Category Archives: complaints

complaints, condescending twatbags, narcissists, scams

Apparently, she’s playing social worker now…

The featured photo was taken May 10, 2002… the day I earned dual master’s degrees in social work and public health. Fair warning about this post… it’s probably going to come across as rude and offensive to some readers, because I’m “processing” again. Read with caution after the first two paragraphs. 😉

I am a little disappointed in myself today. It’s already almost 11:00 AM and I’m still sitting here in my nightie, listening to an old Conway Twitty song, and typing a blog post. I had such big plans for the holiday weekend. There are so many places around Wiesbaden that we haven’t yet explored. But we’re not doing that right now, because while we were having breakfast, Bill complained about how “shaggy” his hair is. And looking at it, I had to agree, his look was missing a certain sharpness. It had been awhile since his last haircut. I can cut his hair, but I don’t do as good of a job as the barber does.

So Bill went off to get a trim, and I’ve been migrating more music to my newer computer. I’ve been a bit surprised this morning. I had no idea how much Ella Fitzgerald I had in my collection– well over 700 songs! Ella was born in Newport News, Virginia, which is right next to where I was born, in Hampton, Virginia. I think that’s kind of cool. She was such a wonderful singer. I can’t say she’s one of my idols, but I sure do admire her a lot.

So anyway, it’s been awhile since I last upbraided my husband’s ex wife. She’s been pretty quiet lately, and I’ve had other things on my mind. I was actually thinking that maybe she decided to get off social media, but nope. She’s back on Twitter. And I couldn’t help but notice that, once again, she’s showing off her false persona to the masses. This time, she’s acting like a social worker.

Someone on Twitter was lamenting about being 45 years old and having to take care of both of her aging parents. The original poster shared a photo of herself looking really tired, yet still quite beautiful. She posted that she was having to take care of mother’s most intimate needs and is now exhausted.

Ex, in her attempt to fool everyone with her fake caring facade, posted this…

You absolutely must get home health care immediately or you will lose your sanity from lack of proper rest. I know you love them… but you cannot be their o my caregiver. Medicaid is another option to get assistance. Check with your local area agency and they can help, too! (she ended her advice with a couple of heart smilies)

All I can do is shake my head at this shit. Last year, she tried to get my husband’s stepmother to move in with her. I know she’s “hosted” her mother and her husband’s mother, too. And she has a “severely autistic” son, as well as two more “children” she claims are autistic and need her. Ex’s youngest child, by the way, will be 17 years old this year. But she doesn’t actually take care of any of these folks. It’s left to her adult daughters, especially to include older daughter, who will be 32 years old this year and still lives with Ex. She takes care of her brother. I get the impression that Ex just sits on her ass and watches Outlander.

Granted, I’m not there to see this in person. However, I have a pretty good idea of what goes on, because for years, I’ve heard about it from very reliable sources. I think Ex has a lot of nerve playing social worker/advocate to people on Twitter, when she doesn’t do fuck all for her own family! She just pays lip service about being there for her family. It’s a facade, and one that she only trots out to strangers. The people who actually live with her never see this kind, loving, wise side. She just tells them to figure everything out for themselves and then does her best to sabotage them and hinder their progress.

I probably wouldn’t be writing about this today, except we were reminded once again of how Ex insisted that she was the better parent and knew best… and yet my husband’s younger daughter had to find her own way to college out west. Younger daughter left home with two suitcases and nothing else. No money, no dishes of her own, no sheets for the bed… NOTHING. And if not for the intervention of a kind family from her church, she would not have been able to move out on her own. The way younger daughter tells it, the family arranged this without her input. They saw she had a need and fulfilled it. She never even asked them for that help. The fact that the family did that for her, tells me that Ex was acting in an obviously dysfunctional way in public.

Ex didn’t even want younger daughter to get a job when she was in her late teens. She did nothing to teach her about how to find work and make her own money. Instead, Ex made younger daughter get a GED, take online college courses for the financial aid (the excess of which she ripped off for herself and left younger daughter to repay), and never taught her the first thing about the world of paid employment. Learning how to earn money for one’s self is a basic life skill. Ex failed to teach it. And younger daughter frequently worked for free, doing babysitting and other jobs.

I remember back in 2006, Bill paid child support for Ex’s eldest son, who is her first husband’s child. He was an adult at the time– 18 years old. Ex was the one who had drawn up the divorce papers, and she had put in the language about Bill paying support until the kids were 22 years old, unless they met certain conditions. He paid for former stepson, but then it later became clear that the young man was just using Bill for money. Bill had planned to pay support for his daughters, too, but Ex– having seen how her son moved out with the money Bill was paying him directly– realized that would give her daughters too much autonomy. And she also knew Bill would not pay her directly anymore, once the kids were over 18. So she made it impossible for Bill to contact them, and then did her damnedest to clip their wings.

I can only sit here and shake my head in awe at younger daughter’s incredible resilience. She is a very kind and thoughtful person, and she obviously impressed people, because some folks from her church in New England helped her by “hiring” her to be a nanny in Utah. They paid for her to go on vacation with them and help with their kids– and the end of their vacation ended at just about the time school out west started. The church angels gave her some money, wished her luck, and friends helped her get from Utah to Idaho, where her college was. The whole thing was basically a ruse to free her from Ex’s clutches, so she could go to college.

