Smear

 

Women's healthcare (and women's bodies) have long been demonized by an extremist sector of our society who continually struggle with their sexual identity, gender, and maturity level, which means that the rest of us have to be subjected to their continued insanity as it relates to those topics, and I want that very much to stop. Like, today. It came to a sharp point for me through the pet adoption process I did with a couple of high school drop-outs not of my social set; like, not even related to someone on the bottom rung of my family, ya dig? 

As such, they were so far off from reality and where they should be as human beings, that I found basic communication with them difficult, which means they're psychotic, especially when it's when combined with all the scientific evidence someone like me can drum up with a team of ethical experts like myself. What I'm saying to you in plain English is this: me and my mom always knew Angel and Dom were fucking nuts, but they were crazy enough to take care of a beloved family pet, and that's what we needed then. Anything else, like their false sense of friendship towards a woman like me, was entertained with my promise to Teddy in mind, like any real mother would do.

It's not that I particularly disliked them as people, it's just that they're the kind of people working behind the PetCo counter at the local strip mall who handed me my change, or the woman handing dental instruments to my dentist while I got a routine exam. Angel never attended college, nor did her ex-husband (although several prior ex-husbands could have been college educated...who knows?), and neither did any of their children, or children's children, because they way they kept their freaky "lifestyle" intact was brainwashing their young with their half-ass theories of life that cannot be supported in higher learning institutions (from the sheer volume of its madness), nor out in the world at large, or even in the wider social circles among their rather unhealthy inbred set of mountain folk, a place where child birth by uneducated teenage girls is considered an acceptable practice, which is about as far from me and my family as you can get.

It made for some strange bedfellows, like Angel's vehement support of gay lifestyles and gay marriage (really, anything "gay" at all), that she combined with her rather pedestrian view of women's healthcare that her wacko father taught her, that meant killing babies in secret satanic rituals the rest of us call "clinics" or "hospitals" or "the ob/gyn" or "doctor's offices", because her fucked-up dad told her that the tissue we generate—that may or may not grow to full-term in a woman's uterus—was, in actuality, fully gestated already at the beginning of the fertilization process, which means that women everywhere transport a tiny-size human shrunk down to impossible proportions that's pushed through her egg sack into the Fallopian tube, to attach to the uterus like an astronaut with an air-line floating in outer space looking to attach to the hull of a speeding spaceship. And I'm a sci-fi fan!

She used her rudimentary skills as a barely-educated dental admin (six-month certificate, tops) combined with her rigorous pet store training to tell me that they had "pictures" to support her point of view, which means they go to some quack who bought an old camera from a defunct doctor's office on Craigslist to sell made-up pictures to other crazy pregnant women who want a photo to put on their fridge of their "baby" to brag about to other nut-jobs, and they're also highly Photoshopped recreations that are not based on any particular scientific reality, other than keeping the insane somewhat gainfully employed. Out of this weird cocktail of half-baked ideas and rigorously-guarded ignorance came about Angel's special blend of the next generation of fucked-up bipolar bisexuals, like her porno-appearing daughter whom she touted to me and my mom (on the one visit we had with Ted at one of her exes houses) as a real beauty, and that was also not true, in addition to all of her bad medicine.

What it did produce was this: Angel's gay daughter—who self-describes her education on Facebook as "the school of hard knocks"—attached herself to a strip mall BJJ dojo because I'm a fighter, to rub up against other weirdos who have mental patient fetishes, then turn that legitimate martial arts scene into bad, amateur online porn by frequenting underground sex clubs with rubber mats and no lighting but lots of body oil, to get knocked up out-of-wedlock twice by a gay Brazilian instructor at her dojo who needed to establish residency here in the U.S. (and a kid would do that for him), in between her day job as, yep, another dental "assistant" from some certificate program for high school dropouts. 

