there that can tell us this really happened?” because nearly 100% of the time, no one else is there. If victims don’t seek to have rape kits, yes, it often becomes a “he said/she said” issue and yes, the burden of proof lies in the accuser, NOT the accused. In this country we are presumed innocent until proven guilty. I don’t have the answer but we need to address this.

4-We also need to collectively realize that not all sexual assault results in rape. Dr. Ford never said Kavanaugh raped her. She said he “sexually assaulted” her. Sexual assault takes many forms. It can be attempted rape, it can be sodomy, it can be groping and forced kissing. (see https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_assault)

4-We need sex education classes in schools that do more than just talk about menstruation and secondary sex characteristics. Teens especially are thirsty for information on how to behave on dates, on social media, and at their jobs. We need to teach our children about CONSENT. We can supplement what parents teach and support parents by taking an active role in making sexual and social behavior a normal and common topic of discussion.

5-Lastly, GET OUT AND VOTE IN NOVEMBER!!! We need male and female persons to replace the GOP and it’s misogynistic attitudes towards women. Through our votes, we can change the future.

1. Women “want” abortions. No woman “wants” an abortion anymore than we would “want” a root canal. But if you need to have one you should be able to get one. Period. Women seek abortions in a desperate attempt to end an unwanted/unintended/unplanned pregnancy. It’s the hardest decision a woman will ever make.
2. If Roe v Wade is overturned, it will end all abortions forever. No law will ever stop women from getting abortions. It will only stop legal and safe abortions. It will make it harder and more unsafe, but not impossible. Abortions will never be stopped as long as there are unwanted pregnancies. It is legal elsewhere in the world. More women will die but they won’t stop trying to end their pregnancies by any means possible. (see https://www.nytimes.com/2018/05/31/opinion/sunday/abortion-banned-latin-america.l)
3. Outlaw contraceptives and you’ll reduce the number of abortions. The complete opposite has been proven to be true. The less available birth control is the more unwanted pregnancies will result. Duh. (see #11)
4. Women can be forced by the government to remain pregnant. Only if they’re chained to their beds like in The Handmaid’s Tale. See Myth #2.
5. The unborn baby has more rights than the mother. No it doesn’t and it shouldn’t. A living, breathing person should always have more rights than someone who doesn’t yet exist. A fetus/unborn baby cannot survive outside the womb before 24-25 weeks (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fetal_viability). The Supreme Court of the United States ruled in 1973 that “criminalizing abortion…violated a woman’s constitutional right to privacy” (Justice Harry A. Blackmun, January 22, 1973, Roe v Wade).
6. Women who seek abortions are mostly teenagers. Of the 1.2 million abortions that are performed each year, roughly half are over the age of 25. Only about 17 percent are teens. About 60 % have given birth to at least one child prior to seeking an abortion. A disproportionately high number are black or Hispanic.
7. Women who seek abortions are selfish.  Bringing a child into the world that isn’t wanted is an incredibly cruel and selfish act. Unwanted children are at increased risk of juvenile delinquency, psychiatric disorders and long-term resentment of the child by the mother (see https://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/6926988) Most women who seek abortions already have children and are concerned for the emotional and financial welfare of their existing children.
8. Women who seek abortions are promiscuous, immoral sluts. If they are, then so are the men that impregnated them. Women cannot become pregnant themselves.  (check out this recent Twitter sensation https://www.scarymommy.com/twitter-anti-abortion-unwanted-pregnancies/)
9. Men are not affected by abortion. Men are people too and have a variety of emotional responses to the women they’ve accidentally knocked up, but most not only encourage their partners to get abortions but feel guilty and relieved afterwards. Men and the women they impregnate should be able to decide for themselves whether or not they’re ready to become parents. Not the government. (see https://melmagazine.com/8-men-on-what-it-was-like-when-their-partner-had-an-abortion-4f55c9671d0 also https://www.google.com/am/w/www.vice/com/amp/en_us/article/m5794/abortio-affects-men-too)
10. Pro-Choice means anti-life, anti-religious, anti-human-rights, anti-God.  The religious right made it a moral issue in 1979 with their self-named “Moral Majority” and Jerry Falwell. Prior to that it was little more than just another medical procedure. The evangelicals’ self-righteousness has no place here. We have the right to religious freedom which also means we have freedom FROM religion. It’s called the First Amendment.  To force everyone to live by YOUR beliefs, that’s call tyranny. If you are an evangelical Christian and find yourself with an unwanted/unintended/unplanned pregnancy, don’t have an abortion. I won’t tell you what to do with your body. Don’t tell me what to do with mine. How about “you do you, I’ll do me”???!!
11. Women use abortions as a birth-control method. The majority of women who have an abortion have only one, but the more restrictions there are on available birth control methods, the more abortions women will need to have. A 2012 study of more than 9000 women found that when women use no-cost birth control, the number of unplanned pregnancies and abortions fell between 62-78 percent (see “Trump Contraceptive Move Could Lead to More Abortions” https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.nbcnews.com/news/amp/nca808581)
12. Abstinence until marriage prevents abortions How many of you reading this are never-married virgins?? Yeah. I thought so. (see “Abstinence only Means More Abortions” https://www.google.com/amp/s/salutemag.com/2018/03/07/column-abstinence-only-means-abortions/amp/)
13. If men were the ones to get pregnant, not women, they’d overwhelmingly support giving up their rights to control their own bodies. Did you laugh out loud just reading that???????!! Of course they wouldn’t. Nobody tells a man what to do. Men tell women what to do. America is a patriarchal society. Women continue to be treated like second-class citizens. Men would NEVER allow laws to be made to control their bodies, their lives, their choices, yet they think nothing of doing it to women. THIS SHOULD INFURIATE YOU.

