If I Were a Rapist...

If I were a rapist-- a serial sexual predator bent on destroying as many women's independence and control over their own bodies as possible-- and an omnipotent one at that, with the power to create my custom rapist's utopia in which I could move and act freely, I can imagine the sort of society I would create.

In my imaginary society, women would be trained from a young age to disconnect from their own needs and feelings, and to focus instead on meeting the needs of others. They'd learn that what they really want in life doesn't matter so much, and that they always have to be polite and nonconfrontational, and that it's better to let someone else be "right" than to be too assertive. I'd make sure they saw plenty of examples of assertive, independent women who look out for their own needs being labeled "bitches," too, to remind them of what happens when women step outside the meek and accommodating mode and learn to stick up for themselves. Just to make sure they got this message loud and clear, I'd make the popular media be full of caricatures of women-- hard, assertive, mean characters, and modest, pleasing, timid characters. Maybe then they'd never figure out that real women can be both strong and vulnerable, both assertive and compassionate, both humble and accomplished.

I'd make sure women didn't know how to discern and protect their own boundaries. From the time they were small, I'd hope for their parents to make them kiss and hug relatives they don't want to kiss or hug-- "Awww, come on, kiss Aunt Ruth goodbye-- don't you want to be a nice girl?" "I know you think he's weird, but it would really make Uncle Keith feel a lot better if you gave him a hug." I'd want their caregivers to dismiss their feelings, making them believe that children's emotions don't really matter and aren't really real-- "I'll give you something to cry about," and "Quit whining-- it's just a toy." The younger we begin to teach kids to disassociate from their feelings, their pain, their discomfort, the easier it will be to maintain this training all through the rest of their lives.

By the time they were teenagers, their boundaries might be so completely blurred and unstable that they'd be primed to begin to engage in consensual, but unwanted, sex, having sex they don't want to be having for reasons ranging from "he expects it on the third date" to "she'll leave if I don't do this" to "if I do this, he'll know how much I love him." They'd continue to have sex that leaves them feeling empty, whether or not it is truly enjoyable and pleasurable and fun for them. I'd make sure that our society sends them messages letting them know that they're doing the right thing by being "sexually empowered" in having sex frequently, doing my best to obscure the part of the message that "empowerment" involves claiming power, not giving it away. And to make sure they were left feeling further confused and isolated, I'd want society to send messages of shame and judgement, so they'd know that they were doing something dirty and secret, that they were "sluts" for engaging in risky sexual behavior, and "bitches" if they made it about their own sexual gratification, and "prudes" if they wanted sex to be about real love and connection.

I'd make sure that married and partnered women and men knew that putting out on schedule-- some arbitrarily assigned number of times per week-- was part of their "job requirements," whether they felt like having sex or not. Then, they'd be more likely to continue the pattern of dissociating sex from passion and pleasure that was begun in their youth. And just for kicks, I'd pound into their minds the belief that you can't be raped by your spouse-- that he has "rights" to your body because of marriage or past sexual encounters, and that you don't have to consent or agree for him to take you when he wants.

I'd make sure that entire classes of people could be oppressed, and that all of us would be culturally trained to see other types of people as "less than." Further, I'd make sure we were all so scared of being labeled "prejudiced" that we'd be scared to even examine or admit our areas of judgment, staying blissfully unaware of how we contribute to the problem. I'd want a society that sees sexual harassment and battery and rape used as a instrument of subjugation, in military and war and corporate settings. I'd want a society that uses ritual degradation as a rite of passage or entry, like a form of hazing, because once degradation of another human becomes a norm, the door is open for sexual degradation to be part of that ritual.

I'd want every child who comes forward claiming sexual abuse to not be believed, because a child who is not believed will learn to expect that nobody is there to protect him, that nobody will believe her, that there is nothing that can be done to stop violence and violation and betrayal. I'd want grandparents to side with family members who are abusers rather than with the victim, so the kid learns that speaking out results in people turning their back on him. I'd want parents to tell the kids to quit making up stories-- that there's no way grandpa could be an abuser. I'd want parents to be so ashamed that sexual abuse may have touched their family that they'd refuse to report it to law enforcement for investigation, hesitate to get their child needed counseling and treatment, and live their lives in a false world in which nothing ever happened and none of it exists. Kids who are abused and ignored learn that being ignored is what happens when you try to make something of it-- I'd bet they'd make prime targets for me once they are older.