But, "abortion" was "murder", and over that, her and her fucked-up daughter were vehement, vicious, and very vocal about, which must be a great hit at every Pride Day parade, you know, as a place where people are dependent on "straights" like me and my men to provide eggs and semen for them as couples, then carry their kids for them (for the guys), or adopt our kids when something goes awry in a pregnant teenager's life, and it will. That was wrong, but everything else they did was OK. How's that for a smear campaign? It's one heck of a crazy cocktail. People, you have to vote to be heard in this country. That's it. So, do that. Vote for for sanity. Vote for reason. Vote for education. Vote for healthcare, for all of our citizens, because you're worth it to me. That's what civil rights is all about, kids, even you assholes in the back of the room who will fail out at 14 or 15. Imagine how the president feels? That strongly. And that well-educated.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labor_induction
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medical_abortion
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misoprostol
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cervical_dilation
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Childbirth
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obstetrics_and_gynaecology
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gynaecology
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obstetrics
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obstetrics_%26_Gynecology_(journal)

http://similac.com/pregnancy/3-weeks-pregnant

 

Bride of Chucky

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seed_of_Chucky

My life changed with the economy, just as it has for millions of Americans and billions of people worldwide. I didn't like it, but I did accept it. Instead of keeping up with someone's rat race, I now run my own, every single day. This is the best job I've never had, precisely because it isn't just some paycheck that some random generic stranger spits out of a payroll system every week, regardless if I am working there or not. Corporations are not people, but you, my audience, most certainly are. Just like there is no course or school curriculum that can create a "Master Illuminator" in this century using the latest (or not) technology, so there is no college class in being me.

Part of that change is accepting what resources you have available to you, rather than expecting some pricey company to buy stuff for you. Luckily, I do not derive my ego off of man-made gadgets (that must be horrible), desperately lining up like a million other compulsive addicts at the "launch" of some new device. That sounds mad, and it certainly looks that way on t.v. I can wean myself off of pop culture anytime I want to. I went for years without a television set, which freaks out almost everyone I meet, except for the most backwoods hippie kid with wacky survivalist parents who are anti-The World. I simply couldn't afford a pricey t.v., nor did I need it, so I went without it.

Ditto with computers, cameras, Internet...etc. If I don't have the money to buy one of them, I find a way to have access to it, which is why I freely publish to you off of the community WiFi: that's "no overhead" for you business douches, and sometimes it means I traverse difficult public environments that I do not control, like the bank of cheap computers that are available at most public libraries. It sucks, but so did most of the junior designers in any given department on any day, at any publishing company across the U.S (or the world). It's not new, it's not great, but I'm here for you, glitches and all, which makes it the most transparently published site in the world. No ads, no agendas. Simple. Just me.

That pisses off a lot of people, a lot of people, especially the wacky conspiracy theorists/indigents who frequent public spaces for warmth, or to nod off their recent heroin high. It's brutal, but it is real. I've seen it. Government employees typically care more about maintaining their steady paycheck than policing the people who visit their library every single day, but such is the mostly selfish nature that typically marks lower minds than mine. I don't publish just to my peers, know what I mean? And so, on any given day, I can be typing to you while listening to music and hugging it out with my special friends from the ARC community (Hi, friends!), or concentrating through your obvious eating disorder and rank bad breath, as your overstuffed hoarder car sits outside, parked askew by the curb. It's not my choice or design, but here I am: your beacon of light in the nighttime of your disorder.

Given how much time I spend out in the world, I'm used to the wider ranges of the human experience at the bipolar extremes of your insanity, with the understanding that my beauty and brilliance draws "wack jobs" like moths to a flame. If they don't "catch" me out in public, they plan for it, like the deranged stalkers they really are. 
It's utterly revealing to me. So, on one fine day, a total nut-job from the local chapter or "Dipshits Anonymous" stopped by to heckle me here, while he sat at a public computer doing absolutely nothing but look at me out of the corner of his eye. I know when people seek to engage me, and if I'm done with my work, I use any extra time I have to lecture to you all, if I can, which is what I did on this particular afternoon.