 Restricting access to abortions and birth control simply endanger women. 

Source: https://yalelawjournal.org/feature/before-and-after-roe-v-wade-new-questions-about-backlash

I should be packing right now instead of writing this.

As the days grow close to leave for our three-day road trip to the Nevada desert where Burning Man is held, there’s so much to do to prepare. First and foremost, it’s held in a barren desert 1584 miles away, and this is not the kind of camping you can just run to a 7-11 if you forget anything. The nearest store is 100 miles away. There’s no cell service. There are no trees, no insects or animals, and no campfires. No electricity, no running water. Just literally a 4-square mile flat surface covered in an alkaline baby-powder-like white clay dust called the “Playa” (Spanish for “beach”). You bring literally everything you will need to survive the seven-day extreme camping experience. Last year the highs were in the hundreds and the lows in the 50’s.

So there’s camping equipment, food and water for each person for seven days, proper clothing and all the necessities you can think of. Think “survivalist” and short of catching your own food, you’re in an environment that’s trying to kill you the entire time you’re there. We subsisted pretty much on canned tuna (out of the can, mind you, eaten with a cracker) and PBJ sandwiches and applesauce.

Last year, our first “Burn”, we had joined a small camp, but we were pretty much on our own. For example, one of the biggest stressors we had was our shade cover. With daytime temps at 102 for the entire week, and with sudden wind gusts of up to 75 mph, your shade structure will literally save your life during the day and if it comes out of the ground it will kill someone. Hammering into the rock-hard surface of the Playa is quite a challenge. We did have a couple wind gusts and our shade structure kept flying up in one corner or another and threatened to pull out completely.

This year we’re thrilled to share an established camp with approximately 200 campers and not even have to even think about a shade structure as it will be there when we arrive. We had biked past them last year on the way to the Playa and saw what an awesome set-up they had. Everyone’s tents were tucked safely under an enormous black tarp that was secured so well it could easily withstand the angriest dust storm. We contacted them and were excited and thankful they had room for us!

You may be asking yourself, “why would anyone go to such a place?” and, “What IS Burning Man??”

It’s not a festival or an art show or a hippy drug scene or a place where a bunch of bands play. It’s really indescribable, but I’ll try.

It’s a barren place where 70,000 people come from all over the world to create a city called “Black Rock City” just outside of Lovelock, Nevada. This city sits in a half-circle formation, with made-up roads and street signs and made-up addresses (this year, the theme is “I, Robot”, and all the street names are various robots from literature and TV and movies). Most people camp in tents but there are those who “glamp” instead and come in RV’s. There are always a smattering of celebrities who fly in to join established camps (we call them, “plug-and-play”) but to really get the most out of the experience, you should sleep in a tent you put up yourself.

I was trying to talk a friend of mine into going with me this year as I was able to acquire two extra tickets, and thought it would be super fun to go with friends. She said to me that it didn’t sound like a very fun “vacay” to her. And it’s funny how we all have our own ideas of what a “vacation” is. To her, it’s a five-star hotel with a pool and cocktail service; to me, it’s wearing pasties and goggles, using a porta-potty, not showering for a week and riding around on my fat-tire bike exploring the art and the Temple of the playa at Burning Man.

It gave me pause to think, and I’d say that more than anything, Burning Man is a spiritual retreat. It’s a place where there’s universal acceptance and love. It’s a place that’s “governed” by something called the “10 Principles of Burning Man” https://burningman.org/culture/philosophical-center/10-principles/

You don’t even use your “real” name. You are given a “Playa” name by someone while there and what you do in the “default world” (back home) no one discusses. You leave behind your “real” job/career, and all your baggage. You get to dress anyway you want. Ties and suits and the costumes we wear every day to be societally accepted are traded for pasties, tutus, Indian headdresses, T-shirts/shorts and often, no clothing at all.

Imagine a world where people give one another things and expect nothing in return. The first time I was given something was the first day we arrived; at the gate, we got hugs. We biked out to see the “Man”, who’s 75 feet tall and is burned the final day of the event, and we’d parked our bikes to go inside the structure he was built in. A woman was standing aside the entrance and asked me if I’d like a necklace she’d made. I said, “sure!” and she put it around my neck. It was so fun! I was like “wow!” And that was just the beginning.