In my rapist's utopia, I'd make sure that women's bodies were used to sell EVERYTHING, and that half-dressed women in sexy poses, airbrushed and photoshopped to perfection, were on the covers of almost all the magazines in the stores. Then women would compare their bodies to the women they're seeing on the magazines and TV commercials and movies, and realize they could never measure up. Thin, beautiful women might work excessively at staying thin and "beautiful"-- doing everything they could to look like the women in the media, hoping to gain some sort of acceptance, while all along learning to use their beauty and superficial sexuality to make gains in life, win attention, and make life easier. Then they'd come to view themselves not as whole women, competent and with great potential, but as shells to be polished and presented, whose worth depends completely on a specific set of ephemeral physical qualities that may or may not last through life. I'd make sure that women who don't fit that narrow definition of socially approved physical "beauty" doubt themselves, and constantly think that nobody could ever find them sexy, so that when they are offered less than ideal sexual experiences that are degrading, devastating, or dismissive, they'll readily accept, having been taught that to be found sexy and attractive is an ideal to aspire to in and of itself, with or without the empowerment that comes from having your sexuality honored by a caring and attentive partner. And I'd definitely want children to see these media images from a young age, so that little girls learn that their value comes from their ability to use their sexuality, and little boys learn that women are objects to be used.

If I were a rapist, the concept of the sex industry would THRILL me as a key component of my utopia because it sets the precedent that women's bodies and sexuality can be bought and sold, and anything that can be bought and sold is fair game to be stolen. I'd want strip clubs galore, where young women barely out of their own childhoods and still experiencing the poor judgment of adolescence would come when they felt that they didn't have options, to take their clothes off for men of all ages. I'd make sure that there were no other entry-level jobs in my society that pay very well, to ensure a steady flow of desperate young women who know they can't make as much money in any other business. In the strip clubs, they'd see that they can make more money based on the degree of graphic nature of their performance, and that the more they DID, the more they'd MAKE. They'd probably end up meeting up with a girl or two who did pictures and videos, and these porn stars would be glamorized! Every "feature" dancer brought into the club would bring in a huge crowd, and be fussed over like a celebrity based upon appearances in a number of magazines and movies. So the girls might branch out into some nude pictures or "soft" video porn.

Eventually, they'd discover that if you go beyond pole tricks and lapdances, you can move into working for escort services and prostitution. The pay would up the ante, with sex itself (instead of just sexuality) being the commodity, opening the door for sex to be stolen. Women in prostitution would learn that sex is sex and that empowerment is empowerment and that pleasure is pleasure, and that they rarely ever go together, lowering her expectations for what sex should be. She's already learned how to suck it up and engage in a sexual act while dissociating somewhat from her own pleasure and sensuality. At some point, she realizes that exchanging sex for money brings a level of attention and identity that she may have been missing before. Perhaps this is the first time she's really been shown a lot of attention, or made to feel sexy, or whatever. Perhaps she has been doing soft porn, and discovers she can make even more money based on what she's willing to do on camera. So, she may branch out into harder porn, eventually engaging in sexual acts that she herself might find offensive or undesirable, simply to make money and "protect" or promote herself in some way.

If I were a rapist, the sex industry would be like an exquisite, gift-wrapped present at Christmas, bringing me precisely the kind of cultural phenomenon I would need to make potential victims have no real connection with their own true power, drive to be empowered, and genuine sexuality; all while making potential bystanders and accomplices learn to see women as bodies, as sex acts, as personal gratification, instead of as sentient, intelligent, independent beings with emotional needs and dreams and desires. The sex industry, particularly the parts of it that encourage violence or brutality as norms, would serve to desensitize my entire utopia to the objectification and victimization of women. I guess if I'm really omnipotent, I'd make sure that thinking people who object to the objectification of women were portrayed as anti-sex, or crazy, or not in touch with reality.

In my imaginary society, people who wanted to "justify" their sexual domination of another person could travel out of country, so they could take advantage of foreign, "different" children, and still consider themselves to be upstanding citizens, because they don't hurt "real" women or children. I'd make sure that every school child in my society was taught about the "end" of slavery, and how awesome our current society is for not allowing slavery, while ensuring that they never learn about the illicit sex slave trade that is alive and well, even in our society. I'd do everything I could to make sure that rape, and child sex abuse, and prostitution, and sex slavery were all things that we could not speak openly and comfortably about in our society, so that more and more people would remain unaware of what was going on in their own families and communities-- right underneath their noses.

And these same qualities of my imaginary society that would make women ideal victims would also serve to make men ideal victims. After all, if women are constantly portrayed as weak, sexual objects ripe for the taking, thus making them easy victims, men are portrayed as strong, unemotional conquerors. What man who has been assaulted and raped wants to admit to being in the same league as weak sexual objects? Men who have been raped are even less likely than women to come forward, to demand justice, and to admit what happened to them.