Younger daughter showed up at her school with nothing to set her up for success. EX DIDN’T DO A GODDAMNED THING FOR HER OWN DAUGHTER! And she wouldn’t let Bill do anything for younger daughter, either. By that point, Ex had quit communicating with Bill and was doing her best to obliterate him from his daughters’ memories. Bill would have been there in person to buy things like sheets, dishes, and school supplies. Now, here Ex is on Twitter, playing the part of a kindly social worker for strangers, advising them on elder care and Medicaid. What complete bullshit!

I know some people will read this objectively and think Bill is at fault, too. And I wouldn’t necessarily blame them for coming to that conclusion. I wish to God Bill had never met her, let alone married and procreated with her. I wish I had been his first and only wife. I would have done so much better by his daughters. I wish we could have taken her to court and insisted on a change in custody when they were kids.

But the circumstances at the time made it seem impossible. There was no money for lawyers, nor the ability to take time off work to go to court. What sucks even more about this is that people tend to think that the parent who has custody is the better parent. It ain’t necessarily so. Bill absolutely would have been a better parent to his daughters than Ex was, because he has the capacity to love, and he genuinely cares about them. Ex only cares about herself.

I’m just glad that at least younger daughter will talk to Bill now. I’m glad he can help her now. Wish her older sister would get out on her own instead of giving her best years to her mother, doing the household chores, and taking care of Ex’s youngest kid.

It blows my mind that Ex feels so free offering kindly advice to people on Twitter, when she won’t even help her own children take care of their most basic needs. She didn’t even teach them the most basic life skills, like how to earn money. Like it or not, people need money to live. But Ex didn’t want her kids to have money, because money equals power… including the power to walk away. Thank God there were good people in the LDS church (which was another one of Ex’s ideas) who saw what was happening and were moved to help younger daughter.

This is narcissism. Ex could be the poster child for it.

I just needed to get that out. Maybe it’s not appropriate for me to be writing about this, but it really does gall me, and this is how I process it. I truly don’t care if what I write is embarrassing to Ex. Abusers thrive in secrecy. I suppose some of Ex’s egregious bullshit is down to legitimate mental illness. However, I think she knows very well that her conduct is wrong… because she doesn’t show the ugly side of herself to the masses. Her public persona is not what the people closest to her see.

You know, I realize that I’m not the most likable person myself, but at least what you see is what you get. I would not blame younger daughter for being extremely bitter, and yet she somehow manages to stay kind and genuinely caring. She’s like Bill in so many ways.

Sigh… rant over. I probably should go read my latest book for some new subject matter. If you managed to read this and maintain some objectivity, thank you for putting forth the effort. I appreciate it.

For you, Ex. Because your daughter is way too kind to do it.

Standard
communication, complaints, family, musings, social media

Many of my “friends” aren’t actually my friends…

Today’s blog post may cause me to lose some Facebook “friends”. I’ve decided that I’m okay with that, mostly because not being okay with it isn’t useful. It would be hypocritical for me to be upset with people who unfriend or block me on Facebook for expressing myself in an honest way. If I want to be free to express myself and have authentic reactions, then I should be willing to grant other people the same courtesy. Moreover, most of the people on my Facebook friends list aren’t actually my friends, anyway.

People have the right to feel any way they want to feel, and react the way they want to react. I try to be authentic as much as possible, even though I realize that not everyone likes me as my authentic self. I’ve always kind of marched to a different beat that not everyone understands or enjoys. It’s caused me problems my whole life. When I was a lot younger and less wise, I even tried to be different. It didn’t work out very well for me, nor did it last. So… at almost 51 years of age, I’ve come to realize that I am who I am. Take me or leave me. 😉

Two days ago, I wrote a blog post that apparently greatly offended someone who was a Facebook friend. I woke up this morning to see that she’s blocked me. She’s no longer a Facebook friend, but she is still married to my dad’s cousin, and they do occasionally go to our family events. I guess if I ever come home to another family reunion while we’re both still living, things may be awkward. Luckily for her, there’s a good chance I won’t bother going “home” again, anyway.

The post that my former Facebook friend was apparently offended by is this one…

You will notice how many (or how few) people have viewed it so far…

I’m not going to rehash too much of the contents of that post, because as you can see, it has very few hits. I didn’t realize this person was a regular reader of my blog, although I did know that she might read what I wrote and get offended by it. I have a habit of sharing my links on my personal Facebook page– usually just once. And, as you can see, almost none of the now 382 people on my friends list clicked the link.

I guess I don’t blame her for apparently being offended by my post… but I suspect she doesn’t realize that the reason I wrote it in the first place was because I was a bit triggered by her comments to me. I needed to “unpack”.

I have written more than once that I often write blog posts about things that upset or trigger me. I blog here because the blog gets a lot fewer views than my Facebook page does, and that means the responses to my thoughts are generally much less contentious. I know it’s hard to believe, but I see posting in my blog as opposed to Facebook as a kindness. Most of the really popular posts on my blog are not about personal subjects, but on my thoughts about books, movies, or videos.

I am going to be very clear. I am not sorry for writing that post, although I do regret that my former Facebook friend was evidently offended by it. It’s never my intention to hurt people’s feelings or upset them. Writing is simply how I process things. It’s just a form of communication. It’s what I do.