My favorite gifting moment happened was one morning, I think it was our third day there, we were starving and hot and exhausted as we’d barely slept due to the constant thump-thump-thump of music all night long. We’d biked to get ice (one of two things sold there–ice for your ice chests to keep your food cold and coffee at Center Camp) and we were riding back down one of the “streets” and there stood in the middle of the street was a woman dressed as a wizard. I thought she was a mirage. As we approached, we saw she was holding out a platter of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. She was giving them away. She never said a word. She stood there smiling, and we took one each and said thank you, and I burst into tears. It was one of many gifting moments that brought me to tears. How was she able to bake cinnamon rolls in this unforgiving desert?? And how sweet they tasted in our much-weakened physical and emotional state.

One night we biked out to the “Distrikt” area, which is where all the fun is—flame throwers, the “Thunderdome”, all the crazy and there was a camp that was offering free grilled cheese sandwiches! Sure we had to stand in line for about an hour, but we chatted with others in line and made new friends, and when that sandwich touched our lips, let me tell you, it was orgasmic.

Another time, a camp was offering a free slice of pizza. When you’ve eaten nothing but canned tuna for four days, let me tell you, it sounded like heaven. We waited in line again for a long time, but the caveat at this camp was you had to agree to let them spank you. Seemed a small price to pay.

I got to choose the weapon–a small board or a plastic wiffle bat? I chose the board. I was hyped by this point. It was no small spank. My butt cheek was bright red for the rest of the day.

Mmm. It was worth it. Pizza will never taste as good again as it did that moment.

And so on it went. Every day spectacular things like this kept happening.

So there’s the half-circle area where all the camps are, and all day long there are are events and activities offered by many of them, ranging from yoga at sunrise to “Strip Karaoke” (yes, I did that one hehe). You can attend a class on how to give proper oral sex to a woman and AA classes. There’s absolutely something for everyone. You’re given a booklet at the gate with all the activities and addresses and times for everything; it’s impossible to do everything you want to do because there’s just so many fun things all going on at the same time.

And then there’s the Playa, where all the art is.

The art installations are beyond phenomenal. Most are so gigantic, as you ride your bike up closely you become so awed by the enormity of them as well as their significance. Many you can climb on as if it were a child’s playground. One was a 2-story life-like doll with hair that flowed in the wind, who was led on a crane and spoke to the crowd as she danced her way across the playa. There was a castle shooting fire and a giant jellyfish made of stained glass that when the sun hit it just so, it was a kaleidoscope of colors. There was a 2-story sized metal hummingbird that had a lever you could pull up and down and make its wings flap. And many, many, many more. As you ride out with all the other 70,000 or so people to see all the art, it’s quite a spectacular experience.

As the sun sets and everyone’s bikes are illuminated , it becomes a whole different scene. My favorite are the art cars, or more commonly called, “Mutant Vehichles”, which often have a DJ spinning tunes with awesome sound systems. We didn’t realize this until the last day that they’re for public transport! You can leave your bike somewhere and just jump on and ride it and rock out with whoever else is riding when you jump on. My favorite was a “shark” car–like all the others, it was lit up with thousands of LED lights that blinked to the bass sound. We rode around a little and then jumped off and got on an art car that was an actual boat–a yacht and the theme was Jimmy Buffet and the DJ was of course playing nothing but Jimmy Buffett and they had a bar on board and offering free margaritas! So many smiles everywhere we went.

We heard everything from Frank Sinatra to Raffii and everything in between. Lots of EDM which I love. The pulse and energy of the playa is tangible. You can be anyone you want to be at Burning Man, and for me, being stretched emotionally and physically beyond what I ever thought I was capable of, was life-changing. I wrote in a journal every afternoon so I wouldn’t forget what I was learning about myself. There were so many amazing moments of pure joy and I didn’t want to forget any of them. In my suffering, I found a self-acceptance and love I’d never felt before. Who am I really with all creature comforts stripped away??

I came back a more grateful and alive person; I remember seeing my friend Kelly for the first time after we got back and when I saw her, I just threw my arms around her and hugged her and sobbed. I had a new appreciation for how much my friends mean to me. She was a bit taken aback and asked me if I was okay. I was more than okay! I was alive! I felt great! She asked that question I still can’t answer; “how was Burning Man?” and I just smiled through my tears.

My take-away from Burning Man is this–all we need is each other.  We don’t need “things”, we need experiences. We need joy and touch and fun and music and food and dancing and conversation. “Imagine”, as John Lennon wrote, “a brotherhood of man”.

I can’t wait to go back! I leave in 3 days!!

I’d better go pack now!

If you millennials think you invented “ghosting” well haha I’m here to tell you you did not. I’d say you have perfected it though.