With all these pieces in place, I'd be damn near guaranteed that I'd have an unlimited supply of victims who would ignore their boundaries long enough for me to make a move, who would have mixed expectations about their own sex lives, increasing their accessibility and vulnerability to me for acquaintance rape. And when I committed a rape, acquaintance or stranger, extremely violent and brutal or simple and straightforward, this utopia would make it extremely unlikely that victims would come forward. Some might not even define what I did to them as "rape," afraid that it implies some degree of ignorance or self-blame on their part. Some might consider it rape, but worry deep down inside that others wouldn't believe them, would blame them, or would say they are lying. After all, these "others" have been seeing the same societal messages, received the same cultural training, and heard the same rape myths. Some might know it was rape, want to come forward, and still feel shamed into submission. Some might come forward and have well-meaning but ill-informed friends, authorities, and professionals question what they did to cause it-- after all, we have all been trained to mistrust the inherent wisdom of women's bodies and to doubt that women are capable of understanding the truth about their lives, much less speaking honestly and directly about their sexual experiences.

If I were a rapist, this is exactly the kind of society that would lead me to feel safe weaving in and out of different circles of people, always being able to hone my craft, never truly worrying about getting into any situations I couldn't talk my way out of. This is exactly the kind of society that I know would be more likely to blame or not believe my victims.

This is exactly the kind of society in which we live.

Sunday Jazz Brunch thoughts

I'm sitting on my favorite part of the patio at my favorite natural foods co-op, enjoying nice music, pleasant weather, and the laid-back, friendly feel of Sunday Jazz Brunch. Turns out, I got some kind of employee recognition at yesterday morning's biannual all-employee meeting, and since my managers know I love this place, they got me a gift card for here. :-) So, I'm enjoying some Moroccan cous cous salad and tabouli, and about to head in to pour myself a nice cup of El Salvador Dali blend coffee.

It's a nice morning.

In fact, it's been a nice few days. Sometimes, I think when something has begun to eat me up inside, just saying it out loud-- admitting it to myself and to whomever needs to know it-- ends the drama for me. Within 10 minutes of saying what needed to be said, I was over it. I still want to apologize to my friend, but no longer really feel an ounce of irritation or anger over the situation at all. I've had a wonderful few days, although very sleep deprived.

I closed the restaurant Friday night, and didn't get out of work until after 1:30 am, and wasn't able to get to sleep until almost 2:30 am. Then, I got up at 6:30 Saturday morning to get to the aforementioned employee meeting (which, due to the nature of the business, must necessarily be at weird hours when the place is otherwise empty). One cheesy video, 50 gift card dollars, and 60 minutes later, I was loading into the car to head to a volunteer training. After training, I had some time with my kids, and then found time to squeeze in a 15 minute nap, which almost seemed to make it worse. Then, back to the restaurant to close again, and I got into my bed at almost 2 am this morning.

(It is interesting to point out at this point in my writing that the "jazz" band has shifted to playing middle-eastern-sounding music and there are about 40 people hooping and pseudo-bellydancing on the lawn not far from me as I write.)

But, gift card aside (because I love me some WSM), the training was the major highlight of my day.

Backstory: Back in May, I began a training program to be a volunteer at a local rape crisis center. In mid-June, we were fairly certain that we'd be relocating to a town just over 30 minutes away, out of the zone within which I'd need to be when on call. We even had a place lined up and everything. So, I dropped out of the training. Then, after touring the schools in the other town, I just knew I couldn't give up our local school district. But by then, I had missed two weeks of the training that I couldn't make up. So, I asked them to let me know when the next training would be, and it started back up yesterday.

So, the previous training I attended, being over the summer, had been a very small group (5 or 6 women). Most of us (all but one, if I remember correctly) were in the 25+ age range. It had been a very intimate group-- perhaps a little too much so, full of incredibly heady and intense women.

Yesterday's training was awesome. I would guess there were about 30 people there, and that there were maybe 10 of us in the 25+ range, including one really cool guy. The rest were all undergraduate students at the local university. Can I just say that hearing some of them speak-- being witness to their passion and their intelligence and their compassion-- has lifted my already lifting spirits tremendously? My oldest will be a teenager in a couple of months, and my oldest daughter has a birthday this week that will place her fairly firmly into the realm of preteen-hood. I'll have a child in high school next school year, and the countdown in my mind has already begun until I'll be sending my children, one by one, off into independence, perhaps to include their own time spent at university.