I do realize that not everyone likes what I do. Some people would rather I stay quiet. That’s not my nature, though. I’m naturally an outspoken person, although I often tend to be even more outspoken in print. A real friend would know this about me and understand it on some level, even if they don’t always appreciate it. A real friend wouldn’t expect me to be someone different. That’s probably why I don’t actually have a lot of real friends… or maybe I’m just a worthless bitch. That could be true, too… :shrug:

I grew up in southern Virginia, which is a very southern place. I was taught from an early age that I should always be “nice” to people, even when they weren’t nice to me. I don’t think I learned this from my mom, though. My mom is a pretty blunt person. She knows how to be “nice”, but I’ve rarely ever seen her fake it with people. When she’s upset, she lets people know. That’s even more true today. She recently told me about how she ordered her dentist and his hygienist to “shut up”, because they were blathering about something annoying while working on her mouth. She got fed up with listening to them and literally told them to be quiet. I’ve never done that to my dentist, but maybe if I make it to my 80s, I might feel bold enough to tell him or her to shut up, too.

My dad was the one who encouraged me to keep quiet about how I felt. I think he expected me to look and behave like a proper southern lady. That’s not me, though. It’s not even his wife, who kind of looks the part of a demure southern lady, but really doesn’t act like it. I can remember him frequently chastising me for being too “honest” about my opinions. He was always allowed to say whatever he wanted, no matter how hurtful. But I was expected to shut up and keep sweet. It was quite toxic, so I don’t do that for anyone anymore.

A few days ago, I shared a post a Facebook friend had on her feed. I liked the message of the post, which was to remind people to keep their toxic body shaming comments to themselves. The post had a picture of an overweight woman in a bikini. My former Facebook friend thought it was a picture of me and said I looked “great”. It seemed to me that she’d completely missed the point of the post, which was that most people (especially strangers) just want to be left alone and don’t necessarily want any feedback on how they look. Adding insult to injury was that when I pointed out that the photo wasn’t of me, she laughed and said “oops” instead of simply apologizing for the mistake.

At the time I saw her responses to me, my authentic feelings could be described as annoyed and a bit hurt. However, I resisted the urge to react with anger on Facebook, even though that was how I honestly felt at the time. Unfortunately, I was still perturbed about it the next day.

On Sunday morning, I felt compelled to write about the incident on this blog. There was a lot of angst and personal stuff in the post, because I was being honest and trying to explain where that reaction comes from. Could it have been less “angry”? Yes, maybe… but then, it wouldn’t have been authentic. And, as you can see, very few people have read the damned thing, anyway. One of those five hits came from the person who inspired my post in the first place. That’s precisely why I wrote it in my blog instead of directly confronting the person on Facebook. But maybe, in retrospect, I should have called her out on social media for all of the rest of my 382 Facebook friends to see. Perhaps that would have seemed less “shady” to my “victim”.

Now… this isn’t the first time someone has told me, in so many or few words, that I shouldn’t write about something. In fact, I recently wrote about how former tenant tried to silence me on multiple occasions when she didn’t like something I wrote in my blog. She brazenly implied that I was “mean”, “crazy”, or a liar, and clearly never even considered my perspective. It was pretty poisonous stuff, especially since she was monitoring me and tattling to the landlady. If she didn’t like my content, she could have simply minded her own business and unfollowed, right?

Several years ago, I was inspired by a former Facebook friend who kept sharing quotes that were falsely attributed to George Carlin. My post wasn’t really even about my former “friend”; it was about the common practice of sharing falsely attributed quotes. His repeated fake George Carlin posts just gave me the idea for the topic.

But boy, you would have thought I’d insulted his mother or something. He very dramatically blocked me, after telling me off, then got all his redneck friends to stalk my blog for days. All it resulted in was extra AdSense pennies. If he’d been a real friend, he might have stopped and thought for a moment about what I wrote. Maybe he might have considered my perspective and determined whether or not what I wrote objectively made any sense, rather than simply reacting with a wounded ego.

In my opinion, that’s what an actual friend would do… because they’d want to understand and relate. He wasn’t a friend, though… not that I ever had expectations of a real friendship with that guy. I was just there to up his friend count. I do think it’s funny, though, that we “met” on a Web site called “Epinions.com”, and sharing opinions was what the site was all about. I guess it’s okay to share opinions as long as they’re always about someone or something else.

Now, I’ve evidently offended my cousin’s wife, who actually offended me first, by disingenuously saying that I looked “great” in a photo that wasn’t even of me. Then, when I pointed out the error, she “laughed” and said “oops”. When I further tried to explain my point about not being so focused on appearances, she still didn’t get it, and complimented me again. Since she didn’t even know the photo wasn’t of me, and wasn’t getting that I didn’t find her mistake funny, how can I take anything she says about my appearance seriously? And why is it even necessary to make those comments?

I certainly don’t mind hearing that I’m pretty or look young, but I would hope the compliments are sincere and aren’t just said to be “nice”. Because, as you can see, “niceness” can backfire spectacularly, and most of the time, there’s simply no need. I think it’s better to be kind than to be nice. There is a big difference between the two.

When I decided to process this situation through writing, which is something I commonly and regularly do on this blog, her response was to– apparently– get pissed and block me. That’s not much of a friendship, is it? She had claimed to be my friend, but chose to block me rather than have a simple conversation. I don’t think that is the action of someone who values a relationship. If she had ever actually cared about me as a friend, she would communicate with me. I did try to communicate with her before I wrote my little read blog post that evidently so upset her.