Back in the day, if a man lost interest in a woman, he’d stop calling her. All we had back then were landlines, and then–answering machines! I remember when they were invented: it was so fun customizing your “greeting” and people got very creative. Everyone tried to be cutesy with recordings like, “Hey! I’m out doing something amazing and exciting and can’t get to my phone right now! If you want me to call you back, you have to leave me your number!” Because back then, there was no way of keeping someone’s number other than writing it down somewhere. My favorite recorded greetings were snippets of popular songs that I felt reflected my awesomeness, such as, “She’s simply Irresistible” by Robert Palmer. You know, a not-so subliminal way of reinforcing that dating me was a good idea.

Gone were the days when someone could lie and say, “Well, I tried to call you”, when the phone would ring and ring and no one would be there to answer. So now there was no excuse! If you called someone and they weren’t there, you could leave a message! This was exciting new technology! It was so fun to be gone now and come home to see the bright red digital number of how many missed calls and messages that were waiting for me while I was out in the world!

Some answering machines only allowed you to leave a 30 second message and others several minutes, and it was common for a person to have to call 2-3 times in a row to finish their message! You could make plans, cancel plans, and and it was the birth of ghosting. Suddenly we could talk into a machine and tell someone things we wouldn’t be brave enough to say to their face. Like, “hey, last night was great but my ex and I got back together.” Or worse, he’d stop calling. Simple as that. There was nothing worse than having a great date with a guy and then coming home from work or school and no “missed calls” from him. I remember that painful feeling well. I’d obsessively make sure the machine was plugged in and turned on, and days turned into weeks with no contact from said guy. I eventually got the hint, but not before I cried tears of anguish and frustration wondering what happened?? Did I misread everything??? How can I be beautiful and amazing and a great kisser on Saturday night but spoiled chicken by Monday??

The 21st century equivalent of “not returning missed calls” is called “ghosting”. And now we have texting, which to me, is really like leaving messages on an answering machine, except if you’e got your “read” on, that person knows whether or not you read the message and basically chose to ignore it. I remember well checking and double-checking to see, “is it plugged in?? Maybe he called and there was a black-out!” Or the dreaded, “did I even have it turned on???” Because back then answering machines had to be turned on and off–“on” when you left the house and “off” when you got home. And when someone called and called and you wanted to “ghost” them, you simply turned your machine on when you were actually home and “screened your calls.” And you’d sit there on your couch, watching TV, and hear the landline ring, and cringe while the person you just had a fabulous date with calls and calls and leaves desperate messages while you sit and listen, because there was no way to turn it off without them knowing you were sitting right there.

Pretty cowardly, weren’t we? We all did it. I did it mostly to debt collectors and cold sales calls. And my mother, rest her soul. Her timing wasn’t always good.

And so fast-forward to the 21st century where we’ve got the technology to ignore one another in many different ways–Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat for starters. We can “unfriend” and “unfollow” and ghost one another several different ways. Technology has given us the ability to treat each other shittier than ever.

I’ve done it myself–deleted, unfriended, unfollowed people who either never read the messages I sent them or took so long to respond I forgot I’d even written them. I assume I’m so far down their ladder of importance they probably wouldn’t notice anyways.

Going clean and swift with all methods of contact is probably the least confusing, the metaphorical ripping off of the Band-Aid. What does it mean when someone won’t return your texts, yet looks at all your Snapchat stories? Are they still interested or not? There’s this mucky-muck purgatory we get put in that keeps us from grieving and moving on. Do we hold onto hope that maybe you DID get arrested or in a major car accident and are physically unable to contact us? We go from being terrified something bad happened to you, to praying something actually did to explain your sudden lack of contact.

I really don’t get how hard it is to say, “hey, I met someone; if things don’t work out maybe we can chat again soon, you’re really awesome and I really enjoyed getting to know you.” Especially in a text, because it’s a way to let someone down easy and give them closure. It’s better than hearing nothing, and it’s a way to sidestep actual contact with another human being when you have to tell them something they don’t want to hear, which is, you don’t want to date them anymore. Make up a story goddamn it! Thats what white lies are for. Tell us you had a job change or hell, try the truth. “I really enjoyed our time together but I think maybe we want different things/met someone new/ we’re not a match.” Give us closure so we stop hoping and checking our fucking phones.

It’s cowardly and cruel and rude. There’s really no other way to look at it. Because if you’ve been dating someone, and it’s going really well (sex or no sex)–if you’ve got back-and-forth messaging going on and then POOF you disappear without a trace, that person is left holding their phone in their hand, staring at it constantly the way we used to stare at our answering machines, looking for clues. We’re left wondering what we did wrong. Why won’t you talk to me anymore?? Our self-esteem takes a brutal beating.

The “not-knowing” never really goes away. We get stuck in a limbo of self-examination and rumination, and the only way to really recover fully is to label that person a poor communicator at the very least, and at most, a douchebag. Otherwise nice people do this, and it’s frankly, shitty.

Basically ghosting is more about you avoiding feeling uncomfortable at someone else’s expense. It also is a sign of a lack of maturity; it confirms that you’re really not worthy of me anyways. I would never do that to someone I had an intimate relationship with, whether it was two dates or two months. Have the decency to end it like a grown-up.

