Not punching people in the face

So I’m a teensy bit aggressive and confrontational. I also have a distinct lack of patience.

This has led to me occasionally punching someone in the face when they cross a line.

But I’ve been working on that. I haven’t punched anyone in in face in like six months.

But okay, to be fair, seriously, that guy deserved it. And I don’t regret punching him at all.

It was December, and the casinos were open again. I grabbed my mask and decided I wanted a drink.

And do you remember what happens when I try going to a bar by myself?

This guy came up, hitting on me. I thanked him and told him I wasn’t interested. He kept pushing, so I told him to fuck off.

He started rubbing up on me, so I called security. They told him to back off. He came back.

So I punched him in the face. No conversation, no talking, no waiting to see what he was going to say this time. As soon as he was close enough, he got punched in the face.

And security came back in force. But who did they grab and escort to that dark dingy office that every casino has in every movie? Who did they treat like a criminal?

I’ll give you three fucking guesses.

And the main security guard was such a condescending prick. He lectured me, like, “We’re adults here. We are supposed to handle problems like adults. We use our words.”

And I got pissed (and I was buzzed). I said, “If you’d done your fucking job the first time I came to you with this problem, I wouldn’t have had to handle it myself. God forbid you have to stand up to another man. No, that’s just too scary. It’s so much easier to let him harass a woman and sexually molest her on your property, and then lecture her when she does your job for you, you absolute fucking coward.”

Oh, I was pissed. And I didn’t have Kazander or Sounder or anyone there to calm me down or hold me back. I got downright mean.

He finally told me he wouldn’t ban me from the casino, but this would be my only warning, and he “expected me to behave myself.”

So whatever. I can guarangoddamntee that asshole didn’t grind up on anyone else the rest of that night, and it’s not because security told him to leave me alone, it’s because he got punched in the face.

He learned the same lesson that small children are taught: shit has consequences.

I should work security.

Anyway, I was hanging with this Mexican couple the other night. It was late, and suddenly this big group of drunk college-age white American kids came in. They were loud, rowdy, arm-wrestling on tables and just having a grand old time.

But, while annoyingly loud, I was fine with that. Just innocent drunken rowdiness. Boys being boys.

Until their friends came in. These guys were wearing speedo-type swimsuits, and started air-humping behind every woman in the place.

They came up behind me, but I waited. Because the staff was already moving. They wear all black, and the entire energy of the room changed, and all of a sudden it was like you saw these men in black just swooping in from every direction, all at once.

Surprisingly not this time, Alistair

And I’ve been trying to refrain from punching people, and obviously the staff wasn’t messing around, so I stayed seated and let them handle it.

They really weren’t playing around, either. The whole thing, from the time the second group came in, until the time security showed up, was maybe 30 seconds (I was drunk, so my perception of time might be off). Maybe a full minute before they got all of them out the door.

I was impressed, honestly. And relieved. And happy to sit there and let the staff handle it, since they obviously took it seriously. It was nothing like the “meh, shrug” attitude you see in the US when a guy crosses that line.

But apparently I’d tensed up. After they left, the husband said I looked like I was about to go off on the kids. I laughed and told him I thought about it, but didn’t want to risk being thrown out of the hotel.

He looked at me like I had three heads. So I explained last time I punched someone, and I got in trouble.

He looked at me like I’d just grown a fourth.

“What? Oh no, this is Mexico. That doesn’t happen here. As long as he’s 18, you’ll never get in trouble for that.”

His wife chimed in. “Why do you think you never see Mexican boys doing that? You wouldn’t be the first woman in this country to teach a drunk boy that lesson.”

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m kinda a fan of the US, it’s kinda my favorite place. But goddamn, you know, we could learn a thing or two from folks down here.

Even so, I’m glad I refrained. I’m trying to not be a complete asshole, and I really was impressed with how fast and how effectively the staff handled it. As long as the people who are supposed to care about my safety actually do care, I’m fine to sit tight and let them handle problems.

It was kind of an eye opener, though, just seeing the difference in how that sort of thing is handled. Like, the staff didn’t care about the rowdiness, I think one of them was going over to ask the first group to tone it down, but that was it.

It wasn’t until the kids started fucking with the women that suddenly it was like all the fun was immediately sucked out of the room. It was tangible. You could feel it. There was nothing good-natured or accommodating about the staff as they came running. They ran in, barking orders into their walkie-talkies, and everything about their faces, their body language, their energy was intense and serious. They almost felt dangerous.

Like, they weren’t getting the guys out because that’s what they’re paid to do. There was almost an anger behind it (though they are not US cops, so obviously they know how to deescalate instead of escalate issues. But to be fair, even McDonald’s workers have better deescalation capabilities than cops. Because, *sips tea,* they get fired if they don’t).

So it wasn’t hostile or violent, but it almost felt like there was this anger simmering underneath the surface in all the staff. Like they took it personally. It’s hard to explain, but it took me completely by surprise, and like, I was okay to be the damsel in distress and let the fierce knights come charging to my rescue.

I’d never felt anything like that in the US. You’d never see anything like that back home.

And it felt good, honestly. Like, oh, I can relax. I don’t have to be on my guard constantly, ready to hit someone at a moment’s notice. I can trust these people to step in, I don’t have to deal with it myself.

As if I needed another reason to completely adore this place.

And it makes me wonder, how much of me being an asshole is because I feel like I have to be on my guard constantly? How much of how aggressive and confrontational I am is because of shit like what happened at the casino, and would I still feel that way if I could trust the people around me to help out if I need it?

How many American women are assholes because we feel like we’re alone? How many women have bitten a guy’s head off for seemingly innocent shit, because she knows there is a size and strength difference, and she can’t rely on anyone to help her, so she needs to compensate for that difference and the fact that she has no one to back her up, by striking first, striking hard, without mercy?

A group of scared people who don’t know how to handle certain shit and don’t feel like anyone has their back, so all they want is to hurt someone before that person has the chance to hurt them. It’s not right, it’s not healthy, but you heal Johnny by supporting him and teaching him that he isn’t as alone as he feels, not by arresting him or beating him up or telling him he’s on his own, and goddamn I love the first season of that show.

I mean, yeah I can admit that American women seem to be getting meaner, myself included. But I wasn’t mean and quick to punch people before I had issues like at the casino, or at the swinger’s club where I hit a guy for grabbing my ass without permission, and he didn’t even get kicked out, or my boss and my male coworkers stayed silent instead of warning me that one of the other bosses had drugged my beer (thankfully a female coworker pulled me aside and warned me).

I wasn’t born an asshole, guys. No one is. And maybe the US should take a note from how Mexico handles this specific kind of situation. Because if I could go to a bar by myself and feel safe, I’d probably be way more likely to be kind and friendly if you come up and offer to buy me a drink.

I still loved the couple’s reaction, though. Like, “Honey, you’re in Mexico. If a guy gets in your face and won’t back off, you are well within your rights to fucking make him.”

And like Sounder said when I told him about it the next day, we need to make “Fuck around and find out” the basis for our laws in the US. I think it would make a difference in a lot of unexpected ways.

Becoming Bar Mom

Fair warning, y’all, I’m drunk. And I ramble uncontrollably when I’m sober, you think I get less talkative when I’m inebriated?


So I’m in Mexico. This is our first vacation since the pandemic, so of course, there are hoops to jump through, and the resort is at half capacity (and half staff), and we have to wear our masks, and social distance, blah blah blah.

But honestly, it’s not as bad as I was expecting. It’s mostly just common sense. Don’t be an idiot, just wear the damn mask (because my only child can’t get vaccinated yet, and I haven’t punched anyone in the face in like six months, so I’m overdue, bitch test me, I fucking dare you).


So it’s actually been really great. Sure there are some annoyances and inconveniences, but the staff seems to be working even harder to make up for it, and our butler and my favorite bartender remember us, and even bent a couple of rules for us, and honestly, even with the extra hoops and the tests and the inconveniences and the annoyances, this might my favorite vacation I’ve ever been on.

Hell, I walked up to the bar in the lobby, and one of the bartenders came up and greeted me. We weren’t here last year, but he remembered me from two years ago (though he got my name just barely wrong. He called me Gemma. But hey, after two years, that’s not bad. I’m impressed).

The extra fun started the other night. I got to talking to these two women at the bar, and we struck up a conversation.

And for most of my adult life, I was always the youngest in every group. Now I’m 35, so that’s changed.

At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. In the past couple of years, I’ve lost a lot of things that were kind of central to how I define myself. First I lost my voice, then I lost my “plus size” status (which doesn’t seem like a thing, but realizing I was too small for Torrid was kind of an unexpected hit), then I lost my “young adult” status, and those were all things I loved about myself.

I had an entire plan for singing. I was damn proud of being plus size. I’d always been the youngest in pretty much every group. I loved my youth.

There have been a couple of other things too, that are a little harder to explain. But now it’s all gone. It’s been a lot to get used to. It’s been…

Well, not bad, actually. I have moments where I feel a little lost, but on the whole, it’s actually kind of exciting. Because now I have to go out and find new things, new ways to define myself.

And one of those new things is “bar mom.” I’m not the youngest anymore, but a couple of times now, both here in Cancun and back home in Vegas, I’ve found myself surrounded by women practically half my age, and holy shit, I kind of adore it.