Although I always regret losing friends– or even “friends”– it seems to me that in many cases like this, when a “friendship” is suddenly lost over a Facebook or blog post that goes south, we were never really friends in the first place. And the more I age, the less time or patience I have for indulging people who aren’t interested in forming an authentic connection. The older I get, the more I realize that most people aren’t friends… at best, they’re acquaintances, with just the barest surface knowledge about the people who aren’t in their immediate orbit. Social conventions, especially in the South, have trained us all to act the part of a friend, even if it’s not genuine. It’s that whole “bless your heart” attitude…

If you’re not from the South, allow me to explain “bless your heart”. It sounds nice, and sometimes it really is meant that way. Say, for instance, if you’re a little kid and you fall and skin your knee, you might hear your Granny say “bless your heart” as she offers you a cookie and a kiss (although my Granny never did that to me).

However, a lot of the time, when you hear someone from the South saying “bless your heart”, what they really mean is that you should either be ashamed of yourself, or you’re just clueless or stupid. Instead of being straightforward when we communicate, we’re taught to “soften the blow” with fake platitudes like “bless your heart”. Women, especially, aren’t taught to be assertive and straightforward. Instead, we offer up heaping loads of bullshit to each other, and pretend it’s better than simply being “real”… and, by the way, being “real” isn’t akin to being rude or mean. Being real is about simply not being disingenuous.

I really tried to be more “nice” when I was younger, but it’s simply not in my nature. Trying to be superficially nice is, to me, like wearing shoes on the wrong feet. I do always try to be kind, but there’s a difference between being kind and being “nice”. And I’m afraid I’m not always “nice”. I’m definitely not “sweet”, either… and it kind of makes me cringe when someone says I am. Hey– if you know, you know! And if you’re calling me “sweet”, you definitely don’t know me very well. But then, maybe you’d rather not know me, if you want to be around someone who is sweet.

Living in Germany and Armenia, both places where people can be painfully blunt, has made me even less likely to indulge people who say “bless your heart” and lie to my face. I’ve come to realize that it’s a waste of time to adopt that style of communication, anyway. So many times, I’ve wasted time trying to be “friends” with someone who turns out to be full of shit. And then I’m left with the hurt and trauma of having wasted the effort… when they couldn’t even attempt to accept me for who I am, or try to see things from my perspective. And they’re always allowed to be offended, but I’m not.

I know that many people would tell me to process this crap by keeping it private, or by talking to Bill, or a friend. I don’t have local friends. Bill hears this stuff all the time, but he manages to love me anyway. And I think other people can relate, or might even be interested in the topic, so I write these posts for them. I know that a lot of people, for instance, are tired of being body shamed by strangers. They just want to be left in peace. That was really what the initial offending post was about, anyway.

Reading my blog is always a choice. I suspect that my cousin’s wife isn’t even a regular reader of this blog, but chose to read that post because of the featured photo, which offered a clue as to what the post would be about. She correctly realized it would be about that viral post of the woman in the bikini, and how she thought I was her.

As you can see by the tiny hit count on the above post that got me blocked by a family member, not that many people DO read my blog… just like few people read the posts they react and respond to on Facebook. More people read my Facebook page than this blog. I know most people would just let this stuff go without comment… but I’m not “most people”, just as you aren’t “most people”. We’re all individuals. I am me, and this is simply how I respond to things. If that’s upsetting to you, maybe it’s better that we’re not “friends”.

But don’t worry. I probably won’t be at the next family reunion, anyway. A lot of them don’t like me, either. 😉

Standard
communication, complaints, condescending twatbags, rants, slut shamers

You really don’t need to comment either way…

On this date in 2012, I took the featured photo in Cologne, Germany. We were on our very first “hop”, which took us to Germany, Austria, and Luxembourg. I spotted this sticker on utility equipment and snapped a photo. It fits today’s topic perfectly.

Happy Sunday, folks. It’s another pretty, late spring morning here, and already 69 degrees Fahrenheit, which is pretty nice. I know it’s hard to fathom to those of you in the southern United States, but it’s still a bit chilly in Germany. I don’t look forward to the hot, un air-conditioned days that are coming, but right now, the weather is getting more pleasant.

Our Nordic holiday is rapidly approaching. I have experienced Scandinavian and Baltic countries in the summer, and I know that it will behoove us to bring layers. I remember the first time we went to Norway, back in June 2009, and we both had to buy warmer clothes. Bill got two sweaters, and I got a hoodie and a sweatshirt. I loved the hoodie and was pretty sad when I lost it after our 2014 “hop” to France and Germany from Texas. Perhaps I’ll find a new one when we’re up there.

I’m kind of glad we’re going up north next month. I probably won’t be wearing a bathing suit in public. Maybe I’ll wear one on the cruise ship, but I’ll bring a robe with me. Actually, one thing I’ve noticed and really enjoyed in Europe is the less judgmental and shitty attitude people tend to have about other people’s bodies. This is especially true in Germany, where there are a lot of health spas in which being nude is a requirement. I’ll admit, as an American, it was hard for me to embrace the idea of being nude in a “public” place. However, once I did it, I found the experience very liberating. Nudity isn’t a big deal here, so you see all kinds of people at the spa. All of them are there for themselves, and it’s not a big deal if you don’t have a bikini or Speedo worthy body.