I remember my first attempt at university studies, by the way. I remember it too well. I remember confusion and anxiety and trying to find my place, being surrounded by alcohol and drug abuse, making questionable life choices. I remember events that led me to first become painfully familiar with the kinds of experiences that make rape crisis centers such an imperative. I remember all of the fun, and all of the angst. I remember dropping out after a few years, amidst a whirlwind of intra-and interpersonal confusion. And I know, no matter how strongly I work to equip my children with faith and confidence and power and strength, they are going to face their own battles that bring them into adulthood-- battles that I will not be able to fight for them, battles that I should not fight for them because they are THEIRS to win.

And in the midst of my worries, thoughts of where my children will be heading and who they are becoming every day, yesterday, I had the privilege of walking into a room full of intelligent, empowered, thoughtful and funny college students-- the kinds of young women I would love to see my daughters become, the kinds I'd love to see my sons grow up to respect and honor and count among their friends.

I left the training yesterday not only hopeful as a mother, but energized and empowered as a woman, knowing that although there may always be crimes against certain categories of people deemed "disposable" or less than, there will always be small groups of thoughtful, committed people working to change the world. In this is some small reassurance.

MFP Episode One: Acceptance and Change

So, I don't do a very good job of keeping secrets about myself, particularly when I think there might be something to be learned from the experience. This has, over the past few years, led me to embarrass a few people by awkwardly telling someone something that, while not so big of a deal to me, freaked them out just a bit. It's not intentional, trust me. It's just that my experiences are, well,... just part of my life to me, and I sometimes forget that we each have our own comfort level (based on our own unique experiences) with what experiences we consider to be just a normal part of life, and which ones we consider to be pretty far out of the mainstream. But I'm rambling...

I've been thinking a bit about acceptance in how we share the love of Christ lately, and it has brought me to thinking about one of the more bizarre parts of my past that you, dear reader, may or may not really want to be privy to. So, I will start to categorize these more bizarre, possibly TMI posts under the "My Freaky Past" headings, and today, I'll start with Episode One: Acceptance and Change. Read at your own risk. :-)

The Background

There was a time, back when I was in college the first time around, when quite a few of my female friends from college decided to go get jobs as topless dancers. Over the course of a year or two, I had the chance to see how working in that kind of environment affected them emotionally, spiritually, and academically, and got more of an insight than I was ready for into what happens to girls who work in the sex industry. During that time, I had a chance to get to know several girls who worked as dancers, call girls, and porn actresses. Many of them came from rough childhoods in which a good number of them had been sexually abused, and most of them had drug and alcohol problems ranging from excessive drinking and pot smoking to doing hard drugs. And then there were a few who were really nice girls-- just very much confused and struggling with who they were. I became close friends with a couple of the nicer girls who weren't scary-- just scared, and wanted to find a way to help them out.

At the time, I was living in an apartment completely paid for by Double Agent, who was rarely ever in town. I hated living alone, and needed a roommate anyway, so I approached one of my pals who was a dancer, and made her an offer. The offer was like this: she could move into my spare bedroom, rent-free, if she wanted to quit dancing and get her life back on track. She was welcome to stay with me as long as she wanted, as long as she didn't go back to work in clubs, and didn't do drugs. She took me up on it, quit dancing, and stayed with me for almost a year before moving out to get married.

Over the next year or so, I had a small handful of girls take me up on a similar offer, and almost always had at least one roommate. Some of them left to return to dancing and partying it up, and others left to get back into college or some other form of somewhat normal life. Word spread.

The Story

One day, during one of my roommate-free phases, I got a call from a complete stranger. "Hi, Christy. You don't know me, but XXXXXXX (who used to live with you) gave me your #. I'm coming into Columbia for a photo shoot and need a place to stay. Do you mind if I crash with you for a few nights?" Being 19 years old and stupid enough to let a stranger come stay with me (I figured that since I was friends with the photographer, it couldn't be that bad), I agreed. We made plans, and a week later, A* was on my doorstep.

Now, A* was not doing a photo shoot for Good Housekeeping, and while I won't mention the specific magazine, it is one of the higher end, less-trashy, erotic magazines. And in line with what I would have expected, A* was a real party girl. But she was also a single mom with a sweet streak and big heart, who loved discussing psychology and human nature during late night heart-to-hearts, and who was open to new experiences. I didn't treat her like anything other than a true friend, and we became instant best buddies. A* invited me to go to a local bar to sing karaoke with her, and I did, and we had a blast! I invited A* to come to an Advent-wreath-making dinner at my church, and she did (even though she had to borrow some of my clothes to have something appropriate to wear). I also taught A* how to make these cute little craft wreaths out of fabric scraps and straw wreaths, and she LOVED it! I'll never forget how hard we both laughed when some guy who had gotten her number at the bar the night before called, and she told him she couldn't go out because I was teaching her how to be Martha Stewart (before the prison time) and she was having too much fun making wreaths to go party with him. I think he was more-than-a-little-bit offended.