I asked a twenty-five year old guy friend of mine what he thought about ghosting and said he does it too. Everyone he knows does it, but after talking awhile, I gave him pause to consider how the other person felt. He felt horrible, but said something really interesting–that sometimes (especially guys) ghost because in this right-swiping world, there’s just so many options, and he isn’t really “not interested anymore” but rather just distracted for the moment by someone more available. Or sluttier.

He said ghosting is a way to stop contact “temporarily”. So giving hope to the ghosted is intended. “I might come back” he told me,  and I said, “Yeah but would she have you after you treated her so terribly???”

He nodded and sighed, “Maybe the girl that gets ghosted is the one that got away.”

Hmmm.

I have always been interested in people and why they do what they do, but recently I’ve become curious about marriage, monogamy and non-monogamy. Why do so many marriages end in divorce? Is it just a matter of choosing the “right one” or are we being set up for failure? Maybe it’s because I’ve been married now (happily, I might add) almost a quarter-century. I look at my role models–my parents were married just shy of 59 years when my mother passed away. How happy were they really, I wonder? What goes on between a husband and a wife behind closed doors is what I’m really curious about. And not just the sex they’re (probably not) having.

What I’ve come to believe is that our Western view of marriage is actually harmful to relationships. Seriously, how can one person be “everything” to another human being??? We expect the Disney “happily ever after” which is nothing more than a set-up of unrealistic expectations.

Even though we live in a time of blended families and legal gay marriage, the belief that there’s just “one” out there for us that will “complete” us sets couples up for disaster. And holding hands with this belief is that we will never be attracted to another person of the opposite sex ever again now that “the one” has been found.  This person, this “one”, will be your best friend, your confidante, your only sexual partner. The person who helps clean up after sick kids and sick you. Brings home the bacon and fries it in a pan. You’re a whore in the bedroom and Martha Stewart in the kitchen. You’ll never gain weight or let each other down because you’re “in love”. These are just some of the myths and expectations that lead couples to think they’ve failed at marriage and lead them to divorce. How many of these do YOU believe????

It’s a fact that modern marriage does not work for most people. In fact, recent statistics show gay marriages are just as likely to end in divorce as heterosexual marriages (http://brandongaille.com) . So what’s going on??? Why can’t people stay married?

Maybe that’s the wrong question to be asking.  Maybe we should be asking whether people should get married at all; if maybe marriage is an out-dated concept (it IS an “institution” after all, and I don’t know about you, but just thinking of it as an institution kinda makes it sound scary). Think of it as it truly is–marriage is a business contract first and foremost. You don’t need a contract (hippies of yesteryear proclaimed this an unnecessary “piece of paper”) to have a romantic relationship with someone.

First of all, too many women focus on their Disney wedding and not enough about the hypothetical “happily ever after”.  Our society reinforces it with bridal shows and event planning and finding the ‘perfect dress” and the “perfect venue” not to mention choosing all the food and the song list for the DJ. How many couples sit down and actually discuss what monogamy really means to them? I know we didn’t; monogamy is our society’s default setting and it’s just assumed we all know what that means. Couples today have challenges my parents’ generation didn’t have (and mine didn’t until a decade ago) thanks to technology. What IS cheating today? “Liking” another girl’s Instagram pic? Wishing your ex a happy birthday on Facebook? Having coffee with an attractive married co-worker? The lines have gotten blurry and couples need to have these conversations whether they’re just dating or considering marriage. It’s not as black and white as it may seem.

We have been brainwashed to believe that we are only capable of loving one person at a time, and that we are monogamous by nature. We are NOT, and that’s probably the biggest reason most marriages fail.  Did you watch the most recent “The Bachelor”? Did he not fall in love with two women???? And being that Disney produces the show (no big surprise there) he MUST choose only one. And all the scandal is about the damage he did in doing so–one woman’s soul crushing vs. the other woman’s joy at being “chosen”. I personally despise the show’s entire premise as completely unrealistic and ridiculous. However, I would give anything for it to end with all three of them getting engaged and living happily ever after. Not polygamy folks, polyamory. Quite different. I’m guessing Disney wouldn’t like that very much.

We try to fit into boxes that we can’t fit into and drive ourselves crazy trying to. Add the fact that we are terrified of telling one another we have the hots for the gardener or the hot new IT chick and you’ve got a simmering pot of shit waiting to boil over. “You must not love me anymore” we cry hearing this and run to the nearest divorce lawyer. This is why most people are “serial monogamists” and hurriedly seek a new relationship thinking they’ll find something different. Rinse and repeat.

I’ll never forget a friend of mine who’s husband punched another guy in a bar for “looking” at her, “his wife”. I was horrified. And this is what is reinforced in our society! Our spouses are our property–look at the verbiage we use! “Taken off the market”, “She’s mine”. It really doesn’t sound romantic to me at all to be referred to like a piece of livestock. We also think we have a right to know our spouses’ every thought. I know I did. We think we should have all their passwords and access to their phones. We don’t trust; we play detective instead. And don’t get me started on religions that punish those for “committing adultery in your mind.” Complete rubbish and completely disastrous to any marriage. Fantasy is healthy. Sharing fantasies is healthy and sexy.