Yesterday, a friend shared the below post on Facebook. I liked it, so I decided to share it, too.

I added the comment, “Yup. Zip it.”

Now… I’m going to clarify. Personally, I don’t objectively think that every body is necessarily beautiful. However, I do believe that (almost) every person has basic worth. I do think that we should show basic respect to people, and do our best to preserve their dignity. I completely agree with the original poster’s statements that people don’t need to make comments about other people’s bodies, positive or negative. You really don’t need to comment either way. I honestly don’t see why people feel emboldened to make such personal comments to people, especially when they are total strangers.

A lot of my friends saw the above post and liked it. However, I did get one comment that I’m afraid has given me something to write/rant about this morning. It was actually a little embarrassing on many levels. A family member, seeing the above post, wrote this:

You look GREAT💕

In fairness, this family member is related by marriage. She’s married to my dad’s first cousin (my first cousin once removed– Granny’s nephew– and the son of my fabulous late Aunt Estelle, who was hilarious). She has known my parents for years, though, because she’s from the Tidewater area, and used to patronize my parents’ business. One time, we went to our annual Thanksgiving shindig and she was there with cousin Jimmy. She didn’t even know Jimmy was my dad’s cousin, and asked us what the hell we were doing there!

I’m not sure if this relative knew me when I was growing up. She probably saw me a few times, since my parents’ business was run out of their house. However, she hasn’t seen me in person since 2014. Moreover, it’s pretty obvious if you actually READ the post before reacting or commenting, that I am not the original poster. Anyway, I wrote this response, with a laughing reaction (though I kind of wanted to post an orange, angry reaction):

Uh…. That isn’t me.

My relative posted this:

🤣😂🤣oooops!

If my relative knew me better, she’d know that I never wear bikinis. I probably should wear them, since it’s easier to go to the bathroom if you have a two piece bathing suit. But when I do wear bathing suits, I prefer to wear one pieces. Anyway, I responded thusly:

When I go swimming, I’m usually nude. Plus, I could never grow my hair that long.

And this is the truth. In Germany, when I go swimming, it’s often at a health spa, and a lot of them are nude. So when I swim in Germany, I do often go swimming in the buff. When I’m not in Germany, I don’t wear bikinis. And I have never had long hair like the woman in the picture has. My hair simply won’t grow that long. I’ve tried.

My relative wrote:

I did notice her hair is longer than yours usually is!

Right. And did you also notice that she’s got darker hair than mine has been in years? She probably has a “better” figure than I have, too (although tastes differ). 😉 I was a bit perturbed and it was later in the evening, so I made one more response.

She’s also a bit younger.

People should be able to go swimming or whatever and not have people comment about their bodies. I like how it is in Germany. Nudity isn’t a big deal here, so you see people of all shapes and sizes, especially at wellness spas. Nobody cares. It’s very liberating.

This was my main point. You don’t need to make a comment of any kind about other people’s bodies. You don’t need to reassure someone that they look “great”. You don’t need to compliment them, nor do you need to tell them they’re too fat, too thin, or need to wear a bra, shapewear, or a girdle. Just let them live in their own skin in peace.

If you must comment, try to pay attention to other things, like whether or not they look happy. Stop focusing so much on the external appearances of other people– especially those you don’t know personally. Most of them won’t care about your opinions either way, and by keeping your mouth shut, you avoid embarrassing and traumatic situations with strangers.

My relative still didn’t get it. She posted this…

You could pass for that age…whatever that may be!

Well gee… thank you. But a compliment on my looks was not what I was hoping for when I shared that post, as much as I appreciate being complimented. It’s not that I don’t like being told I look young, or beautiful, or whatever else. I do like hearing sincere compliments. Sincere is the operative word, and really, compliments should come from someone whose opinions matter to me.

I did visit the original post, just to see what other people’s reactions to it were. Naturally, there were many comments about how “obesity isn’t pretty”. Some were from mansplaining males who expect women they deem unattractive to cover up. Some were, sadly, from women who harped on what’s beautiful and “healthy”. Others posted backassed things like, “I wouldn’t do it, but good for her.” A comment like that tells me that you’re trying to be “nice”, but you still disapprove. The woman in that photo doesn’t require your approval or your opinion. Just zip it, and mind your own business.

Everybody has a story. You have no idea what’s going on in that woman’s life. For all you know, she might have just lost a lot of weight. Or maybe she just gained a lot of weight. Maybe it’s the first time she’s been to the beach in years. Or maybe she visits the beach every day, and it’s her happy place. Who are you to intrude on her business with uninvited comments about her body? Why do you think she, or anyone else, should care what you think about her body? You’ve got your own body. Pay attention to that, instead.

I’ll be honest. I don’t like it when people make comments about my body. They almost never make me feel good, even when they’re positive. When they come from men, they make me feel skeevy. When they come from women, they make me feel bullshitted. And no matter what a person does, there’s always going to be someone who is critical. Even if everyone was an “acceptable” size for aesthetic purposes, there would always be someone out there with a criticism or a backhanded compliment. Seems to me that people really ought to just STFU about other people’s bodies and mind their own business.