These girls haven’t done anything. They haven’t seen anything. They’re barely adults (especially true here, where the drinking age is 18).

And they see me, this effortlessly confident woman, hot as fuck, sauntering up to the bar, and all of a sudden I have them hanging on my every word.

Which, I mean, I don’t know if you guys know this about me, but I have a teensy bit of an ego. So having a group of 21-year-olds sitting around like, “Teach us, o wise seer. Impart to us thy wisdom,” is kinda nice.

So the other night, I’m hanging out at the bar, chatting with the bartenders, and got to talking to these sisters.

And they’re both insanely hot. Like, just stupid-hot.

I mean like…

We’ll call them Hannah and Montana (not their real names, but their real names rhyme just like that). One is 18, the other is 20, sitting together getting plastered on a beach in Mexico, it was like they walked right out of a porno, I swear to gawd.

And as the night went on, we just totally hit it off, and suddenly we just totally hit it off.

I brought them back to my room. Kazander was off with his family, so I asked if he’d be cool fucking off for half an hour, and I’d find him when we were done. He was insanely jealous (justifiably so), but he agreed, so I brought them back to our room and that’s when we really hit it off.

It wasn’t like how it is in porn, though. Sure, it was a little kinky, just because they’re sisters, but they didn’t really do anything with each other. They were both completely focused on me.

Which, I mean, I kinda like being the center of attention, so that was nice.

I fucked them both raw, then I walked them back to their room (because I’m a lady, dammit), then I came back and passed the fuck out, because I was just a little sloshed, myself.

I was pretty proud of myself. But then, a couple nights later, I saw them again, and they literally screamed my name, and jumped up from the table to hug me, and the blonde asked for round 2.

So I mean, I was pretty goddamn proud of myself. Here I am, 35 years old, curvy, with stretch marks and big thighs, and I pulled off something every sculpted-Adonis dudebro wishes he could pull off.

Those guys fantasize about it, but I actually did it. Without even trying.

And I did it so well, they came back wanting more.

And just how hot are we talking? Well, I’m not showing their faces, but the night they screamed my name across the resort’s central plaza, I did manage to get a picture with them.

Again, no faces, so y’all are just gonna have to take my word for it, but even without seeing their faces, can you imagine walking through a beach resort with one of those on each arm?

‘Cuz I don’t have to imagine it.

And it’s funny, I’d kinda forgotten just how hot 20-year-old bodies are. Don’t get me wrong, I love my body, I’m okay with my flaws, I know how to turn heads and carry a room, etc. But I also know that I have the kind of body you only get from 30+ years of tacos, alcohol, and mild neglect, plus having a kid.

But these girls don’t have those problems. No stretch marks, no cellulite, everything stays in place when the clothes come off, just smooth and tight and fucking hot.

And hanging on my every word, following me like puppies.

I was just impossible to be around. I felt so bad for poor Kazander having to deal with my ego, so I promised that the next time I find sexy fun, he’s included.

Which… just so happened to fall into my lap later that very night. He’d already gone back to the room, and I was on my way back, I’d just stopped at the pool to finish my drink, when another woman walked up to me.

I honestly don’t remember how, but we ended up in her room, and I had Kazander meet us there. Turns out, they wanted to be poly, but they live in a small-ish town in a red state, so that makes things difficult. They haven’t been able to actually do anything yet.

And they were hot, too. The woman was especially hot. She was in her forties, fit and toned, with a gorgeous rack.

The husband was hot, too. He was in his fifties, muscular and fucking tall. He had to be every bit of 6’5″. I’m not used to having to look up to talk to people.

But he was such a gentleman. A teensy bit heavy on the benevolent sexism (he kept insisting that I text Kazander so he’d know where I was, and kept wanting to make sure I felt safe in the room with them), but I can appreciate the thought behind it. I’m aware bad shit can happen in Mexico.

I mean, bad shit can happen at a music concert in my hometown, too, but again, whatever, he was doing it to be nice, and while I don’t love being infantilized and seen as a helpless delicate flower, I also recognize the dude is from a different time in a conservative state, where they still think women can’t survive in a world of dangerous scary men without a dangerous scary nice man to protect them.

Ugh. That shit annoys me. You want to make me feel safe? Stop creeping me the hell out with that shit. Knock it off and go make me a sandwich.

That goes for all of you reading this, too. If you ever do that, knock it off. Being seen as if you’re a child isn’t cute. It doesn’t make us want to fuck you. It’s creepy. It’s uncomfortable.

I’m not a child. I’m old enough to drink, old enough to vote, old enough fuck your mom so hard and so good, she’ll leave her husband and call me Daddy.

Quick, someone ask me how I know. Maybe I’ll tell that story one day.

Not the point of this post, though. I appreciate that the guy was trying to be considerate, and he is a big guy, so I’m sure he’s dealt with being perceived as a threat everywhere he goes.

I’m gonna bitch about it here, because I can, but in the moment, I was good with just shrugging it off and letting it go.

But it was so cute, the wife told me he was nervous and self-conscious, because he’s a little older, and you know sometimes the plumbing doesn’t work as well in a man his age, and he’s also not quite at the level of hotness she is.

So of course, I immediately thought he was so sweet and adorable, and decided I wanted him to feel like he can still rock a girl’s world.

Kazander stayed with her in their room, and I led him to ours.

And of course, he was intimidated and flustered and nervous, so the performance anxiety kicked in.

Which, first of all, was great. This guy was huge, okay. Broad, strong, tall as fuck. But once I got him alone, he was like a blushing virgin.

I adored it. I wanted to give the sweet tall boy a good time. And I’ve always liked older men, so I know how to work around performance issues.

But I was reminded once again just how different vanilla men and sub men are.

And that’s something I told Kazander later. It’s always weird with vanilla guys. I don’t really know how to relate to them all that well. If the husband was a nervous sub, I would’ve known exactly how to fix that.

But a vanilla guy? Like, literally, what do I do? They’re like a different species or something. How do I handle a nervous vanilla guy?

I mean, I figured it out, because it’s me, of course I did. But I thought that was kind of funny, just trying to figure out how to give this boy a good time, and make him feel like “the man,” and give him a bit of a confidence boost, while also working around his performance anxiety and his nervousness.

He really was so cute, though. And eventually, he did relax and loosen up a bit. Once he did, we were golden.

The poor sweet thing, I think I broke him. But I managed to get him back to his room and traded him back for Kazander.

Unfortunately, they were leaving the next day, but they come to Vegas a lot, so I got the wife’s number. If it works out, they could turn out to be a couple of fun play partners when they’re in town.

But yeah, if I wanted to nitpick, I could find things to complain about. And the Karens and Chads are out in full force this time.

I mean, there are kids literally right down the street from the resort that go to bed hungry each night, but god forbid Chad has to wait 5 minutes for his refill.

We had semi trailers, in our own country, filled with dead bodies, but god forbid Karen can’t have an extra lounge chair at the pool.

And the poor overworked staff is doing everything they can. There’s a pandemic here, too. Some of these people have lost family members, too. And they come here and smile and bend over backwards so we can have a good vacation.

So every time I see someone chewing out an employee, I get super loud and snide and just dickish about it. Like, “Oh, no! A 5-minute wait is just going to ruin his whole vacation!” Or, “Hey, we found the woman who has never been told ‘no’ in her entire life.”

Or, “hey, cut her a break. The worst thing that ever happened to her was that time she got bangs. Poor thing can’t handle waiting for a chair.”

Yeah, I’m not making friends with the other guests. But I am making friends with the employees, and they’re the important ones. And now every time we walk into the lobby, or up to the pool bar, or the spa, or the privilege lounge, we have employees smiling and calling our names.

So the assholes can sit in their rooms and pout because they’re too fragile to handle literally anything, and oh their entire lives are just ruined.

I’m gonna hang out with the bartender who shouts “Mi Jenni, mi amor!” across the lobby every time I walk in. And I’m gonna have fun with the sexy waiters and cabana boys, and get completely plastered, and play in the pool, and just have a goddamn blast.

And we’re still here for another whole week. Yeah, I’m a happy Jen.

Why I believe in astrology

So I was talking with an old online acquaintance the other day, when I mentioned astrology.  His response was:

I just don’t get it.  You’re so wise and educated about everything else.  You aren’t swayed by popular opinion.  You always go for objective facts in every other subject.  But you buy into this astrology and Tarot thing, hook, line, and sinker.  Even though the facts and evidence are mounted against it.  Why?  On some level you must know it’s bullshit.  Why do you believe in it?

The short answer?  Because I’ve looked at the objective facts and have formed my own opinion, regardless of the popular consensus among other educated people.

I’m not going to get into Tarot here, that’s a whole separate thing, but yes, I do believe in astrology as a tool that, as long as one recognizes it for what it is, is extremely useful and quite effective at achieving a specific set of goals.

I’ll use the hammer reference that is so often used in debates regarding gun ownership in the US.  If you’re not from the US, and not familiar with the reference, it goes like this:

A hammer is a tool.  It is neither good nor bad.  It can be used to build a house for a homeless veteran, or it can be used to bash someone’s skull in.  The result of either scenario is not due to the hammer, but the person wielding it.