He was a rather garden-variety wacko: a "Right to Life" idiot who dissembles under any type of intellectual scrutiny. Within minutes of our "talk" (which I'm loathe to use as a term suitable for him), he hated my attention. First, he pointed out that he was the deranged nephew of a famous New York politician to justify his rudeness towards me (arrogance as the first sign of weakness=check), backing up his hippy-style ranting by his woven rainbow bracelet (a symbol of successful pot smokers worldwide), to show me that he doesn't trust "The Man", hence his obvious outsider status within his very successful family, thus making him available for viewing during normal daylight business hours: the black sheep who can't work=got it.

He quickly directed me towards his conspiracy du jour: women and their bodies. He hates them. Oh, okay. Gay AND crazy. Check that one off, too. To show me how much disdain he has for the female body, he let me know that he knew all about biology (but wouldn't tell me where or how, which makes me suspect that he's a high school dropout), but that he rejects it. Oh. Delusional, too! Wow, this is just getting better and better for me. Whenever I calmly answered him with logical, non-ranting types of answers grounded in rigorous scholarship, he seemed like he was about to implode right next to me. 
He ballooned himself up, becoming confused, red-faced, and apoplectic in front of me in under ten minutes, which was a new personal best. I love stripping people of their false delusions.

Since it became obvious rather quickly that he had no firsthand knowledge of anatomy, probably because he can't perform sexually with a partner due to his own rotting brain and complete lapses with any decent healthcare, he backed himself into a corner very quickly. 
I was horrified and embarrassed for him. I hate the feeling that I am causing hurt to someone who's disabled, but he sought me out. 
He talked over me manically, become more panicky by the second. 
He blurted out over and over the same weird lingo that has no basis in reality; the speech of the demented, in a mantra that he seemed to think would soothe his fevered delusions: "Partial birth <pause> partial birth <slight pause, then it sped up to cover over me>partialbirthpartialbirthpartialbirthpartialbirthpartialbirth..." 

When he slowed down enough for me to inquire through his stuttering psychotic episode, I asked him why he thought there existed such a hallucinatory haunted house movie-version of women's healthcare, in an odd scenario I haven't never heard of, nor seen, or read about...ever. Why? He told me it was true. That was it. He had thought it up, and therefore it must be real. He thinks women go to some scary evil doctor to give birth to a baby while the doctor chops it head off slowly. Swear. At that point, I reached into my bag, pulling out a black "Illuminations" collectible sticker that I hand out in public, to give to him as a reminder in the future about how badly he fucked up with me, and then I put headphones back on to signal the end of our brief chat, but not before I slowly pulled out a set of rosary beads that I carried with me, showily draping them over the edge of my bag that sat by the computer station I worked at. End of discussion.

Because, dear readers, what that kook in the wild did not know about me (surprise!) is that my man Father Stephen at my home parish of St. Francis of Assisi in West Nyack had asked me on the phone years ago about whether not it was prudent for us to allow such extremist firebrands into our intellectual community for their weekly meetings, to which I replied "Of course"! Who better than him, someone who has devoted his entire life and vocational service to tending all of you, to chair what amounts to a bloodier version of "Alcoholics Anonymous" on any given day? If not me, try him. I dare you, because he's a master educator, too. Booyah! Oh, no, son...you did not see that one coming at you, did you? No! You didn't! Oh, yes. I did.


For those of you mature enough to look at images that depict what a woman's early miscarriage looks like in "human", please click on the following link: http://s1161.photobucket.com/user/sandraebey/media/019.jpg.html. That...that's it. All of your horribly misguided fears and insane paranoia is centered over some blood and tissue that most women naturally develop (and flush out of their bodies) each and every month. That's it! Thanks to Sandra for the images. You go, girl! Please feel free to explore this scientific topic that's existed for all of of humanity on your own: https://www.google.com/?gws_rd=ssl#q=what+an+early+miscarriage+looks+like.