Last weekend, I took some photos with Bill at a street food festival we attended. They turned out really nicely. Below is the photo currently serving as my profile picture.

Maybe I look “pretty” in this photo, but I would much rather someone say that I look happy.

One friend left a comment that I really appreciated. She wrote, “Great picture!” That’s really all anyone needs to say, if they say anything at all.

I know not everyone shares my opinions about this subject. My thoughts on this probably come from being raised by people who were very image conscious and constantly criticized me for not looking “good” at all times.

I can remember my dad grabbing me by the head and forcibly combing my hair as he claimed it “looked like a rat’s nest.”

I can remember my mom looking at me with disdain and saying, “Why don’t you go put on some makeup?” Alternatively, when I got dolled up, she’d pull out the camera for a photo… as if it was such a rare and momentous occasion that it demanded to be preserved for posterity’s sake.

I can remember both of them giving me endless shit about my weight when I was a teen and a young woman, even as I flirted with eating disorders. My dad called me names. My mom tried to bribe me with new clothes, as she pleaded with me to lose weight. It made me feel unloved, ugly, and unworthy, and eventually led me to depression bad enough that I saw a psychiatrist, who also fat and appearance shamed me (but did at least find the right antidepressant).

It took years after that to stop going on starvation diets as I constantly made derogatory comments about my body to anyone who would listen. I’m sure that was as tiresome for other people, as it was not helpful for me. I don’t want to go back down that road.

Years after my last appointment with that psychiatrist, I asked for his notes to be sent to me, because I needed to give them to the Army for an EFMP screening. I made the mistake of looking at what he wrote about me. He made quite a few comments about how I wasn’t losing weight, and how I looked “garish”. I guess he felt my clothes were too “loud” for being my size (about a 14 at the time). He gave me medication that was supposed to be used for migraine headaches and seizures for an off label use– it caused appetite suppression. He was obviously very disappointed when it didn’t cause me to lose scads of weight. (This experience, by the way, is the main reason I don’t go looking for people’s opinions about me or this blog. I’d probably rather not know.)

I already had little trust or regard for doctors at that point in my life, mainly due to the very disrespectful and traumatic way I was treated by an Air Force OB-GYN at my very first gyno appointment. When I read those notes by a psychiatrist, who was supposed to be helping me with depression, I trusted them even less. That doctor’s notes should have indicated things like whether or not I was appropriately dressed, or adequately groomed for the occasion. Comments about my weight might have been fair enough, but only in terms of my health. My personal makeup and clothing style should not have factored into my records at all. Using the word “garish” to describe me was completely inappropriate. I think he had a bias against people he deemed to be “too fat”, and felt entitled to share them with patients who came to him for help.

When I was younger, maybe I would have appreciated fake compliments about how “good” I looked over rude comments about body image. But today, at almost 51 years of age, I’d much rather people just focus on what’s important… and what’s important is NOT what my body looks like. Because if you think about it, people who body shame are basically expecting everyone who doesn’t meet their standards to just hide away somewhere until they’re more suitable for public view. That’s not a fair thing to ask of anyone. Moreover, most of the people who make those kinds of comments aren’t exactly hot shit themselves. 99.9% of the time, you really don’t need to make a comment at all… just zip it, and leave the person alone to enjoy their lives. By keeping your mouth shut, you will keep them from experiencing unnecessary trauma, and you will keep yourself in good karma. Just my thoughts.

And… just to end this post on an amen, the wonderful singer, Jane Monheit, posted this on Twitter in 2019:

I would also add… please don’t give people unsolicited advice, either. Especially on something as personal as their body image. If someone wants your advice or input, they’ll ask for it.

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Bill, complaints, modern problems, music, rants

It’s already been kind of an exasperating day…

Like many good children coming of age in the South in the 70s and 80s, I was well-acquainted with the corny hillbilly variety show, Hee Haw, from an early age. This morning, I am thinking of Kenny Rogers’ ex-wife, Marianne Gordon, who starred on that show in the 80s, as a southern belle who regaled everyone with stories about her fictitious daddy, “The Colonel”. She always started her skits off by saying, “It’s been an exasperating day.” That’s kind of how I feel today.

I have to admit, I liked this show. It’s less toxic than ANTM is.

It started with washing the sheets… always a pain in the ass, but especially when I also wash the duvet covers. We also decided to rotate the mattress, to redistribute the lumps in the mattress. My lower back was hurting, so I wasn’t much help. Bill got it turned on his own. Then, I realized the issue probably isn’t the mattress as much as it is the feather topper. It either needs to be replaced, or we need to get used to sleeping without it. Really, we need a new mattress, but it’s not so easy to get an American king sized mattress in Germany.

Then, once I got that mess straightened out, I had to wrestle the duvet into the duvet cover, which is quite an annoying task with a king sized duvet. I managed to do it without breaking out in too much of a sweat.

I sat down to write this morning’s blog post, but then got sidetracked by my music library. A few months ago, I replaced my old computer, but not all of my music moved over on the cloud. Consequently, I’ve got some “greyed out” files on my new computer. I end up having to manually move the music by using an external drive. The files don’t always successfully make it on the external drive, so I have to do it again. It’s a hassle, but worth it to me, because I love my music collection that much. I think I spent about an hour on that today, and I’m not even done with the task. Every day, I move more files, and it seems like the job is never ending.