Astrology can use a somewhat similar metaphor.  Because it is a tool.  It is neither good nor bad.  It is neutral.  It can be used reasonably, by a reasonable person, for constructive purposes, and it can be used unreasonably, by an unreasonable person, for destructive purposes.

And for the record, the facts and evidence are not mounted against it.

*If you’re a skeptic, and you are polite and respectful of those who choose to believe in it, then cool.  Carry on.  What I’m about to say doesn’t apply to you.*

Most skeptics I’ve talked to actually know literally nothing about astrology, aside from reading the occasional newspaper horoscope or daily horoscope on some free website.  They have formed their opinion knowing literally nothing about it.

Which is just as bad as wholeheartedly supporting astrology, knowing literally nothing about it.

Honestly, I don’t care.  Your opinions are your opinions.  And I’d say most of the skeptics I’ve spoken to have been polite-ish and respectful-ish of my conscious decision to believe in the validity of the practice.  And those who have not been polite or respectful, I honestly just shrug off.

The kind of person who forms an opinion on something they know nothing about, and then gives me hell for having a different opinion, is not the kind of person I’m interested in debating with.

Because you can’t win that kind of debate.  Meaning you cannot convince a willfully ignorant individual to let go of his ignorance.  And usually, willfully ignorant individuals are extremely unwilling to let go of their ignorance, and therefore I don’t bother wasting my time trying to educate them.  I honestly just don’t care.

But again, for the record, there does not exist a mountain of empirical, concrete evidence disproving astrology.  There doesn’t even exist a moderately large hill of evidence disproving it.

Most people who do a ten-minute google search and promptly assume they are experts in the field will quote the 1985 study by Shawn Carlson, showing that astrology was no better than chance.  And then, believers of astrology will answer with Professor Suitbert Ertel’s 2009 reappraisal of the data collected in the study, and his conclusion that (in layman’s terms) Carlson is full of shit.

They’ll then follow with Vernon Clark’s 1961 study showing that astrologers could match and identify personality traits in individuals with a rate of accuracy that was significantly higher than chance.  Some may then go on to quote Michel Gauquelin, who studied a few thousand celebrities from Europe and the US, looking for correlations between the positions of planets at an individual’s birth, and any concrete effects it had on their lives, such as choice of profession and independent biographical descriptions.

He found statistical abnormalities in the positions of planets visible in the sky at the time and location of the individuals’ births, for example the position of Mars figured heavily in professional athletes, Jupiter in actors, Saturn in prominent scientists, and the Moon in well-known writers.

Three independent groups in Belgium, America, and France scrutinized his study, looking for errors, and ended up replicating his result.  Whether they used the same group he did, or completely different groups, those same statistical abnormalities were there.

So I mean, for every study out there proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that astrology is bullshit, there’s another one proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there’s validity to it.  There is no mountain of evidence on one side or the other.  Using any particular study as the sole basis for one’s opinion in this subject is illogical and inaccurate.

So here are my thoughts on it, taking out personal experience (which, as someone who did/does this for a living, is extensive af).

Okay, so there are three main fields that focus on all that fancy space shit: astronomy, astrophysics, and physical cosmology (you also have sects of cosmology that are more mythical/spiritual/religious/philosophical, etc.  I’m not talking about that here, because that’s not recognized as a legitimate science the way physical cosmology is.  But for simplicity’s sake, I’m going to just take out the “physical” and call it cosmology, and you all will understand that I’m talking exclusively about physical cosmology).

At its simplest, astronomy is the study of all the stuff you see in the sky right now (or with a telescope).  All the celestial bodies, stars, planets, all the objects out there.

Astrophysics is all about asking why, about discovering the processes that made the stuff we see in the sky, and why those things we see do the things they do.

Cosmology focuses on the origin, evolution, and eventual fate of the Universe as a whole.  And in cosmology, there are three components that make up the Universe: radiation, matter, and dark energy.

Dark energy is pretty damn interesting, what we know of it, anyway, and the theories surrounding it range from really cool to really fucking bizarre.  All we know is that it is why the Universe is expanding at an accelerated rate.  The most common theory is that dark energy is an attribute of space itself, that space literally has its own form of energy, and the more the Universe expands, the more space comes into existence, the more dark energy is formed.  And the more dark energy is formed, the faster the Universe expands.

This means that dark energy permeates everything, interacts with everything, and has a pretty damn significant effect on the Universe, itself, and everything in it.  In fact, dark energy makes up the vast majority of the Universe, at about three quarters.

Cool, right?  Except we have no idea what it is, or, outside of pushing things away, what it does, and how it affects literally anything else.  And, as being about 75% of everything in the Universe, it’s reasonable to surmise that it does have some sort of effect.

One new theory is that dark energy governs time, the fourth dimension of the Universe (or spacetime, it’s really way more complicated than that, but we’ll call it time, this is already long enough).  Because, as fucking weird as it sounds, we cannot fully explain why time only moves in one direction.

Because the Universe (we think) operates according to the laws of physics.  I mean, as far as we can tell, that’s pretty constant.  But the interesting thing is that like, 99.99% of physics is completely time-reversible.  Meaning that it works regardless of the direction time moves.  To completely oversimplify it to a laughable degree, think of a planet orbiting a star.  Physics makes the planet orbit the star, and the only affect time has on the orbit is the direction.  Move time forward or backward, and the result is identical, aside from the direction of the orbit.  The past and future are symmetrical.

So if physics allows for time to move in any direction, why doesn’t time move in any direction?

There really isn’t a great answer for that.  The only real “explanation” is the second law of thermodynamics, which we also don’t fully understand.  It says that, as time moves forward, shit gets more complex and crazy.  This is, obviously, not time-reversible, and physicists reluctantly settle on it as the reason why the past and future are asymmetrical, and why time can only move in one direction.

It’s like a ruined orgasm, though.  It works, sorta, but it’s not satisfying, it’s just disappointing.

But dark energy could actually offer a more complete explanation.

So some really smart people with a metric fuckton of time on their hands decided to see if the second law of thermodynamics and dark energy could be related, because why the fuck not?

They created a little mini-Universe thing, consisting of a planet orbiting a star with a changing mass.  Super limited scope, but they didn’t even know if they’d find anything.

Well they found something.  If dark energy didn’t exist, the little planet just kept orbiting the star forever and ever, super boring.  And unchanged regardless of which direction time moves.  Run the simulation for billions of years, and the past and future are exactly the same.

But toss dark energy in the mix, and it pushes shit apart, which means that the planet would eventually be thrown out of the orbit, and go down a path it could never return from.

And obviously, this is not constant regardless of the direction time moves.  Move time forward, and the planet gets further away from the star.  Move it backward, and it gets closer.  The past and the future are now asymmetrical.  And because dark energy is always pushing things away, it requires that time only moves in one direction.  Time going backward would mean that dark energy is pulling things together, which is impossible (we think, we actually have no idea what dark energy is going to do in the future).

Dark energy must push things apart, and this only works if time is moving forward.  So dark energy, the thing that makes up the majority of the Universe, could literally govern the laws of time.

Now, this was one little experiment, with one little planet and one little star, so no one is getting too excited yet.  But it’s interesting to think about what other effects dark energy could have on the Universe.

But at the very least, even if it doesn’t affect anything, everything we experience from space passes through it.  Gravity, light, radiation, subatomic particles, literally everything.  It reaches everything, it touches everything.

So in that light, it’s reasonable to theorize that we could be literally and physically connected to the celestial bodies that figure prominently in astrology (as well as every other celestial body in the Universe).  Which means it’s reasonable to theorize that, to a miniscule degree, those celestial bodies and the energy they produce could possibly have a legitimate effect on us, particularly if they are visible to our part of the world at the time of our birth.

But that’s not the only thing.  There’s also dark matter, which is seriously fucking cool.

Here’s what we know about dark matter: if the laws of gravity are correct, it must exist.  We can’t see it, but we can see the effects it has on light around it.  It bends light around it, using gravity, but we obviously can’t see it the way we can see a black hole (which also bends light due to gravity).  We can also see stars orbiting around the outer edges of galaxies much faster than they should be able to.

We know that it doesn’t react with anything that we can see.  Just gravity.  So, while dark energy is pushing everything apart, dark matter is defying the laws of physics, holding things together in ways we can’t even begin to understand yet.

The most widely accepted theory is that it’s a massive particle that is just too light and too weak to interact with anything we can perceive and detect.  But if that’s the case, how is it holding normal matter (ie, planets, stars, galaxies) together even as force and dark energy are pulling them apart?

We can see that it’s clumped together throughout the Universe, and that in the very beginning of the Universe, it created a sort of scaffolding that influenced the location of normal matter as time went on.

Some theorize that it is evidence of extra dimensions, and suggest the existence of a “Hidden Valley,” an entire parallel Universe made up entirely of dark matter, existing right alongside us, completely imperceivable to us.

Some theorize that it connects everything, in one massive chain, to the literal center of the Universe, where the laws of physics, including gravity, originated.  It touches everything, permeates everything, connects everything.  That it is not limited by the fourth dimension, and harnesses the power and energy of the Big Bang, bringing it infinitely forward and backward through time, affecting everything it touches.