Don't hate the seed, nor the carrier. It's just nature, yo. Chill! And take a class or two, will ya....geesh: http://www.butterflybirth.com/how-many-eggs-is-a-female-human-born-with/. Ignorance is hell!

Skeleteon in the Closet

Pour vous, Isabelle.

Summertime is a big deal for a lot of women, and not just because school is out, and the kids are home ALL DAY LONG. I never really thought adversely about going to the beach or the pool, because I've been a swimmer for as long as I can remember. What's not to like? But, like any other social situation filled with strangers and new people comes the attitude that many women and girls have about their bodies. I don't have any issues about mine, because I do the right things: I eat clean, good food that I enjoy cooking and eating, I walk every day, I do yoga or swim or practice martial arts...something happens in my life to keep me on track, because I am motivated to have the best life ever. 
I want to have fun and enjoy myself.

Don't get me wrong; I smoked and drank my way through the SUNY school system like any other college kid on a strict budget, but I never got it twisted. I actually wanted to show off my bikini body every year, and why wouldn't I? I work hard at it, and I want to stay beautiful for as long as I can for my partner, because I care about how he feels. I know he thinks the same way about himself towards me, too. Not that MMA is the sport for "working out", because it is extremely intense training (like my childhood ballet lessons that could have been a really serious career), but I have had points in my life when I gained unwanted weight from neglect, typically because I was working a job so stressful, most people take some sort of drug (or cocktail) to get through it. 

And so, try as I might, I no longer feel any pressures to conform to any standard other than the one I set for myself, because childhood was my time for insecurities. I survived my time in grade school, with mean bullies and schoolyard taunts. That doesn't mean today's "PSA" is a joke; far from it. Every day in my happy little home here in the Hudson Valley I see my beautiful people out in public, mixing it up in our common community spaces with people far less fortunate than us. They say the Irish are blessed with luck, charm, and good looks, and that's true, though I think it's more than a fair trade off for centuries of brutal oppression, military occupation, and countrywide starvation. 
We earned it proper. 

Yet, many cultures still demonize their women for their looks (or lack thereof), which leaves one to wonder why a woman with a serious brain disorder would dare hope to have a happy, healthy, attractive child. From what?! Thin air? It takes a lot more than running around a track like a lunatic because your mom committed suicide, and 30 years later you still can't talk about it until you are gaunt and winded. The work that I do (physical stuff included) is a lot more demanding than me running away from my problems and the world, just as starvation and hunger will not bring you the peace you seek. You need help, and I'll be here for you, girl, but first ya gotta eat something. I mean it.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/31/world/europe/31caro.html?_r=0

 

For all the ladies and the girls...

http://www.natracare.com/Default.aspx?CultureId=en-GB

A couple of days ago, Dr. Joseph Mercola published an article through his Twitter feed about toxic healthcare products for women and girls. As I scrolled through my feed before yoga class (the Dalai Lama tweeted right before class began, which I found to be a most excellent synergy, since our instructor is Buddhist), I was inspired to ask some of my older retiree friends if they knew about this valuable piece of information: http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2013/05/22/feminine-hygiene-products.aspx.

I had good reason to. Rockland County moves at a slower country pace than our fair Gotham. I noticed the local shops around town do not have a wide selection of healthy, organic female products, which reflects an attitude that lags behind our larger and more sophisticated urban areas.

Neither ladies I spoke with in class knew about the availability of organic feminine products, and one of my friends urged me to publish this piece about it (Done! This is for you, Irish Marys!), as I encouraged them to buy healthy organic products for the women and girls in their families. The plastic linings and toxic chemicals in the most popular and commercially available feminine products are one of the direct causes of those nasty smells that are fobbed off as a typically foul female odor.

Women who sleep with men regularly (like me and my friends), are exposed to semen. When sperm dies, it often emits a fishy odor we can smell. As a couple, it's part of our sex life. That's why we practice good hygiene after sex with our men: it's part of staying healthy and balanced for us. Of course, diet and health are great barometers for strong odors, too. If you smell bad, tell your doctor. You may have an infection that needs tending: http://www.mommyedition.com/how-to-get-rid-of-unpleasant-vaginal-odor.

