The Stalker Within Us

Image: epdeatonville.org
Image: epdeatonville.org

Not all of us have been a stalker or a stalkee, but for those of us who have been on either end of this creepy spectrum, this post should prove either interesting or appalling.

To the stalkers:  Your behavior does not make us want to be with you.  Sending us text messages, calling us frequently and threatening us with “you’ll never meet anyone like me ever again” does not work.  Like… really?  We are freaking hoping we never meet anyone like you… ever. 

You see, we left your sorry ass because of your suffocating, over-bearing, jealous behavior.  Nope, doesn’t matter how hot you are/were or how great in the sack you were or all the times you brought us lunch… we do not want you.

It is over.  Time for you to move on.

To the stalkees: Protect yourself!  Document all the irrational behavior on your stalker’s part.  If you can change your email or cell number, do it.  If not, keep text messages, emails, and all other correspondence.  This will come in handy should you require a protection order.

Do everything in your power to keep the stalker at bay: block them on Facebook, ignore their rants via text message, email and voicemail.  Most importantly, if they are harassing you in person, go to the police and get a protection order.

These situations are volatile and can turn dangerous.  Protect yourself! 

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If You Don’t Like It.. Then Don’t.

On my lunch at work today, I was reading blogs and came across this article:

Atheists Threaten Legal Action Over Nativity Scene

I read the article.  Basically, some atheists in Michigan are annoyed that they have to put up with all the Christian mumbo jumbo and simply want to put a sign next to the Nativity Scene saying:

“There are no gods, no devils, no angels, no heaven or hell.

There is only our natural world.

Religion is but myth and superstition that hardens hearts and enslaves minds.”

True story.

I am not an atheist, but if you are I am totally cool with that.

So this got me thinking.  Why the hell are so many people offended with beliefs?  Why the hell are so many people offended by a nativity scene then they are say, the cover of Philadelphia Magazine doting a picture of a woman with a post-it note bikini?  That offended me.  But I chose not to buy the magazine and just bitch to my boyfriend who surprisingly didn’t get where I was coming from.  “Where is this magazine cover, Darlene?”

I don’t care about what anyone believes. Seriously.  I don’t care if you believe in God, Sharma, Satan, Jesus or the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man.

Since when did religion become more taboo than sex?

Let’s look at it

In our public schools:

     There is no more “one nation under God.”

     But there are lots of prepubescent girls dressing like the next town whore.

In our media:

     I hear words like “faith” “religion” “beliefs” but I can’t remember the last time I heard “God” or “Jesus.”

     I see more nakedness, hear more sex-talk and have to look at more cleavage in advertising then I could want to look at in a go-go bar.

At sporting events: and in schools:

    We pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.

    Waaaitt….. there is something missing. Wasn’t.. God in there?  Somewhere?

    In the meantime, I get to look at cheerleaders at football games, ballgirls at baseball games, dancers at basketball games and the chicks at the hockey games that come out during the intermission.  Has anyone else noticed that more than 10% of the female population these days watches and attends sporting events?  I am one of those women, and yet, despite my offense, I watch the games anyway.

Because… it doesn’t freaking matter.  I get over it.  Like we should.  Just get over the fact that the world is not custom tailored to our specific needs.  There are going to be things that offend us or make us a little uncomfortable.  There will be situations where we have to use common freaking sense and make a choice.

If you don’t like it then …

Don’t look at it.

Don’t buy it.

Don’t drink it.

Don’t read it.

Don’t eat it.

Don’t wear it.

Don’t listen to it.

Don’t praise it.

Putting Some Clothes On

I was walking into the bank yesterday in my leggings and long form fitting sweater. The leggings were black.  The sweater gray with black horizontal stripes; black belt and black flats accessorizing my look.  My butt and boobs were tucked away.

This gentlemen – I use the term loosely – passed me and was looking at me oddly.  He then says, “Wow.  Look at that outfit.  Look at that outfit.”  Since I was having a less than secure day I kind of freaked out inside. What does that mean?  Do I look bad?  Do I look good?  Is my look mediocre?  Have you looked in the mirror lately pal? It seemed as though he had more to say, but before he could utter another word from his seemingly seedy lips, I ducked into the vestibule.

The rest of the day entailed me telling everyone who would listen about my momentary encounter with the stranger.  I suppose I was looking for validation.  I desperately needed someone to say, “your outfit is awesome! Nice! Super! ”

This was not the first time I have been in the presence of someone who thought it was necessary to let me know his or her feelings (which he didn’t really – he left it open to interpretation) about something that was really none of their business.

But maybe we need more of this.  I mean, have you looked around lately?

Men in muscle shirts two sizes too small with very little muscle, women wearing clothes that leave nothing to the imagination and on some of these women imagination is needed.

I’ll admit it.  When I was 20, 25, 30 and even 35 I walked around showing off as much of me as I possibly could.  I had a great belly at one time and every chance I got, out came the midriff.  I’d be at the bar or even the local corner store and I would get hit on or whistled at.  After this came my incensement as to why no one took me seriously and why guys only just wanted to have sex with me.

Really? It took me all those years to finally get it.  To get why the girls at the bar in the jeans and baggy t-shirts had boyfriends or husbands.  To get why there never was a phone call the next day, or week or month for that matter, after having sex with someone less than twenty four hours after meeting.

I was nothing more than eye candy.  If I had sex with you, then I was eye candy with the prize inside.  But all in all, just something nice to look at. Like that freaky shirt in the window that looks awesome with it’s shiny studs and peacock colors, but the beige shirt is more practical and so that is the one we buy.

I can still wear clothes like that but I don’t want to.  I realized that dressing like I am ready for my meeting at the local street corner still left me empty inside when I went home.

Men still check me out, and yeah, that feels nice sometimes.  But men also take me seriously.  More importantly, women take me seriously.  I never had female friends in my twenties and early thirties.  I thought it was because they were all bitches.  Then I thought it was because I was unlikable.  After I started putting some clothes on, I realized it was probably because I was unapproachable.