Why get married at all? Do you believe that it’s necessary only if you plan on having children? Or do you believe that everyone “should” get married? Moreover, what does 4,5, 6 decades with the same person— “til death do us part”–really look like to you? And does that “piece of paper” really make a difference, other than cost you around $30,000??

I remember that feeling of having “joined the club” when we got married. Society sanctions marriage in financial and social rewards. “Just living together” belittles the emotional tie between two people in assuming that they’re not serious: “shacking up” as Dr. Laura would say, as if we’re still living in the 1950’s. Goldie Hawn and Ken Russell were the first celebrity couple to buck the system and lived together over two decades without the “benefit” of marriage. And they’re still together today. 35 years going strong. No “piece of paper”.

It’s my hope that today’s young couples who’ve been raised with technology, who’ve had multiple sexual partners before deciding to “settle down” are able to have the kind of conversations my generation didn’t think to have until we had to have them. In this right-swiping world we live in, where there’s more choices and opportunities than ever, it’s my hope that couples will decide for themselves what kind of a relationship they want to have. We need to support more and judge less. Why does a relationship have to end in marriage to be legitimized?  Why do couples ask, “where is this relationship “going”???  Does every relationship have value, or only if it leads to “I Do”??

We’re in the 21st century now folks. It’s time for our relationships to be more flexible and less rigid and expansive to include all types of partnerships, not just the “man/wife” and “gay/gay” models the political agenda is force-feeding you.

******

P. S.  I urge every one of you to read a great new book out called “Stepping off the Relationship Escalator” by Amy Gahran.   https://offescalator.com

You can also follow Amy’s blog at https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/79349178

It seems every day there’s an announcement of yet another high-profile celebrity being fired over accusations of sexual misconduct in the workplace. When the “MeToo” campaign swept Facebook, I had to stop and think, “have I been sexually harassed in the workplace?” I got to thinking about my own work-place experiences with men over my lifetime, and sadly, I too have been the victim of inappropriate sexual advances by several men in positions of power, mostly within the entertainment industry.

It’s curious  that I had to really think about it, because as a woman, I was raised to be a “good girl”, which means, ‘Don’t cause a scene” and “be nice”. I also took it to mean, “don’t call attention to yourself” and apparently, “Don’t fight back, it’s not “nice”. And I am grateful that nothing as egregious as being trapped in a hotel room with a Harvey Weinstein pulling out his wanky happened to me.

My final semester in college, I took an internship at CBS Studios in Hollywood, California, and worked for a brand-new soap opera called, “The Bold and the Beautiful.” That internship led to a job there as a Page, which was the most fun job I’ve ever had. There were about 30 of us, all making minimum wage, dressed in our polyester suits with the CBS logo on them. We were mostly all television and film students or recent graduates, and we all longed for a job in the industry. Getting a job as a Page gave you unlimited opportunities to see how a television show was put together, and see first-hand the creative input from supremely talented individuals. It also gave you a front-row seat to the darker side of what’s it’s really like to work in Hollywood. We all wanted to be stars, we all wanted to be “discovered”, and these predatory men in positions of power knew it.

The inappropriate sexual advances of a few men at CBS was insidious, and it upsets me greatly now. I had to ask myself, “should I too come forward and accuse my own abusers?” What good would it do now? Are any of them even still alive? It’s regrettable that as a woman, raised to be a “good girl”, I never did anything about the inappropriate sexual advances done to me, other than think, “he must like me a lot to do that”. Isn’t that pathetic? Rather, as a woman, I came to expect such behavior as typical of men in power, and as a woman, it was considered something along the line of “flattery” if they saw you as a sexual object. After all, didn’t we “ask” for it by being attractive?? I didn’t view the hand on my ass, the innuendos, the offers to accept gifts, car rides, dinners, weekend-trips, the creepy looks up and down at my body, the unwanted hugs, the overall general feeling of unsafetyness as anything other than the price of being a woman in a business that made stars overnight. And like most of my cohorts, we all dreamed of getting  that big break.

My co-workers and I talked often about the stuff we saw going on, and we’d joke about a certain producer or celebrity that was well-known for making advances on the female Pages. We’d joke whether or not any of us was left out; in other words, we knew we weren’t “special” but it was often a rite of passage for a new female Page to be “initiated” for example, by an invitation to the Magic Castle by a particular older male stagehand. As far as I know, most of my female co-workers declined his offers, but I know that I was tempted because this was Hollywood!! I wanted to experience bright lights and the big city!! He was more than twice my age, and although I was afraid to say no, I did so. Something about his invitation felt slimy. I seriously worried about my reputation having said “no” to this powerful man. He’d worked there for two decades and was on a first-name basis with everyone, and was very well-liked and respected. I actually worried I’d harmed my future by saying “no”.