So, I went on to tell my lady friends before class that I immediately noticed NO ODOR after using organic cotton products. Like, none whatsoever, but truth be told, I've been told by my lovers that my natural scent is very erotic to them, so I never really thought about it until I moved back here; to a county where healthcare sometimes stops cold or goes dead completely, because we're still close enough to the best doctors on the planet in New York City that local needs often go unaddressed.

Have a congenital hole in your heart? Well, so does the Nurse Practitioner at our local public library, a nice lady who stops by every month to take our blood pressure for free. She had open heart surgery performed by our brilliant (and handsome!) New York surgeon, Dr. Oz. To us, he's not just some "talking head" appearing on your t.v. set. He's the man who saved the life of a beloved Irish grandmother when she took gravely ill and then completely recovered under his patient care. 

And so it is with me, too. I want the best for you that's possible, and that includes freedom from cancers that affect women through the continued poisonous exposure to products that hurt us, at the times when we are most vulnerable. Shame on you. Shame on all of you. How dare you do that to women and girls during my time?!

Blessed to you who are meek as I am strong, on this fair May Day in 2015, a month made for mothers and daughters, in loving honor of those who love us the most. Good health to you all.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-mercola/feminine-hygiene-products_b_3359581.html

Genie Jeggings!

Oh, yeah! I saw an ad for these on t.v.

Ever wonder if those "As Seen on TV" products for sale at the local drugstore are worth the money? Me, too! I've been wearing a lot of leggings and jegging-type pants lately because I'm more muscular then ever, which means additional mass on a petite frame like mine, that's still rather recent for me (read: MMA training and other physical arts). 

Sounds miraculous and life-changing at $12.99 a pair!

It also means most rough, stiff jeans are so chafing to me as to be almost unbearable, and they really haven't ever been flattering on a woman. They're designed for a man's frame. I know I've always looked better in dresses and skirts, and that's a lot for an active former tomboy like me to admit, but it's the truth. I have a fully mature woman's body. So, what else is there to wear?

They're actually double layered leggings:grey tights over spandex.

Enter a t.v. ad for a certain type of leggings that look like jeans (called "jeggings"), but are way more comfortable than the tight fit of a denim waistband that also presses a large metal button deep into your body, leaving grooves all over your body, especially when you sit in them for long periods of time. Aha! Genie Jeggings! I saw the ad, and went online to investigate. Uh oh. 

Oh...that's rather low.

I found users complaining about shady "scammy" type of behavior, with bad reviews, and/or poor customer service, no product returns, or not answering product-related emails and phone calls. Not a good sign in business, and besides that, if it's a bad deal, I don't want three pairs of the same shoddy product! So when I saw them on sale locally at a drugstore chain packaged as a single pair, I figured I'd try them out. They'd either work or not, just like any other pair of leggings or tights at a similar price. 

Ugh: the dreaded plumber's crack. That's not good...

And they do, if you like really low-waisted, tight leggings. In other words, you gotta have the body for it. They are not "miracle slimmers" as advertised on t.v., but for the average gal running around town doing errands, they're just fine: just don't wear them like ordinary jeans, with a short t-shirt. Treat them like a double-layered pair of leggings with a long shirt, and you're done! Because the inner layer looks like grey flannel, I'd also wear them in the Fall and Winter with boots and a long sweater, not in the damp heat of Spring and Summer.

...and you have to be in good shape to pull them off as replacement jeans.

Good luck, gals! It's a jungle out there, so give yourself a break today during your daily fight for truth, justice, and the American way. 

Wear something comfortable! You totally deserve it.

Definitely not like the box or on t.v.: no high slimming indigo waistband.

Ah! Much better when worn with a longer shirt.

Yep, better with coverage. I won't be followed around town!