I finally had to quit moving files, because I was getting so frustrated. It is kind of satisfying to see the greyed out files turn black, though.

I recorded a couple of new songs yesterday. One song went off pretty much perfectly. The other one was a real pain to get right. It’s not actually as perfect as I’d like it to be, but I was determined to get it up yesterday, so I settled for less. I got a comment from someone who thought it was my equipment that caused the issue, but no… it was a psychological issue. You know how, when you try to do something and you mess up, you kind of psych yourself out when you try again? That was me when I was trying to record “All I Have”. I did it nine years ago and it turned out just about perfectly, but no one ever hits that video because it has photos instead of me on camera. Nine years ago, no one watched my channel. Now, I have more people who pay attention to it.

Oh well. Maybe I’ll try again in nine years.

Last night, I found out that a British guy I met in 2011, while on a SeaDream cruise, is going to be joining Bill and me next month on our Regent cruise. He and his wife hung out with us on that cruise and we kept in touch for awhile, but then drifted apart. Looks like we’ll be seeing each other again. What are the odds?

Actually, that kind of stuff happens to me a lot. I have a knack for running into people I either used to know, or who know people I know. Here’s an example. Back in the late 1990s, I waited tables at a nice restaurant in Williamsburg, Virginia. One day, I waited on a couple with Irish accents. I asked them where they were from, and they said they came from Belfast. I told them I had a friend from there who lived in Newtownards (a suburb). We worked at a tiny Presbyterian church camp in the summer of 1994, then we traveled through Europe with his now wife, who’d also worked at the camp. The couple said, “Was your friend’s name Chris Sheals?”

Sure enough, it was… and it turned out he was their next door neighbor. What are the odds? There are lots of restaurants in Williamsburg, and plenty of waiters. Somehow, they found their way to my section.

Another time, a friend and I crashed at a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer’s apartment in Sofia, Bulgaria for about a week. When we got back to the States, I went to the Peace Corps office in Washington, DC to do some career networking. There wasn’t an event going on, or anything. I just went there on a whim. Sure enough, I ran into that guy whose apartment we crashed in Bulgaria… he was from New York and had come to the office for the same reasons I did. Again, totally unplanned…

And, here’s a final example. In the spring of 1999, I went to the Peace Corps office in DC again, that time with a friend I knew from Peace Corps/Armenia. I had planned to meet that friend. We went into the office and ran into another person from our group, Matt Jensen. And it’s funny that I’m writing this today, because Matt died two years ago in Brooklyn, when someone ran into him and left him for dead. I’ve written about Matt before… and that was the last time I saw him, on that day in the Peace Corps office, completely by chance. Incidentally, we’re still waiting for justice regarding Matt’s death. The wheels of justice are moving way too slow.

Those are just a few examples I can think of offhand of my running into people, but it actually seems to happen to me a lot. I run into people, or find out I know someone another person knows… or I end up connecting them with someone else who has a connection. It seems to be one of my special and more memorable traits. So I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised to be bumping into someone I met years ago on another cruise… My world seems to be particularly small. 😉

Even meeting Bill was kind of like that. We met in a chat room in 1999. In 2001, before we met in person, he went to a convention in Little Rock, Arkansas… where he ran into my aunt’s brother, Ralph. Ralph was a member of the Kansas National Guard, while Bill was in the Arkansas Guard. But Bill wasn’t with the Arkansas people, because he was federalized. Ralph was in the Kansas Guard, but he lives in Virginia… Sure enough, they bumped into each other, and chatted. Later, Ralph told me he’d met my “boyfriend”. I laughed and said he wasn’t my boyfriend. We hadn’t even met in person at that point. Ralph said, “Oh, trust me, he’s your boyfriend. And don’t worry. He’s okay.”

I was nervous about meeting Bill, since we met online. Ralph also had the benefit of being a former Virginia State Trooper, which made him a pretty good judge of character. Twenty years later, you can see that Ralph was right that Bill is “okay”. And I guess he WAS my boyfriend, after all.

Well… I guess I should end this post. I am feeling calmer now, so I guess I’ll practice guitar and take Noyzi for a walk, then maybe make another video, or finish reading my freakin’ book. Later, y’all.

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animals, complaints, condescending twatbags, rants, sexism, social media

Some people should always wear a bra… over their MOUTHS!

The featured photo represents the judgmental attitude some people have about an obvious lack of undergarments on women… but, to be clear, it’s not MY attitude.

Once again, I’m amazed by the things people feel emboldened to comment about, especially to perfect strangers on social media. The vast majority of people who make shockingly rude or offensive remarks would never have the nerve to say those things to people’s faces. But online, they feel quite free to sound off, sometimes over things that are really none of their business. Like whether or not to wear certain undergarments, or how to take care of a beloved animal family member.

I follow a Facebook page run by a lady who has a mini horse as a service animal, rather than a dog. I don’t know this person at all, but I like to follow her page, because I think it’s cool that she has a service horse instead of a service dog. It makes good sense to have a horse as a service animal. They usually live longer than dogs do, and they’re bigger and sturdier, which can be very helpful for those who need help standing up. However, a lot of people don’t realize that mini horses can make excellent service animals. I think it’s great that she so generously shares photos and videos that educate people about having a service mini horse.

