The church in question, St. John’s– the so-called church of the Presidents because every one since James Madison has gone to services there– had been briefly set on fire. Trump had nothing of substance, decency, or comfort to say to the many people who are hurting and scared right now. Instead, he told governors that they were “weak” and need to dominate and arrest the protesters, or else look like “jerks”. This is the same idiot who, a few weeks ago, encouraged citizens to rise up against their governors who ordered them to stay home due to the coronavirus. And he was tweeting about how “weak” the governors are from his fucking basement.
One of my witty friends quipped that the Bible Trump was holding was probably a fake one with a hollowed out center for a Big Mac. I suspect Trump hasn’t got the foggiest idea what is in the Bible or what it stands for, but it makes for a noteworthy prop, I guess. He didn’t pray or mention George Floyd. Instead, he went for his obvious base, evangelical Christians who accept him because he “claims” to be a Christian who is against abortion. He held up a Bible while peaceful protesters were dispersed with tear gas, pepper spray, and rubber bullets. Meanwhile, a visiting priest who was trying to help frightened protesters leave the area was sprayed with tear gas.
The lights at the White House were turned off last night. I thought it was oddly appropriate. No one is home. No one is leading the country. Trump is acting like a dictator, yet he’s cowering in the nation’s most popular residence and threatening people with the military. Thank God Bill is retired. I would hate for him to have to deal with this shit.
I woke up at 3:30am this morning. I couldn’t sleep. I made the mistake of looking at Facebook and saw everything that happened last night after I went to bed. It’s absolute madness. I’m not much for prayer, but I might break down and offer one today for all of those who are on the front lines of this mess. Donald Trump has no empathy. He has no leadership ability. And he has NO BUSINESS leading the country. It’s time for him to leave office. He won’t, of course. He’s going to be dragged kicking and screaming from the White House, a place he once referred to as “a real dump“.
Speaking of dumps…
Anyway… I don’t know what today will bring. Probably more shock and dismay. I’m going to go practice my guitar now. At least I’m making progress with that.
I really hope more people wake the fuck up and join our demands that we get rid of this orange asshole stinking up the country. He’s a disgrace.
Remember Reba McEntire’s 1990 hit song, “Fancy”? It was about woman who was raised “poor white trash” whose mama bought her a dancing dress and sent her out on the streets to find herself a man. That song, oddly enough, is in my head this morning as I consider the reactions I got to yesterday’s post about “Dick”, the guy who insinuated that the only the reason Bill loves me is because I can sing. I was thinking about the triumphant ending of the song, where Fancy describes all she’s had and all she’s done, despite her impoverished upbringing. She said, “I ain’t done bad.”
I remember when “Fancy” was a hit. I was a freshman at Longwood College. My friends and I used to laugh at this song. One of my male friends said, “Hit the streets, Fancy! We ain’t got any money!” My parents didn’t tell me to hit the streets, but when I turned 18, they were definitely ready for me to GTFO on my own. I was their last kid and they welcomed having an empty nest. So off I went, and I didn’t date much until I was in my late 20s. When I met Bill, I was in graduate school, convinced that I would never marry. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend and he, having just separated from his ex wife, wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. But I guess it was just meant to be.
There were a few guys who expressed an interest in dating me, but a lot of them were simply friends. They liked my sense of humor, but I didn’t “ring their chimes.” Consequently, I didn’t date a lot of guys. It’s true, I had a fairly boring young adulthood. I wasn’t dating much, like my pretty older sisters did. But I also didn’t wind up with memories of bad break ups, like they did. I found a guy I liked, who also liked me, and married him. Honestly, I think I’m lucky it turned out that way. Who wants to be saddled with memories of dating selfish jackasses like “Dick”? Besides, I really don’t think I’m ugly. Are you surprised? I never understood why dating a lot of people was so important anyway.
Bill didn’t marry me just because I can sing. Bill didn’t even hear me sing until I’d already “hooked” him with my writing skills and creative use of profanity. He was attracted to me because of my mind, not my body. 😀 I used to write kinky stories, and Bill was a fan of them. We happen to like the same kind of stuff, so we’re sexually compatible. But we also chatted online before he ever read my stories. He liked me even then– before he’d even seen my face, heard me sing, or listened to my cackle. You know why? Because he’s not a shallow fuck, and he values people for qualities beyond what he sees on the outside. I am extremely blessed to have him for that reason alone.
My husband treats me with dignity and respect, and he loves me for many things beyond just my physical appearance. That means that as we both inevitably get older and uglier, we’ll probably stay together and maybe even live longer. Sure, he also loves my boobs and my big blue eyes. He loves my smile, too. The point is, he thinks my whole package is beautiful, and that’s enough– for him and for me. So, what guys like “Dick” think doesn’t matter, although like anyone else, I don’t enjoy being insulted. What he said was an insult to my pride, but the truth is, I wouldn’t have been interested in “Dick”, anyway. I’m not attracted to abusive assholes, and thank GOD for that.