We all had heard how legendary host of “The Price is Right” Bob Barker would go into a particular models’ dressing room before the show. “TPIR”, as we called it, was one of the most frequent shows we Pages worked on. It took a crew of about 15 of us for each show, and because it was clearly the biggest money-maker there at CBS, we all knew it was an honor to work it. We were in charge of the audience; bringing them in for the shows, checking all their ID’s, drawing the infamous price tag-name-tags, making sure the ones chosen to be selected stayed in their seats, even after the customary seven-plus hour wait. We taped two shows a day, Monday through Wednesday.

Bob was such an icon, and we all feared and admired him from afar as he was not known to fraternize with us lowly pages, but to think he was a sexual predator?? At the time, I was as naive as the cliched Dorothy from Kansas. Surely they had a relationship?? And as we all know now, the model was Dian Parkinson, who sued him and the show in 1994 as well as Holly Halstrom in 1995. Bob apparently took full advantage of his “Barker’s Beauties.” We were disgusted but we’d heard the rumors. Pretty much everyone else on the set treated the Pages with respect, as did most of the actors on the soaps (we also worked on the set of “The Young and the Restless”) and most of the stagehands and various employees of the other shows and stages.

But it wasn’t unusual to be confronted with a flirtatious well-known male actor and wonder, “if I go to dinner with him, will I get a part on the show?”` I saw more than one of my female co-workers suddenly be associate-producing without a fucking internship first. Was I just jealous or had they actually sold themselves to the devil?  The Hollywood “casting couch” was well-known back then. The thinking though was that girls who wanted to become stars went willingly. My fellow pages and I were well-aware that we who said “no” were going to have to work even harder and “pay our dues”, and we were okay with that. I knew I needed to be a person of integrity.

We’d talk about them behind their backs of course, because we knew they weren’t any smarter or talented than us, they just took the bait to get ahead. It was the same for a few of the actresses as well; we all heard about the ones who “slept” their way to the top. If you were someone working in Hollywood and planned to get anywhere in the business, you had to have a conversation with yourself about whether or not you were going to be one of them or not. How badly did you want stardom? What price were you willing to pay to get there? Oftentimes, this conversation in your head didn’t occur until you were being propositioned.

In 1989, MGM Studios had a lavish “Wizard of Oz 50th Anniversary” promotion at the studios. Everyone still alive that had been associated with the film was there. It was a big celebration. Who didn’t grow up watching “The Wizard of Oz”?? And I have a picture taken of me arm-in-arm with the last surviving Munchkin, Jerry Maren, who is still alive today at age 97. (see below). In the pic, you see his arm around my waist, but prior to the photo being snapped, he grabbed my ass and pinched it hard. The look on my face says it all. “What the fuck????” Once again, disbelief, and powerlessness. Let’s just say I wasn’t surprised to hear that Judy Garland’s ex-husband had a memoir posthumously published in February of this year that she was repeatedly groped on the set of the film by the Munchkins. Of course, Jerry denies any wrongdoing. I wish I’d had the chutzpah to slap him across the face, but no, I was a “good girl” and instead told myself I should be “flattered.” I wasn’t. I was mortified. And angry, mostly at myself for saying and doing nothing.

The whole Facebook and Twitter “MeToo” campaign has illuminated that nearly every single woman alive has had to endure some version of sexual harassment by men. And it’s not just in Hollywood; we’ve seen it in the White House and the newsroom as well as the boardroom. Twenty years of waiting tables, I’ve had my share of abuse by male customers who’ve called me everything from “hey baby” to “hey you” and a boss who told me once to “smile more” to get bigger tips rather than pay me a higher wage. It’s absolutely mind-boggling that sexual harassment is so pervasive. It sickens me now that I didn’t either have the courage or the tools to respond appropriately in those situations, but it does help now to know I’m not alone.

For those of us who’ve worked in the entertainment industry, it’s not surprising at all. I’m so thankful for all the brave women and men who’ve stepped forward, and that this will hopefully mark the end official end of the era of the “casting couch”.  Sure, maybe there were plenty of women who consciously chose to trade sex for a part or job, but it’s possible that they just didn’t know any better. The workplace that rewards a person for their own victimization is not a healthy, respectful climate.   But there will always be free will, and if a woman makes a conscious decision to use sex for gain, she should be allowed to do so. She just can’t take it back later if she doesn’t get what she wanted and call it “abuse”.

When you heard rockstar Chris Cornell died with a “band” around his neck, did you immediately think what I did? That he didn’t commit suicide but rather died accidentally performing auto-erotic asphyxiation?

Oh come on now. Admit it, you did think of it.

And if society did its job, you felt guilty about it. Because “oh my god what would people think if he died masturbating??” So along with the media, you jumped on the suicide bandwagon, even though everything (so far) pointing to intentional suicide is negligible. Why is that?