Some people have been following the story of “Flirty” the miniature service horse for a long time. They know the lady’s story well, and have watched her progress with her mini horse. Other people simply like to chime in, even though their comments are ignorant and offensive. Such was the case this morning, when I read about how Flirty’s mom had a new outdoor paddock built with a privacy fence. This is not an enclosure where the horse spends all of her free time. It’s just a small yard for her to go outside, eat some grass or hay, and maybe play with some toys.

Flirty’s mom was obviously excited to show off the new paddock for her mini horse. Yes, it’s small, but she’s a mini horse, and there’s plenty of room for her to move around. It’s bigger than the stalls where a lot of full sized horses stay. And she doesn’t spend all day in the paddock. It’s just another place for her to hang out with less supervision.

Several people were commenting on how inappropriate the paddock was, as it’s enclosed with a tall privacy fence. More than a couple of people wrote that she should have had windows put into the privacy fence so Flirty could look out. Flirty’s owner explained that she didn’t want windows because she didn’t want people or other animals messing with her horse, trying to feed her things she shouldn’t eat, like grass clippings.

Horses should NOT eat grass clippings, because they can cause serious health issues that can make them very sick or even lead to death. A lot of people don’t realize that if a horse gets a bad stomach ache (colic), they can die. Grass clippings can conceal poisonous plants that horses shouldn’t eat, because the cut grass mixes with other plants and covers their taste. Mowed grass clippings also ferment, which causes them to put out gas. A horse that eats the clippings can soon end up with gas that they can’t get rid of. Horses can’t vomit or burp, so built up gas in the gut can be deadly for them. It can lead to bloat, laminitis (founder), colic, or even botulism.

Flirty’s owner also wrote that there are dogs in the neighborhood who run loose and are capable of jumping lower fences. She doesn’t want them messing with Flirty and possibly hurting her.

The comments about the fencing were annoying enough, but what prompted me to write today’s post are other offensive comments made. Flirty’s owner showed herself in her video. She was wearing a t-shirt, but was obviously not wearing a bra. I counted at least three comments from women demanding that she put on a bra. See below:

Holy no bra…

put a bra on wow

Wear a bra please.

I was glad to see Flirty’s “mom” tell these women to mind their own business. Contrary to what they might have heard, bras aren’t something women are required to wear. A lot of us women wear them because they help support our boobs and maybe make them look nicer in clothes. But plenty of us, myself included, don’t like wearing bras all day. They can be uncomfortable. I remember my mom had grooves in her shoulders from wearing bras. I don’t have them, because I only wear bras when I’m going out somewhere. But honestly, if I (or any other woman) didn’t want to wear them at all, that should be my choice and my business. I would tell anyone who complains to quit staring at my boobs.

Besides the comments about Flirty’s “mom’s” lack of a bra, other people were claiming that the new enclosure was “cruel”. One person even had the audacity to write this comment:

Do her a favor and let someone who can properly care for her adopt her. I think you’ve done your best to do what you can but you don’t have the proper set up for her to have a happy life for a horse and this is really sad.

Really? I just don’t know where people get their nerve. This person is a complete stranger and only knows what she’s seen in the posts on Flirty’s page about what her actual “set up” is. To me, Flirty appears to be happy, healthy, and much beloved. And obviously, Flirty provides valuable services to her owner, who is kind enough to share information and educate the public about service horses. It would be one thing if Flirty appeared to be in poor health. But she looks very well taken care of to me, and I spent many years with horses in my life. No, I’m not a horse expert, but I do know what a healthy horse looks like. Flirty is adorable, and she’s obviously doing fine.

I have to say, Flirty’s “mom” was a lot nicer to that rude commenter than I would have been, if she’d made a comment like that to me. It would be Taylor Swift time for sure. 😉 This was Flirty’s mom’s response:

You realize that the accepted stall size for a mini horse is 6×8, right? And some minis don’t get turnout from that? Go bug those people, if you need to complain about horse welfare. 

She will get daily supervised turnout time in the larger yard. She will have toys to play with in this paddock. She is not unhappy.

I tend to get very annoyed with people who make uninformed comments about horses and their welfare, because a lot of them either don’t know what they’re talking about, or feel like their comments will be effective. A person who is truly abusive isn’t going to care about their input. A person who loves their animals, as much as Flirty’s mom obviously does, is just going to be offended. I highly doubt that Flirty’s mom has plans to do as the commenter suggested and let someone else adopt her service animal. That’s just a ridiculous thing to write or say, and it’s simply not gonna happen.

Janis Ian shared this in July 2020 and the annoying comments surged forth…

On another note, I searched Facebook for more comments about people who don’t wear bras. The first result that came up with Janis Ian’s page, and a two year old post about how face masks are the “new bras”. There were over one hundred boot licking posts from followers about how wonderful face masks are, and how they are a necessary evil, like bras are. Thank GOD that didn’t turn out to be true on a permanent basis. Hooray for science, and effective vaccines, because even if the masks were helpful at the beginning of the pandemic, I don’t want to wear them for the rest of my life. But I probably shouldn’t read too many of those comments, either, because they’re also pretty triggering, and God knows I’ve vented plenty about masks!

Well… I guess I’ve yammered on long enough about this. I think I’ll end this post and dive into my new book. Have a good weekend y’all. I plan to spend mine braless for as long as possible. 😉

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