As wild as both these theories may seem, scientists literally cannot even come close to disproving them.  Not even remotely.  What’s more, we can’t even come up with a plausible reason why they couldn’t be true.  We just don’t know.

All we know is that it touches everything, and that it’s everywhere.  Just as dark energy is.  Billions of these particles (if they are particles) are passing through our bodies every second.

Dark matter and dark energy are these mysterious forces that simultaneously prove and defy the laws of physics, affect gravity and the energy holding us together, potentially govern time itself, and possibly hint at entire realities we could never hope to comprehend.

And I mean, this shit is real.  It is recognized science, these are widely known and accepted theories throughout multiple scientific fields.  And we have no idea how it affects us.

When you look at all that, and then take into account the radiation, light, particles, and literally everything else we’re exposed to every millisecond of every day, all the shit literally bombarding us from space, is it really that much of a stretch to think that the closest celestial bodies, the ones visible to the naked eye, just might have an effect on us?

To a point?

Cuz uh, I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch.  You know, because science.

Our personalities are incredibly complex and multifaceted.  No, that can not all be explained by the positions of the planets and stars when you were born.  No, you will not find all the answers in astrology.  No, it is not infallible.  And your Sun sign is only one part of your astrology birth chart.  There’s a lot more to it.  So it’s not 100% accurate.  My parents, a Leo and a Capricorn, are sort proof of that (I say sort of because they stayed together until my dad died, but they definitely weren’t all that happy together).

Hell, I’m a walking example of it.  I’m an Aquarius, and do well with Capricorns.  Consecutive signs are never compatible.  Now, there are theories regarding Aquarius and Capricorn combinations, and why those specifically might do better than other combinations (one of the most popular is due to the planet rulers.  Capricorn is ruled by Saturn, which represents discipline and structure, while Aquarius is ruled by Uranus, which represents rebellion and impulsiveness.  However, Aquarius is also co-ruled by Saturn, which may temper the Aquarius’ flightiness just enough, and give an Aquarius and Capricorn just enough that they can still relate to one another), but Aquarius and Capricorn should not work at all.  Aquarius is Air, Capricorn is Earth (Earth and Water go together, while Air and Fire go together).  Capricorn is negative (or feminine, or yin) while Aquarius is positive (or masculine, or yang).  And in this case, opposites don’t attract.  Negative goes with negative, positive goes with positive.  Capricorn is a Cardinal sign, while Aquarius is Fixed (Cardinal and Mutable go together, while Fixed signs usually do best with other Fixed signs).  Aquarius is flexible by nature, and considered to be the most “Mutable-ish” of the Fixed signs, but it’s still a Fixed sign.

It should not work.  At all.  Granted, it’s not the worst possible combination of the zodiac (that would be a tie between Aquarius and Cancer, and Aries and Scorpio), but it shouldn’t work.  Of course, I’ve got Virgo rising, which helps, but still.

It’s not infallible.  It’s not a science.

It’s a guide.  An eerily accurate guide to help people learn more about themselves, to inspire them to want to learn more about themselves, and reflect on who they are and how they relate to the people around them.  It encourages people to examine the way humans interact with one another, to examine what makes them who they are, and how to overcome their weaknesses.

And yeah, y’all.  It’s eerily accurate.  There are obviously exceptions to every rule, and Star Signs are only one part of our astrological chart (for example, my Sun sign is Aquarius, which makes me impulsive and insensitive, but I have Mercury conjunct Venus, which tempers that coldness with tact, politeness, and empathy due to an extraordinary ability to see and understand everyone’s point of view.  I also have every planet but one in Quadrant II, which makes me diplomatic and protective of those around me), but using astrology, we really can see clear, objective pictures of ourselves.  We can see our strengths and we can learn how to improve our weaknesses.

All I need is your birth date, and I have a pretty accurate idea of who you are.  Give me the time and place of your birth as well, and I know enough about you to truly creep you out and make you uncomfortable.

I did this for a living, y’all.  And I was damn good at it.  People would call me with relationship problems, I’d ask their birthday and their partner’s birthday, and before they could say another word, I could completely pick apart their relationship, telling them exactly what problems they were having, and why they were having those problems, and how to fix them.

Again, not infallible.  But I was right well over 90% of the time.

Still skeptical?  Alright, I’ll prove it.  Each sign has personality strengths, but those are easy and generalized, so I’ll do one better.  Just off the top of my head, here’s a list of common weaknesses for each sign, along with things each sign secretly worries about.  Scroll to your sign and tell me I’m wrong.

Aries:  Impulsive and quick to anger, and once you start, it’s hard to stop.  You’ll never shy away from a fight or an argument, even going as far as ending a relationship or friendship, but you often end up regretting it, and want those people back.  You pretend not to care, you pretend to be the strong, immovable one, but you can’t handle losing people.  The problem is that the regret and guilt set you off even more, which makes you even quicker to anger, and it’s a vicious cycle you don’t know how to stop.

Taurus: Stubborn to a fault, and impossible to reason with when angry.  You will push others away when angry, and won’t accept reconciliation.  You also tend to bottle things up, letting them build and build until you explode, and once that happens, you truly become a rampaging bull, and nothing and no one can stop you.  But deep down, you’re afraid that those you love just don’t want you around, or that they don’t love you the way you love them.  You’re steady, stable, and reliable, and put a great deal into your relationships.  But you worry that it won’t be reciprocated, and that instability is one of your biggest fears.

Gemini:  Argumentative and changeable, you’ll debate anything, anywhere, with anyone, but you don’t like being told you’re wrong, and can take it personally when someone doesn’t agree with you.  But deep down, you’ll adjust and change who you are to fit in with those around you, because being untrue to yourself isn’t as bad as being alone.  You’ll even take this as far as completely changing who you are around certain people.  You can’t handle boredom, and falling into a rut is something you truly dread.  Aquarius and Sagittarius are the signs most known for running when they feel trapped, but Gemini is right up there with them.  A dull routine will rot your soul.

Cancer:  Ruled by emotion, you can be pessimistic and insecure, and those emotions can become louder in your head than reason and rational thought.  But you try to hide it, because you think if others see that you’re upset, you’ll be disappointing them.  You pretend to be happy, taking care of everyone around you, neglecting yourself.  You never want people to think you’re too much trouble, and a fear of rejection or the unknown can keep you frozen in place.  You can also be spiteful, just as much as Scorpio.  The difference is that Scorpio has better control of their emotions, and is very deliberate in their vengeance, while you will lash out.  Even if you’re justified in lashing out, though, you’re generally gentler and kinder than Scorpio, and you’ll feel guilty afterward.

Leo: Not everything is about you.  You’re proud and have trust issues, and tend to blame yourself for everything, convincing yourself that you’re unlovable.  But you need to learn that you’re not the cause of every bad situation.  A bit on the melodramatic side, you work hard to cultivate a reputation as being the best, but this mindset that no one can do it as well as you can exhausts you.  You like being the leader, the protector, you like taking care of those you love, you take pride in taking care of those you love, but you don’t have to be perfect for people to love and admire you.  Everyone needs a break once in awhile, and you’re no exception.

Virgo:  As long as everything goes your way, you’re totally flexible.  You’re a perfectionist, and when people see you, they see someone who has their shit together.  Underneath, though, you’re less sure of yourself.  You have extremely high expectations of yourself, and worry that you won’t be able to live up to it.  You put an immense amount of pressure on yourself, and all that constant pressure makes it hard for you to stay positive, and you can get overwhelmed easily.  Spending time alone means getting lost in your head with a mind who looks at you and sees someone who can’t measure up to those high expectations.  So you avoid being alone if you can, because your mind doesn’t stop, it doesn’t have an off button.

Libra:  You need balance in your life.  Confrontation and anything that throws off that balance is something you avoid.  Often, you’ll outright lie to avoid an argument, and pretend everything is fine.  You’ll be untrue to yourself before causing any perceived stress to those you love.  Letting down those you love is the worst feeling in the world, and you’ll do anything to avoid it. But sometimes, making the right decision is hard.  You can become frozen when presented with a hard choice, spending more time analyzing what you should do, than actually doing it.  Your analytic mind can be difficult to turn off, and you fear making the wrong decision, particularly in love.

Scorpio:  Yeah, yeah, yeah, everyone knows that Scorpios are the darkest sign, the most vengeful and spiteful, the ones who will use that stinger without hesitation when threatened.  This is not news (perhaps the fact that more serial killers are born under the sign of Scorpio is news, but I’d bet money that not a single Scorpio is surprised by that).  But what most people don’t realize is that all that venom hides arguably the most sensitive heart of the zodiac. Unique among water signs in that, while you’re ruled by your emotions, you have incredible control over them and will hide, not letting anyone get close, and using that stinger to push them away.  You don’t trust easily, and you don’t trust many, and allowing people to see that vulnerability means giving them the power to hurt you, and that terrifies you.  As loving and sensitive as you are, you crave that fulfilling relationship with someone you love and trust.  But the problem is that you’re so afraid of being betrayed, you’re so afraid of losing who you are, you’ll just instinctively push people away.  You’re worried that this habit will keep you from ever finding that kind of love, but you don’t know how to fix it.