Because as a friend told me last week that “it would be too embarrassing for the family if the truth got out that he died jerking off.”

So, if that’s what really happened in that room that night, it’s better to cover it up and lie about it because accidentally dying by masturbation is so much worse than
purposefully strangling yourself to end your life.

I beg to differ.

His wife has publicly “adamantly” stated that he was NOT depressed or suicidal. Family representatives called his death “sudden and unexpected.” In tandem, the “cause of death has been determined as hanging by suicide” was declared by the Wayne County Medical Examiner’s Office, pending further investigation and toxicology reports.

I’ve lost someone to suicide, and I can attest that I would’ve much rather had my brother die in the midst of an orgasm than having shot himself in the face, which is what he did. His death was also “sudden and unexpected”, but the evidence proved it was indeed suicide. We can’t know yet whether or not Cornell intended to die that night, we have only the facts that he died with an elastic band around his neck and that he was alone. Everything else is speculative at this point, unless and until toxicology reports help paint a clearer picture of what happened in that Detroit hotel room that night.

To me, dying by auto-erotic asphyxiation is no different than dying in a car crash, accidental fall, or work-place injury. It is no different than if a man keels over from a heart attack during sex with his wife. People die accidentally all the time. Around 117,000 a year according to statistics.

When a person intentionally dies at their own hands, the pain they were trying to escape from is immediately transferred to their surviving loved ones. I know. I’ve been there. Suddenly, all you feel is pain. Their pain is gone, and yours has just begun.

The shock of finding out that the person you loved was so distraught that they saw no hope at all is overwhelming. The realization and hopelessness of not having “been there” to help prevent it “if only we knew.” The helpless feelings that will never go away. The nightmares of their last moments inflicting a most gruesome act upon themselves. The unanswerable questions of “why” that will never go away. These are burdens bestowed upon the grieving thanks to the selfishness of the act of suicide.

The underground buzz is that Cornell may have actually accidentally died from erotic asphyxiation. This isn’t out of the realm of possibility. Cornell was a good husband and father. He wasn’t with another woman (if he HAD been he might be alive today). He was alone in his room. He’d just had an amazing concert in front of over 5000 people. Maybe he wanted to masturbate when he got back to his room. And maybe being a sober addict, he needed an extreme form of stimulation due to fallen dopamine levels. We don’t know. I’m not attempting to solve his death here. I’m just frustrated that we seem to feel way more comfortable believing a man was psychologically unbalanced or mentally ill than died having a little unsafe sex. Why isn’t the media blasting PSA’s about the need to always make sure you have a “spotter” if you’re into AEA? Why are there only more postings of the suicide hotline and tips for managing your depression? In this sexually crazed society that contradicts itself with sexual images fucking everywhere, wouldn’t it be prudent to at least acknowledge what we’re all really thinking? It’s called “the elephant in the room” for a reason.

If Chris Cornell died by AEA, he wouldn’t be the first rockstar or celebrity to do so. Michael Hutchence of the successful 80’s band INXS as well as David Carradine and Robin Williams. By the way, it’s important to note that the cause of death in Hutchence’s case was covered up for years as a suicide, only to be admitted as AEA by his mother years later.

I’m disturbed that I live in a world that is so repressed that it collectively believes a self-inflicted intentional death due to a person in utter despair is more readily accepted than an unintentional death due to a person in a sexually euphoric act. Why does there have to be pathology? Why do we always have to place a judgement on everything? We “understand” that Cornell might’ve been depressed and had a “good reason” to end his life that night, and as long as the media perpetuates this theory, we will run with it. We can all “understand” that as a sober addict, he may have “fallen off the wagon” and “didn’t mean to die.” We can also “understand” that depression is a serious mental illness that often leads to suicide.

But why can’t we “understand” that some people get a kick out of auto-erotic asphyxiation and sometimes it goes awry and that person stops breathing, simple as that? People bristle at any sexual act that doesn’t take place within the confines of a one-man, one-woman marital bed. Holy guacamole should a little kink be the cause of a rockstars’ untimely death! And God forbid that at that moment of suffocation, he was orgasming? Say your Hail Mary’s just for thinking such a thing!

We can’t “understand” because we’ve been brainwashed not to. We’d rather leave his mourners with the belief that he was a true rockstar, the kind that make mythical legends. A tortured soul to the very end. Romantic.

This is sick thinking. There’s nothing romantic about suicide. But if we’re going to romanticize Cornell’s death, why can’t it be “romantic” that he was making love to himself and accidentally died? Why is this so hard for us to wrap our heads around?

Chris Cornell’s state of mind that night prior to his death is being analyzed and combed through as if it were lice on a child’s head, picked off and examined one by one. We will never know the answers, no matter how much forensic evidence reveals.

I truly believe his wife and children would benefit more if they were left with thoughts of his last moments as those of pure pleasure than of despair and heartbreak. They wouldn’t go on living broken themselves, torturing themselves forever how it was their fault, that somehow they failed him in his darkest hour.

Because sometimes, shit just happens.