Tag Archives: gross

“Crazy-Love” = RomCom

12 Jun


-What’s missing from this unusual love story is love. Not once did I believe that Burt cared for Linda, the actual woman and not his idealized pin-up version. Linda was a victim of both a man and the times. Born in 1937, she came of age when women were expected to marry young and produce children. The police laughed at her when she was repeatedly harassed, and when Burt destroyed her pretty face, her marriage prospects dwindled to zero. The reconciliation with the man who maimed her was an act of survival.
-It seems unacceptable that someone should only receive 14 years for blinding and permanently disfiguring someone on purpose. Anyone who can convince themselves to do that is never going to be safe to have in society.
-If this strategy doesn’t work (as it shouldn’t) why perpetuate the myth that male violence towards women is merely misunderstood affection (and that the correct response to stalking/harassment is to embrace the stalker/harasser)?
-The day before the attack, in the face of several threats on the eve of her engagement to another man, Linda Riss called the police and begged for protection. Their failure to act resulted in Riss v. City of New York, a staple in Tort Law classes around the country. She lost and the case stands for the proposition that you can’t sue the police for failing to protect you unless they took some action or made some assurance that caused you to rely on their protection.
posted by Partial Law at 3:09 PM on July 2, 2007

-Partial Law – That of course, was addressed in VAWA, which created a private right of action when police departments failed to uphold their own orders of protection. This was then gutted by Castle Rock v. Gonzales, one of the many shameful decisions of the Rehnquist court and one of the most heartbreaking cases in a long-line of them.
-What a disgustingly misogynistic movie. This isn’t about a krrrazzzy kourtship, this is about a sociopath exploiting a woman in a scary manner. This isn’t “crazy love”, it’s about a subhuman asshole and the regrettable inequalities that facilitate his exploitations. This story isn’t unique or unfathomable, it’s going on everyday around the world. There is a woman in the US right now looking the other way while her live-in boyfriend molests her children. There is a woman in the Middle East right now marrying the man who raped her because her “purity” is gone. A woman in Indonesia is staunchly defending her drunken husband who beats her weekly. And on and on.
-In my opinion, he is Narcissistic Personality Disordered (NPD) with some BPD stalker traits. And she is Histrionic Personality Disordered (HPD).

“The essential feature of the histrionic personality disorder is a pervasive and excessive pattern of emotionality and attention-seeking behavior. These individuals are lively, dramatic, enthusiastic, and flirtatious. They may be inappropriately sexually provocative, express strong emotions with an impressionistic style, and be easily influenced by others.

“Women with HPD are described as self-centered, self-indulgent, and intensely dependent on others. They are emotionally labile and cling to others in the context of immature relationships. Females with HPD over identify with others; they project their own unrealistic, fantasied intentions onto people with whom they are involved. They are emotionally shallow and have difficulty understanding others or themselves in any depth. Selection of marital or sexual partners is often highly inappropriate. Pathology increases with the level of intimacy in relationships.”
-As I said above, stalking and harassment is not “courting” behavior. These are tools of control and compulsion and future validation does not mean that they were ever acceptible. Were I to kidnap someone and hold her in my basement for years until she agreed to marry me, would that mean that my act of kidnapping was just extended courtship?

A Rosie Story

18 May

I need to re-pot an African Violet that Cool gifted me with.

This is easier said than done: My bigger pots are in storage in Nevada. I live at an apartment complex so have no yard to collect dirt. I also do not have rocks near my house.

So, I decide to collect rocks during my lunch break at work. But what to put them in? I’m afraid if I just put them in a bag or something some do-gooder will take them for trash and toss them. So I use an old Swiffer-Wet box. I go to write “rocks” then my initials at the top so everyone can see my plan, but without my brain’s involvement, my hand writes “Rosie.”

I thought that was sort of random and funny, and wondered where I got the name Rosie.

When I went outside to get the rocks it was raining. But more importantly, there were not really any rocks around. Being from Nevada, where there are rocks EVERYWHERE I still find this very difficult to believe. But luckily, the house next door was torn down recently and they left a huge hold with boulders around the edges.

NV rocks

I figured where there were boulders there must be smaller rocks too, so I walked to the edge of work’s driveway. And there were smaller rocks among the big ones. I picked up a copper-colored rock and plunked it in my container, I grabbed a brown rock and dropped it in, I grasped a gold. . .

No, not a rock. Rock picking is OVER! I grasped a gold piece of rained-upon poo along the side of the feline-exclusive driveway. With my bare hand. Not cool. Not awesome at all.  But wouldn’t it be funny if whatever animal that left the $hit was named Rosie?!

I went inside, I hope to re-pot the pretty flower, and after this much trouble, it had better live. The End.

Potatoes Are the Devil [posted 7-12-07]

17 Jan

I said that (the blog title, I mean, for those of you not running on all cylinders) when I first came to Missouri, and got crazy looks.  Guess you can’t really call anything the devil in the Bible-belt without being taken seriously.  Anyway, on to the blog, huh?  Here’s a very random story for you. So, last August my parents finally visited after 3 years–this is not the point of the story. When they were here they insisted they go shopping at Wal-Mart because they didn’t think I had enough food. Among other things, they bought a bad of potato chips. While they were in Missouri, I took them everywhere (I’m a good host) and they didn’t even open most of their groceries. The potato chips were included in the unopened supplies. So if you didn’t know already, I HATE potatoes! I mean, it’s to varying degrees, I will eat chips and potato salad if I’m really staving (really, really starving), I can tolerate baked spuds (tolerate in the way that I would NEVER chose to eat the horrid things, but can avoid barfing if I choke them down), and under NO circumstances will I eat a French fry. Even as a baby I spit French fries out when my parents gave one to me to gum on. I can’t stand for French fries to be on my plate–why are potatoes always given as sides, and why can’t I ever remember to replace them with something else! One of the worst things besides eating the f-ing things is smelling them. I absolutely can’t tolerate anyone to eat fast food fries in an enclosed car-yick!!! Anyway, now that you have the background, back to the unused groceries. So my parents left this entire bag of potato chips in my cupboard. More background info: I hate grocery shopping myself, and can’t stand to throw away leftovers. I couldn’t quite bring myself to eating the bag-o-spuds though. Well, I lasted until the end of June, then–yup I bought dip and ate the year old chips! MY friend asked, “weren’t they stale!” Completely disgusted at the thought of me eating a bag of year-old chips. Well, potatoes are so crummy in the first place the freshness doesn’t even matter. . . Aren’t I hard-core?