Sagittarius:  So commitment is a thing.  Also, emotion regulation is a thing.  You are intimately familiar with neither of these things.  Explosive and impulsive, you’re pretty open and wear your passions, rather than your emotions, on your sleeve.  Because of your openness, it’s really no big secret that your biggest weakness/fear is commitment.  It’s not that you’re unfaithful, though.  You’re the archer, and a centaur, and you embody both the horse and the hunter.  Wild horses can’t be tamed, and hunters need room to roam.  Being pinned down, losing your passions, losing who you are, is scary.  But what fewer people know is that your openness and your generosity lend to a forgiving nature that can often be taken advantage of.  You wonder if people will ever appreciate you, or if they’ll just continue using you.

Capricorn:  Everyone knows that Capricorns harbor a fear of failure, that’s pretty well obvious in the sign most widely associated with workaholics and ambitious climbers of the career ladder.  But there’s a whole different side that no one knows about, because you’ll do anything to avoid showing them.  Judgmental, condescending, and antisocial, this is easily the most misunderstood sign of the zodiac, because you don’t make it easy for people to get to know you at basically any level.  Stoic and steady is good, but there’s such thing as too much of a good thing, and you tend to not have a lot of deep connections with people.  But while your poker face is convincing, it’s still just a poker face, and you feel deeply and passionately, and can get lonely and moody.  But a fear of rejection, judgement, and abandonment keeps you from reaching out.  The goat never gets tired on the way to the top, and can handle immense amounts of stress, so you’d rather deal with it alone than risk being hurt.  Just as fiercely protective of those you love as any Leo, you have a habit of taking that too far, thinking you can protect everyone you love from everything bad in the world.  You’ll do anything to avoid putting a burden on the people around you, and feel guilty if you think you have.  You think you’re doing the people around you favors by keeping your struggles and your pain to yourself, and you don’t realize you’re pushing them away.  Because of all this, you worry that you’ll always feel isolated, but you don’t know how to fix it.

Aquarius: Oh dude, so many.  We all know about the fear of, and disdain for conformity, and the lengths to which you’ll go to break free of it.  There are even Aquarians who deliberately buck against the expected Aquarian attitude, just because they hate being put in a box.  But you’re pretty good at disguising your true self, so people don’t often know the rest.  You’re often cocky and overconfident, elitist, and unapproachable.  Impulsive and creative, you have great ideas and can create extremely specific plans, but get bogged down in the details, and then get bored, and then move on to something else.  You can’t finish a sandwich.  You actually enjoy being alone, one of the most comfortable signs with getting lost in your own head, so that combined with your detached and aloof attitude makes people feel like you don’t want them around or don’t care about them.  Also, emotions are things.  Like, they actually exist.  Maybe show them once in awhile.  You’re the master at hiding what you’re feeling, even better than Capricorn, Cancer, and (the most widely recognized master of hiding) Scorpio.  But there’s a reason for that.  Capricorn is Earth, and Cancer and Scorpio are Water.  They have better relationships with their emotions than you do.  Emotion is your biggest, most far-reaching weakness.  Your defense mechanism when you can’t handle emotion is to lock it up and pull away, but while this allows you to function, and you’re arguably the best sign in a crisis, able to stay calm and think quickly and creatively, it’s a double-edged sword, because you worry that you don’t actually feel emotion the way people are supposed to.  You’re so used to burying it, you feel like it’s muffled and muted compared to everyone else.  You wonder if you’ll ever feel emotion the way people are supposed to.

Pisces:  You need to be reassured in a relationship.  Extremely sensitive and tender-hearted, you put everything you are into a relationship.  But an avoidance of confrontation, combined with that sensitivity, means that it’s easy for people to take advantage of you.  You’re very self aware, so you likely know when it’s happening, but fear of confrontation and losing those you love will keep you silent.  You’re notorious for daydreaming, creating elaborate alternate realities in your head when you’re struggling with the world around you.  That self-awareness has limits, though, and you’ll often deliberately delude yourself into thinking everything is just fine, rather than dealing with the truth, because dealing with the truth is stressful, and you’d rather be taken advantage of than be alone.

So yeah, there’s validity to this shit.  It’s not all bullshit.  And I’m not going to discount something based on the opinions of people who know nothing about it.  They think that believers of astrology look at it as a science, when it’s not.  They think that believers of astrology worship it like a religion, when they don’t.

Astrology speaks to us.  It gives us a window into who we are.

At its core, that’s all astrology is.  It’s not a science or a religion.  It’s a language.  Its purpose is to communicate.  It’s up to us whether we want to hear the message, and what we do with it.

This is just not my week.

Okay, so we found out on Wednesday that my mom has stage 3 ovarian cancer.  And that’s about the gist of all we know, because my relatives are fucking morons, but I’ll get to that.

The plan was that they were going to send her to an assisted living home so she can get strong enough for surgery (she also has Multiple Sclerosis, which I just found out today apparently throws a big fucking wrench into the whole cancer treatment thing), and they’d remove her ovaries, then do chemo to make sure they got it all.

I had a shit ton of questions, but when I talked to my mom on Wednesday she had no answers.  So I gave her a list of questions to ask and told her to keep me posted.

And that was the last I heard from either my mom or my sister, until today.  My sister called me, bawling hysterically, because she’s overwhelmed and she’s just feeling too much pressure and people keep asking her questions and my mom is freaking out and my uncles are calling her nonstop and she doesn’t know anything and it’s all too much and she just can’t handle it and can I please come out, please, and handle it?

Fuck.  “Let me call Kazander.  I’ll see what we can do.”

“Well, could you come in time for her first chemo treatment?”

“I’m sure I will.  It’s going to take time for her to get her strength up for the surgery.”

“Her first treatment is on Monday.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, Monday.”

Pause.  “You can’t be serious.”

“That’s what they told us.”

And you didn’t fucking think to ask why?

“Please, Jen, can you get here?”

“It’s fucking Saturday.”

“I know.”

“I’m in Vegas.”

“Please, just please?”


When did they decide to change the plan?”

“I don’t know.”

Why are they doing chemo first?  Is she worse than they thought?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well what were the results of her tests?  If she’s not strong enough for surgery, chances are she’s not strong enough for chemo.  That’s not a decision they would’ve come to lightly.”

“I don’t know, we never saw the results.”

“So you’re saying you literally know nothing about it?  No prognosis, no plan for treatment, nothing?  You’ve both been there for three days and you don’t know a goddamn thing?  How is that possible?”

“I’m sorry, don’t yell at me!  I just don’t know what to do.”

And then she started sobbing for like five minutes straight, and I couldn’t understand a damn word she said until she calmed down.

Alright, I thought to myself, trying to be very gentle with her.  This isn’t good.  Something changed, something’s wrong.  I need to find out what happened to change the plan.

But first, deal with my sister.  Baby steps.

“Has anyone gone over the stuff she needs to know before the treatment?  Has anyone explained anything?”

“No doctor has come by to talk to us.  I just don’t know.  I can’t do it, Jen.  I’m so overwhelmed.  Please, come here.”

And of course, she’s still crying, and I can hear my mom crying in the background.

God mother fucking dammit.

“Let me see what I can do.  I’ll call you back.”

“Thank you, Jen!”

“I make no promises.  Tell me you understand that.”

“I know, just please, please come here.  We already lost Dad.”

Yeah, like two years ago.

“I can’t lose Mom, too.  Please come here.  I can’t do this.”

Motherfucking hell.

Keep in mind, I’m still fighting a cold (yeah, me having a cold around a chemo patient is a fantastic fucking idea.  Let’s do that), and still dealing with a breakup.

This is less than ideal.

So I called Kazander, told him what was going on.  After looking at a random flight on his phone, we quickly determined that we didn’t have the money to fly me and my kid out there that quick.  Maybe it was possible if it was just me, and we could get a sitter for the kid.

Which I would’ve greatly preferred.  But no such luck with my family, and I was still waiting for an answer from a friend.

So I called my sister back, and asked if my mom could cover it, and of course my sister didn’t know, and was too overwhelmed to figure it out (even though she’s becoming my mom’s power of attorney.  Yeah, that’ll go well) and my mom was still crying, and my uncle had called to say goodnight, and asked my sister if she was going to be staying there with my mom, which – and dude, I’m not making this shit up – was enough to overwhelm her all over again, and Jen, this is just too much, and God fucking dammit, could they be any more pathetic?  I mean, if they really tried?

Fine.  I’ll figure some motherfucking thing out.

Keep in mind this is like 5pm, okay.  Saturday is almost over.

So I called Kazander again (who was out with friends).

“Look, I’ve got to find a way to make this happen.  Do we have any options?”

He sighed.  “Let me call my dad.”

Meanwhile, I had told star on Thursday about my mom’s diagnosis.  She immediately asked if I wanted to fly out to see her, and offered to get me out there, that she had miles I could use.  I thanked her, and told her that it was just too early, we didn’t know anything yet, and I just didn’t know.

I don’t like my mom or my sister.  I didn’t want to fly out there unless I had to.

And now, apparently, I had to.  By fucking Monday morning.

God fucking dammit.

And to make matters worse, star and I had plans to hang out on Thursday, that, on top of asking her for this massive fucking favor, I now had to cancel.