Yesterday’s post got a lot of comments, many of which came from people who very kindly offered me consolation. I suppose it’s natural that people would console me for being subjected to “Dick’s” tone deaf comment that implied the only thing attractive about me is my singing voice. I do appreciate the kind comments, but the truth is, I got over “Dick’s” shitty comment years ago. I mean, who cares what he thinks? I guess if I have any regrets about that incident, it’s that I wasn’t quick enough to offer a devastatingly witty retort.
The incident I wrote about yesterday happened in 2011. It’s now 2020, and look at my life. I live in a safe, beautiful country with a man who loves and supports me. I have traveled to interesting places and made a lot of friends. I’ve paid off my student loans and have minimal debts. I’m basically healthy (as far as I know), and I don’t have any lingering reminders of past lovers, like herpes or HIV. I do whatever I want every day, and no one cares if I wear makeup, a bra, or can give them a good blow job. I have a comfortable, privileged lifestyle… and the fact that we were even on a SeaDream ship, or ANY ship, is proof positive that we’re doing alright. As I commented to jono51 yesterday, “I live pretty well for a ‘fat and ugly woman’, no?”
Imagine, though, what my life would be like with a guy like “Dick” finding me attractive. I’ve often thought that really beautiful women must have to deal with a lot of stupid shit from horny guys who can’t help hitting on beautiful women. When you’re very physically attractive, you will attract a lot of people. A few of those people might be high quality folks, but a lot of them will probably be guys like “Dick”, who are simply interested in what they see on the outside. Guys like “Dick” are thoughtless and self-centered, and as their conquests inevitably age, they almost always lose interest. Then the pretty lady, if she’s not herself like “Dick”, will often be cast aside for a younger, sexier model. That sucks, doesn’t it?
If I had married or even dated a guy like “Dick”, I would probably be on the receiving end of daily insults. I imagine that he would express disappointment whenever I ate something he didn’t approve of, especially if I also gained weight. “Dick” would probably want me to dress up and wear makeup for him, and he’d be interested in showing me off to like-minded shallow people, trying to impress them. He’d likely expect me to pleasure him sexually whenever he felt like it, and he probably wouldn’t be a very generous lover to me. He’d eventually get tired and resentful of my needs, since beauty and health inevitably fades. Seriously… this guy was calling his dead wife a “cow” for getting breast cancer and dying! Imagine what kinds of things he said to her when she was living! I didn’t mention it yesterday, but “Dick” also made disparaging comments about other people, not just on the cruise, but whole groups of people who didn’t fit his narrow world view. So why would what he says matter?
I’ve written this story before, but because it’s pertinent today, I’m going to briefly share it again. Back in the late 1990s, I was probably at my physically most attractive in my lifetime, outside of babyhood. I’d lost a significant amount of weight and was dressing well, wearing makeup, and even getting my hair cut professionally (which I pretty much never do). I had started going out at night, often by myself. One evening I went to a bar in Williamsburg, Virginia. A bunch of my co-workers were there, including my friend Arielle, who was slim and pretty. I hadn’t come to the bar with my work pals, but as we were all there at the same time and basically friendly, we were hanging out at the same table.
Christina Aguilera’s song, “Genie in a Bottle” was playing, and Arielle started dancing. I felt a tap on my shoulder, and there was this strange guy standing there. He said he’d noticed me talking to Arielle was curious to find out if she had come to the bar with me. He wanted to know if she was “alone”. I suspect he thought I was Arielle’s “fat friend”.
I probably gave him a weird look because I’m not Arielle’s keeper. I mean, Arielle was and still is a friend, but I’m not a cock or vagina blocker. We weren’t there together, but even if we were, he was interested in her, not me. The guy had seen Arielle, thought she was pretty, and decided that he wanted to approach her. But he didn’t want to be shot down, so he approached me instead. The unspoken message to me was, “I don’t think you’re cute, but I like your friend. So please help me meet her so I can get laid… or whatever…” And why should I help you? We don’t even know each other, and frankly, you aren’t that cute, either. Asking a stranger about the dating status of another stranger you think is “cute” is creepy and weird. Fortunately, that guy didn’t get anywhere with Arielle. She has also found a guy she likes, married him, and has a beautiful son. I suspect her appearance isn’t the only thing her husband admires about her, either.
Anyway, just like Fancy, I feel like “I ain’t done bad,” even if the “Dicks” of the world don’t think I’m pretty enough to lay, let alone marry. You know what? I’m glad “Dick” and his ilk think I’m a fat troll. My husband finds me lovable, and that’s enough for me. I don’t need to impress guys like “Dick” or anyone else. I’m not even interested in anyone else, even if I don’t enjoy being insulted, pitied, or getting backhanded compliments. I don’t so much as get crushes anymore, even if I notice a guy is cute. And I don’t think I’d like to be “Dick’s” wife or girlfriend. But, like I said, despite being “fat and ugly”, I ain’t done bad. So deal with that, Rambo.
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