So I texted star, asking her if the offer was still on the table, and asking if it was possible to make it happen tonight or tomorrow.  Meanwhile, Kazander was on the phone with his parents, sister, and uncle, moving things around different bank accounts, figuring out how they could make it work.

And then my friend texted me back.  No, I don’t have a sitter.  I’m going to have to take a 5-year-old to the oncology ward of a hospital.

By Monday.


So I texted star.

“Oh fuck, nevermind.  I just found out I don’t have a sitter.  I have to take my kid with me.”

And y’all have to understand something about me.  When I’m under pressure, I get into this ultra-cold, radioactive, psycho-bitch mode.  No emotions, no feelings, not even really any compassion.  One-track mind.  Handle what needs to be fucking handled.  Cry about it later, once it’s taken care of.

And I’m serious, I’m mean.  It’s not going to be pretty.  But I’m not staying out in North Carolina for fucking months, okay.  I’ve got a lot of really unpleasant shit I need to do, and not a lot of time to do it.  I don’t care if it hurts your goddamn feelings.

If the building you’re standing in starts crumbling around you, are you going to stand there and cry because the security guard or whatever yelled at you to run to the exit?  Or are you going to get the fuck out of the building first, and then cry?

That’s my mindset.  That’s my focus.  That’s my priority.  Handle the unpleasant shit first.  Emotions later.  Get shit started.  Streamline the process.  Put everyone in their place.  Give my sister time to breathe.  Then, once it’s stable enough that she can take over, go back home.

Plan.  Priorities.  Control.  Efficiency.  Get it done.

And star came closer than anyone ever has to completely shattering that focus, with five little words.

Ok, so two flights out…

Jesus Christ, that’s too much.

She insisted, and right around then was when I got a text from my sister in law, saying that she couldn’t pay back the money she owed us yet, and I still hadn’t heard back from Kazander, and it was now 5:45 in the evening, and I was juggling three text conversations with being on the phone with my mom’s nurses, trying to figure out what she needed to do tomorrow to prepare for her chemo, because it just wasn’t working trying to explain it to my mom and sister, and yes there is something wrong, but the nurses aren’t allowed to discuss it, I’ll have to talk to the doctor, and I was quickly running out of time and options.

I accepted star’s offer, gave her the info she needed, and she got us a flight that’ll land in North Carolina just after midnight on Monday morning.

In time for my mom’s chemo appointment.

And honestly, for a moment I just needed to sit down.  That was the biggest thing, whether I could get there, and star got me there.

Everything else could wait five minutes.

So I called the hospital, again.  I found out when the doctor would be there in the morning and arranged for him to call me, so I can get her prognosis and treatment information, and find out what the hell happened.

Then I had to figure out what the hell I was going to do about the kid’s school.  I got some things together, and decided that the stuff I couldn’t easily transport, she’ll just have to catch up on when we get home (yet another reason why I won’t be staying there long).  I’ll get her ahead in a couple of her other classes so she won’t be overwhelmed.

So I’m prepared, I have a plan, I have concrete steps that I can take to make measurable forward progress.  I’m good.

And I’m fucking pissed.

Because my mom, while psychotic, is a grown ass woman.  My sister is 29 goddamn years old.  She’s a grown ass woman.  And my mom has made it clear which one of her daughters she prefers taking care of her (which is totally fine by me, by the way.  I don’t want to deal with the bitch any more than I have to).

These are fucking adults, okay?  Grownups.  But they can’t handle stress for shit.

And I’m pissed because I’m always the bad fucking daughter, and I’m selfish, and cold, and insensitive, and just fuck me.  I’m the one who destroyed our family, I’m the one no one wants to acknowledge.

Until shit goes wrong.  Shit goes wrong, and suddenly I stop being the bad fucking daughter and become the motherfucking Messiah because they need help and can’t function under any kind of stress whatsoever.

And now I have to drop my whole life and fuck with my daughter’s education and go out there to handle the shit they can’t, because as much as I hate them, I just can’t bring myself to abandon them.  Not now, not to this.

Because at the end of the day, it wouldn’t have mattered if I couldn’t afford a flight or if the flights were sold out or if star hadn’t been able to help me.  All that would’ve mattered is that I wasn’t there.  I didn’t show up.

And I’m a monster, yes, but I’m not going to let myself become the monster they make me out to be.

They need the big bad wolf, and the big bad wolf will be there.

So yay, Jen swoops in with her cape and tattoos to be the badass superhero and save the day.


Tomorrow, she goes back to being the one no one cares about.

Yip, yip, yip

As expected, the chihuahua continues yipping.  And as I predicted in my last post, he’s too much of a pussy to do it publicly.

Is anyone shocked by that?  Show of hands, who’s shocked by that?

Really, he’s such a fun toy to fuck with.  Poking the chihuahua is fun.  Making him yip and howl and squirm is supremely entertaining.

It’s almost too easy, though.  He doesn’t even give me a challenge.  I’m disappointed.


Did anyone else notice the fact that he didn’t actually provide his address?  Poor little thing, scared of the big, bad, scary Domme showing up at his imaginary house in Vegas.  The poor, frightened child.


Oooh, we’ve graduated from fuckfaces to whores now.  Although I find it hilarious that he threatens another Domme, who doesn’t live in Vegas, while still insisting he’s close to me.  Yep, Trump would love this guy.  It’s just alternate facts, right?

I’m soooo shocked that he decided to email me again, instead of commenting publicly.  I’m completely surprised that he proved me right, that he’s just a scared little coward.

Aren’t you all totally shocked, too?

Who wants to bet me that he’ll email me again?  Y’all do know he’s going to email me again, right?  Because he’s a coward, and this is his only way to make himself feel like a man, and now I’ve insulted his fragile little ego.

So he’s going to try emailing me again, getting more and more insulting, and more and more threatening, trying to cross whatever line he thinks exists that will finally succeed at scaring me, because his precious ego can’t handle the fact that he keeps failing.

I’m serious, he makes it too easy.  It almost seems unfair, how easy he makes it.

Of course, I’m still not going to respond to his emails, just as I said I wouldn’t.  If he wants me to talk to him, he’s going to have to comment on the blog, so everyone can see.

We know he won’t, of course.  He’s too scared of that.

Frightened, stupid little puppy.



So I’m no stranger to threats, especially as the blog has gotten more readers.  Idiots are everywhere, and lonely, weak, sad little men who want to feel powerful by inciting fear will always exist.  Fortunately for me, fear is not an emotion I’m on familiar terms with.  It’s a lucky side effect of the emotional constipation thing.

The most annoying thing about these sad little men is how unoriginal they are.  I mean, it’s all the same.  Mostly just threats to rape me, with a few murder threats and threats against my family thrown in for good measure.

Is no one capable of creativity anymore?  I mean, why can’t I get an email threatening to disembowel me with a spoon, skin me, and wear my face like a mask while they jerk off?  At least that would be entertaining.

Why is rape the one thing all these men think would affect me?  News flash, little boys: that’s nothing new.  Been there, done that, got the Tshirt.

I mean, gasp!  You mean you’ll (attempt to) have sex with me for a whole two minutes, maybe knock me around a bit?  Oh, be still my fluttering heart!  Whatever will I do?

Seriously?  You think a little pain or a slight case of death scares me?  You think a bad day is enough to ruin my life or make me run screaming into the night?

These people have too damn much time on their hands, man.

And usually, once they realize that they don’t scare me, they crawl off with their tails between their legs, probably to turn their attention to some other woman on the internet, because they can’t get attention from the women in their real lives, and their too cowardly to speak to women that way to their faces.

The poor dears.

One has been persistent, though.  As in, since July of last year.  And now I know what the people who interview Trump must feel.

“Mr. Trump, you said such-and-such a few months ago.”

“No, I never said that.”

“We literally have video footage of you saying exactly that.  Like, we have it here.  I can show it to you.”

“Nope.  Wrong.  Never said that.”

That’s the way this guy is.  I keep making it clear that he doesn’t frighten me, and that he’s wasting his time, and he keeps coming back with “Nope.  Wrong.  I’m totally scaring you.  You’re quivering with fear.”

It started the way most of my threats start.  His first messages were polite-ish, asking to serve me online.  When I rejected him, he drank the entire asshole potion and turned into Hyde, and is so proud of himself for his repeated threats and his refusal to just crawl away like everyone else.

So you know what?  I’m done being polite.

Those are screenshots of some of his most recent emails up there, with the email address he sent them from.  I’m sure it’s a sock puppet email, but he’s also sent me email from, and says he’s a doctor, and that his name is Robben.  Now, this isn’t true, he’s told others that his name is Ronald (and that he’s a doctor, that seems to be his favorite alias), and he’s claimed to live in a great number of places inside and out of the US.

He’s claimed to record people, watch people, and I’m hardly the first he’s threatened to rape.  He’s been doing this since at least 2014, and Miss Pearl posted about him back then.

So he’s used,, and his twitter is @drronald777.  Anyone who wants to harass the fuck out of him is more than welcome.

And I’ll just keep posting every new email address he uses, so y’all can light that the fuck up, too.  I’d greatly appreciate the help.

Because he’s too much of a pathetic bitch to comment on the blog, he knows he’ll be called out by people who aren’t sad and lonely.  That’s why he sticks to emails, where he can pretend to be the big manly man in private.

This guy insists that he lives near me, and has been watching me, waiting for the opportunity to rape me (although if he really does live close, and really has been watching me, the least the guy could do is send me some wine or something, or tell me if my hair doesn’t look good on a particular day.  I mean damn, help a sister out, man).

So you know what, Robben/Ronald/whatever your name actually is?  You want to know when I’m available?  How does Thursday at 3pm work for you?  If you’ve been watching me, you know where I live, and you’re familiar with my side of town.  There’s a big warehouse that just got finished not too far from me.  No one is using it yet, and the construction crews are gone.  Plenty of secluded space there.

I’ve already got a sitter, so you’ll have my complete attention.  Congratulations.

If you’re not a pathetic loser, then show up.  Come at me, bro.  Bring everything you’ve got.

Prove to me you’re not a worthless coward and comment here, publicly, so everyone can see (because you know I’m just going to post screenshots of every email you send me, anyway).  Do that, and I’ll give you the exact address of the place where you think you’ll be able to rape me.

But we both know you won’t.  Because 1) you’re a liar and are nowhere near me, 2) you’re a coward who won’t comment publicly and risk being called out by others, and 3) you’re a coward who would piss himself if standing in front of me.

And when you don’t comment for the address, and don’t show up, it’ll just prove that you’re a sniveling, pathetic excuse of a man who lives in his mom’s basement and trolls people online because he’s sad and lonely.  Like a little chihuahua who yips at the intruder, but then cries and hides when the intruder gets too close.

Robben, dear, you don’t scare me.  Even on the offchance you’re telling the truth, you don’t scare me.  There is literally one thing that scares me, and sweetheart, you’re not it.  And nothing you could do to me, or any of my family, is it.  You have no power here.

And from now on, I will not answer your emails anymore.  They’ll all be ignored.  All I’ll do is screenshot them and post them here, along with every email address you use.  If you want me to actually talk to you, or acknowledge your existence in any way, you’re going to have to comment here.  Publicly.  For everyone to see.  Because if you don’t, you’ll just prove I’m right, that you’re a pathetic, stupid, ball-less coward, and you’re not worth the time it takes to insult you.

You can do the Trump thing and shout “Wrong” all you want, but it doesn’t change the truth.  Go threaten someone else.  You’re unoriginal, and tedious, and weak, and small.

The truth is you’re pathetic, and I feel sorry for you.

Lunch date with “friends.”

Do you have any of those friends that you used to be so fucking tight with, and you just adored, but then as you got older, you drifted apart to the point that you really don’t have anything in common anymore, and you can’t even really stand each other’s company, but you remain friends anyway?

You know, the kind you go without seeing for months and months, and then you start to miss them, and all the cool shit you did back in the day, and their many, many, many faults start to seem smaller in the unique rosy light of nostalgia, and you think to yourself, “God, I miss them.  Why don’t we hang out anymore?” so you arrange a hangout, and ten minutes into the hangout, you think to yourself, “Oh yeah, this is why we don’t fucking hang out anymore.  Because they’re fucking idiots.  Why can I never remember what colossal idiots they are?”

Yeah, that happened today, at a lunch date with two friends, who I’ll call, for reasons that will become apparent, Feminazi and Christian.

But first, some info on my attitude towards monogamy, and idiots in general.

I’m not a fan of monogamy.  The majority of people in my life, even the muggles, are aware of my attitude toward monogamy, and toward its most vocal supporters.

It’s like with veganism.  I don’t have a problem with veganism.  I don’t have a problem with many vegans.  Not my thing, but it’s cool.  People like it, let them do whatever makes them happy.

What I have a problem with are idiots.  Like the idiots who try to feed their pets (carnivores, such as dogs and cats) a vegan diet.  The idiots who take every opportunity to tell you how awesome it is being vegan.  The idiots who loudly judge you for eating meat. You know the type.

Those idiots are not exclusive to veganism.  They exist in every area, and monogamy is no different.

If, when you find out I’m poly, your response is to scoff and say, “Well your relationships just won’t last,” I want you to know I think you’re an idiot.  Like, a big one.

Interestingly enough, now that I think about it, the vast majority of the people who have said this to me were single at the time.  But what I really love is when people who are divorced say it to me.  Especially the friend who said it to me today.

The friend who, as it happens, is literally on Husband Number 4.

“Oh wow, really?  You’re obviously the world’s foremost expert on how to make relationships work.  Please, tell me more about how you made your marriage(s) work.”

It’s fun when I get to let my inner spiteful, petty bitch out to play.  And if you get on my nerves enough, I let the petty bitch loose and just sit back and enjoy the show.

I’m not afraid to burn bridges, y’all.  And actually, I burned one pretty spectacularly here recently with Red.  And it was satisfying as fuck, let me tell you.  After months of him toeing that line between loveable asshole and straight-up asshole, he finally pushed me past my breaking point.

I fight dirty when you push me past my breaking point, and I hit him with every low blow I could think of (and I’m a very creative individual.  There’s not a lot I don’t think of).

I’m serious, I doused the fucking thing with rocket fuel and took a flamethrower to it.  It was an explosion that would’ve made Michael Bay jealous as fuck.  No one can make shit blow up the way I can (figuratively, anyway).

Push me, motherfucker.  See what happens when I lose my temper.  I dare you.

I inherited my dad’s psychotic temper, with my mom’s ability to just tear people the fuck down.  Combine that with my emotional self control and the fact that I never say anything I don’t mean, and it’s one hell of a combustible combination.  When I decide to burn a bridge, it’s not a decision I’ve come to lightly, so I don’t regret it, and I will make the biggest explosion I can.

I will fuck a motherfucker up.

Red underestimated my ability to do that.  And he really shouldn’t have, he knows that now.  I know way too much about him.  I know what he takes pride in.  I know what his insecurities are.  I know what his fears and his dreams are.  All of that shit becomes a weapon that I use to make grown men cry.

Manipulating someone’s thoughts, feelings, and headspace is what I do.  And I’m very, very good at what I do.  Nothing is off limits once I decide to burn a bridge.  Nothing.

Needless to say, he doesn’t like me anymore.  Needless to say, I’m totally fine with him not liking me anymore.

But that’s not what this post is about.  This post is about relationships.  My relationships.

Because monogamy may work for you.  It works for a lot of people.  It doesn’t work for me.  And take my current and previous relationships as an example.  My first marriage, which was monogamous, ended in divorce (granted, monogamy wasn’t what ended it.  But it sure as hell didn’t help).

My second marriage, which is poly, has already lasted longer than my first.  Hell, my relationships with both Steel and Sounder have already lasted longer than my first marriage.  It works.  Despite all the people telling me it won’t, despite all the people wanting me to fail, because if I succeed, then somehow that means that their way isn’t the only way, and it actually is possible to have healthy, happy, stable relationships that don’t conform to the societally accepted norm.

Now, I understand my privilege is showing, and all of my gay readers are probably rolling their eyes.  They’ve only been dealing with the same thing since…. Oh I dunno, how long ago was the Bible written?  Somewhere around there.  I’m probably not going to be beaten to death in a back alley for having poly relationships.  Judge-y looks and snide comments by bored soccer moms and lonely single people are about all I’m going to get.

And I don’t know if any of you are aware of this, but I’m just a teensy bit on the argumentative side.  Go ahead.  Try me.  Say your snide comments and open that door right up.

What’s really hilarious is that the kinda-sorta-friend of mine, recently a born-again Christian, and I had lunch with another friend, a psycho-liberal feminazi.

Of course Christian is as annoying and idiotic as you’d expect the average born-again Christian to be.  There’s really no surprise there.  Two-dimensional and flat, there’s really not much to her personality anymore.  She used to be entertaining as fuck to be around.  Now, she just judgmental and preachy.  Add to this the fact that I’m Catholic, and it’s like a requirement for all non-Catholic Christians to hate Catholics (I think it says so somewhere in their Bible.  Because theirs is different from ours.  Quick, someone ask a born-again Christian why the Catholic Bible is different.  The hipocrisy is strong with the padawan), and the conversation gets annoying fast.

But she’s easy enough to deal with on her own.  Mostly because she actually knows very little about Christianity, and the history of Christianity, and why we do what we do, and why we believe what we believe, and she’s never actually read the entire Bible (Catholic or otherwise), and I mean really, she just makes it too easy.  Not even worth rambling about, really.

Now, the feminazi is a bit different, mostly because she’s a walking encyclopedia for male-on-female crimes.  Do you want to know how many women were raped in Chicago in June 2014?  She fucking knows that shit.  Want to know how many CEOs were women in New York in 2015?  She fucking knows that shit.  Want to know how many action movies pass that… whatever that test is, that is supposed to show whether a movie is sexist or not, I absolutely refuse to look up the name of it?  Yeah, she knows that shit.

Oh, and quick rant about that damn test.  Action movies are generally geared towards men, and are marketed towards men, for literally one reason, and it’s not to be sexist.  That reason is because a business owner, looking to make a profit on an action movie, will fail if they market it exclusively to women.  I’m a feminist, m’kay.  If I owned a movie studio that was going to make an action movie, and I looked at the data objectively, I would have to accept the fact that women are not my target audience, and I have a goddamn business to run.

I know that people don’t watch movies for social commentary, unless that’s the point of the goddamn movie.  They watch to be entertained.  Shallow, attractive characters are entertaining.

Women bitch about it all the time, and yes, they may be justified.  But you’re not going to change anything by bitching about it.  You’re going to change it with your goddamn wallet.  Show that with hard data.

We did it with a comedy, and the studio took notice.  It’s what they did/are doing with another movie that was geared toward women, and blew past expectations.  Maybe you heard of it, Trainwreck.  That one did great, because people, men and women, paid to see it.  Women loved it.  Women went to see it in the theater.  Women showed the business owners that yes, this is a good fucking idea, and they should give us more of it.

But when given the opportunity with an action movie, we were too busy bitching about Star Wars being sexist or some shit to care.

The new Ghostbusters flopped, for a number of reasons, but you want to know the biggest reason it flopped?  Because no one paid to go see it.  And because no one paid to go see it, they’re not doing the sequel(s), and no one is going to rush to do another movie like it.  Yeah, you can kiss the idea of an action movie with an all-female cast goodbye for a few fucking years, at the very least.  You blew it.

Even if it sucked for other reasons (which it did), if enough people had shown interest in an action movie with an all-female cast (and by people, I mean you, ladies), then the studio, which is a business with the goal of creating a marketable product and earning a profit off said product, would likely have taken a closer look at what mistakes were made and how to fix them, so that they would have a more marketable, more profitable product.

It doesn’t even matter what men think/thought of the movie.  Die-hard male fans of the original were going to be skeptical of a reboot with an all-female cast, anyway.  It wasn’t geared to them, because most of them just weren’t going to be interested.  It was geared to us.  And we proved that marketing action movies primarily to us doesn’t make good business sense.  The studio isn’t going to forget that 70 million dollar loss anytime soon.


Oh, but you want to know a movie that did so well, it not only spawned an originally-unplanned sequel, but a live national tour and a fucking Broadway musical?

Magic Mike.

Magic.  Fucking.  Mike.

But wait, that’s not sexist because it’s men who are naked and are attractive, shallow characters (and don’t tell me they’re not shallow.  After I found out they were planning a national tour, I decided to sit down and find out what all the fuss is about.  Yeah, all of them are two-dimensional, shallow characters lacking any real depth or complexity).

Yeah, I don’t want to hear you bitch about how Pick-a-Movie is “sexist.”  Your wallets speak louder than your words.  And yeah, your wallets have spoken.  Don’t like it?  Fucking change it.  Stop bitching about the movie industry being sexist and fucking change it.

When movies like The Ghostbusters start making more money than Magic Mike or Sex in the City, and the movie industry still caters action movies exclusively to men, then I’ll be willing to listen to a damn word you have to say about that stupid test.  Until then, I’m just not interested.

I don’t fucking care.

Feminazi is the reigning queen of bitching-about-shit-but-not-getting-off-her-ass-to-do-a-damn-thing-about-it.  Because then she’d have nothing to bitch about.  And then she’d starve, because bitching is her primary form of sustenance.

She’s always annoying when she gets on her feminazi, down-with-the-Patriarchy, all-men-are-sexist rants, and I’ve gotten pretty good at telling her to shut the fuck up (or just tuning her out), but since the election, she’s gotten just impossible to be around.

No you guys, I’m serious.  She spent half the time at lunch criticizing the waiter because he said, “Good afternoon, ladies.”

She said that calling us “ladies” was sexist.  I didn’t pay enough attention to her to figure out why.  I was too busy imagining what the waiter would look like naked, tied up, sprawled out across my lap with a red, well-paddled ass.

Again, normally, I tell her to shut up, or I tune her out.  But now that the other one is a super-conservative, born-again Christian, it’s actually entertaining getting the three of us together.

The two of them argue about everything.  And 99% of the time, it’s annoying as fuck.  Like, to the point that I really don’t understand why I keep agreeing to hang out with them.

But when they start talking about me, it’s wildly amusing.

Because here’s the thing.  I’m a Dominant, poly, bisexual woman.  I run all of my relationships, and I have relationships outside my marriage.  Feminazi loves this trait in me.  Christian hates it.  She says (and I’m not making this shit up) that I’m “desecrating the sanctity of marriage.”

Bitch is on her fourth goddamn marriage.  It’s great.

So anyway, Christian always inevitably brings up my relationships, usually with a snide sort of, “So, Jen.  How is your husband doing?  Have you spent much time with him lately?  You know, since he has to share you with so many other people?”

And she says this in front of my kid, which is hilarious because she thinks a) I keep the fact that I’m poly from my kid (which I don’t), and b) I won’t answer frankly and honestly in front of my kid (do you have any idea the shit my kid has heard?  This is nothing.  And besides, she’s always too busy playing on my phone to hear a damn word that’s being said.  Which is why I only let her play on my phone in certain situations.  It frees me up to say shit I couldn’t really say if she was paying attention).

Today, I replied with, “Actually yeah, I spent some time fucking him in the ass with a strapon last night.”

The look on her face was priceless.  The look on Feminazi’s face was priceless.

After this point, with these two idiots, I don’t have to say another word.  Feminazi just can’t resist “jumping to my rescue” and defending me to Christian.


The conversation always inevitably turns to the fact that I’m a stay-at-home mom.  Which Christian loves.  And Feminazi hates.

I’m serious, she always has something to say about it.  Like I’m single-handedly going to lose women the right to vote or some shit.  She and I have had tons of arguments about it, and she’s a very, very slow learner, but she eventually figured out that it’s a bad idea to start arguments with me, so she generally keeps her mouth shut about it.

Especially since her 7-year-old son is completely impossible to be around.  Like, you literally cannot take that little shit to a restaurant.  Or a doctor’s office.  Or anywhere in public.  He’s a fucking terror.  And whenever she can’t get a sitter, and gets stuck with him, she spends literally the entire time scolding him, and my kid and I just look at each other, and we’re both thinking, “Would you take a look at this little shithead, and his idiot mother?”

Okay, maybe those aren’t her exact thoughts, but judging by the things she’s said about him and Feminazi in the car on the way home, it’s pretty damn close, okay?  The kid is a fucking nightmare.

Unless, interestingly (and satisfyingly) enough, I babysit him.  He’s a fucking angel when he’s with me and his mother isn’t around.  I’m serious, I’ve actually videotaped him playing nicely and quietly with my kid, just to rub it in his mom’s face.

And she can’t understand why he’s such an asshole to her.

I’ve tried repeatedly to tell her that a big part of it is that she thinks he’s going to grow up to be a rapist, and kids pick up on that shit, and it kinda fucks with them hard.  And the other reason is she’s just a shitty parent.  She shoves him off on the cheapest, crappiest, most overcrowded daycare she could find, and then gives him no attention or structure when she gets home from work.  Because she’s too tired from her job.  The poor dear.

But no, that’s fine.  Her financial security is more important to her than her child’s mental and emotional well-being.  He’s going to end up in prison, or a sociopath, or, in the best-case scenario, with major, crippling intimacy issues, but she can afford to get her hair done as often as she wants.  Yay, go her.  She should be so proud.

So anyway, she gives me shit for staying home to raise and educate my daughter, I give her shit for actively destroying any chance her son will ever have at a normal adult life.  Give and take, you know?

And eventually she learned to just shut the fuck up.

Unless we’re with Christian, who can never resist bringing it up.  And once she does, Feminazi can never resist shitting on it.

But I don’t knock her down when Christian is around.  I don’t say a damn thing.  Because Christian will always jump to my defense, talking about how I’m doing “the Lord’s work” by raising my child.  And they’ll argue about it for awhile, with Christian passionately defending me and my family values.

Until the conversation turns back to me being poly, and having a number of successful poly relationships.  Then both their tunes change, and Christian starts attacking me for desecrating the sanctity of marriage and emasculating my husband (oh she has no fucking idea), while Feminazi passionately defends me for being a strong woman who breaks the bonds of traditional female roles.

And occasionally, if I’m bored (which I usually am, hanging around with such two-dimensional people), I’ll keep it interesting, if say they’re arguing about me being poly, and Feminazi looks like she’s winning the argument, by switching it back up and turning the conversation back to me being a stay-at-home mom.

It’s hilarious, it really is.  And at the end of the hangout, I still can’t figure out why I’m still friends with them, when I can’t stand either of them as human beings, and the only entertaining part of hanging out with them is pitting the two of them against each other (I never claimed I wasn’t a manipulative bitch, okay?) and watching them get more and more heated over someone else’s fucking life.

Like, come on, that’s just funny.  They just get so passionate about the decisions I make in my life, that in no way affect them.  It’s great.

Eventually, though, I’m going to remember why I don’t like hanging out with them, and hopefully I won’t repeat the same bullshit over again six months from now.  But I’m not always the quickest learner, so we’ll have to wait and see how that goes.  Maybe now that I’ve written a post about it, the next time I start thinking to myself, “Man, I miss Feminazi and Christian.  We used to have so much fun together.  Why don’t we hang out anymore?” I can look back to this post and think, “Oh yeah, that’s why.  Because I can’t stand the psycho bitches.”

Hopefully.  We’ll see.