To make a long story a little shorter, what was supposed to be a weekend visit turned into a 3 month roommate (with A* traveling home a few times over that period to spend time with her daughter). In a number of late night girl talks, A* told me that nobody had ever treated her like she was just a normal person before, and told me how nice it was to not feel judged or looked down on or stereotyped. The night before A* did finally leave to return home for good, we both sat up all night crying. All her friends back home were crazy women, strippers, and generally not very good people, she said, and she didn't know how to make real friends any more. But she went home anyway, and we stayed in touch for a few years after that. One year later, when I found out I was going to be a single mom, A*'s mother invited me to move to Tennessee to live with them, as they wanted to return the favor of kindness I had shown, but it just didn't feel like the right thing to do. A few years later, I heard she was married.

The Point

I think that most of us Christians (and other religious people, as well) insulate ourselves a little too well from those people we think are off the path, or led astray, or under the wrong influences, at the expense of truly changing people's lives. Granted, my life is different now. I have more responsibilities and a family to care for and help protect, so inviting random party people to come and live with me is not an option. As a dedicated Christian, teacher, and family person, I'm not really into the same kind of partying I used to do from time to time, back when my life was different. I might talk trash from time to time, but don't really have the interest or desire to do the kinds of things that would take me off the path. But I am still in contact with a good number of my old pals, and don't really feel that much discomfort or embarrassment about it.

See, A* was a big lesson for me on how a good number of people live according to the expectations placed upon and opportunities offered to them. Back in Tennessee, as an exotic dancer and model, A* had been a complete party girl-- living the life one would expect of someone in that position. But for the brief time she was staying with me, she actually enjoyed going to church, playing board games at the apartment, and getting to know my friends, who were all pretty mellow and straight-laced by that point in my life. She had a support system (me, Maher, and a couple of other pals of mine from Church) who encouraged her and had fun with her, all within the context of healthy friendships, complete acceptance, and good, clean fun. I didn't preach to her about the evils of her lifestyle, and she didn't complain to me about the boringness of mine; we just became part of each others' lives, took each other at face value, and accepted each other as humans. No preaching, no judging, no snobby lectures.

And that changed both of us for the better-- more so than anything else that we could have done together.

Here's the challenge, though: After A* left to go back home, she went back (at least partly) into the lifestyle from which she had come. As straight-laced and modest as she had enjoyed being while she was around me and my pals, once she was back around her old pals, she fell back in line with them.

Which brings me to the issue of acceptance. I am one person, and a flawed person at that-- insecure, hypersensitive, and moody. But I take people as people, usually treat them with respect, and am generally not very judgmental of the people who come into my life. Thinking of A*, and how being accepted changed her lifestyle and self-image a bit (even if only temporarily), I can't help but wonder how many more people's lifestyle and self-image could be changed if they truly felt accepted by those they consider to be normal, or typical, or mostly-good people. Granted, I know that only God can effect a true change in a person's heart, but how many people are closed off to even accepting the love of God in their hearts, when they don't even feel the slightest bit of that love and acceptance coming into their lives from God's people?

Those of us who are people of integrity know that we are humans-- flaky, flawed, and imperfect. But to someone who is now and has always felt like s/he has been on the outside looking in, we can seem a bit larger than life, and our judgments upon the people whose lifestyles we reject can do more to drive people away from God than we ever imagined.

But how do we show our acceptance of the people we encounter without giving a false endorsement of a lifestyle we may not like? I think we have a pretty good role model for that, and it sure isn't me. Jesus spent time with people that others in his day wouldn't go near, and the mere fact of his acceptance and friendship opened hearts, just as it continues to open hearts today. So, doesn't it make sense that we should follow that example, and somehow work to find that balance between honoring our own purity while still demonstrating the love of Christ?

I'm not a master at this, obviously, as I still have so much to learn and grow and live. But I think it's something that we should at least be discussing, thinking about, and praying about. What do you guys think?

age, or maybe growth, revisited...

From ages 18-20, I was a party girl. Not in the sense of going to bars to pick up guys or be picked up (I've never left a bar with someone I didn't go in with), or having one night stands (something else I've never done). But I really enjoyed getting lost in the intensity of it all-- the lights, the loudness, the fog... By daylight, I was rather mild mannered, nerdy, and insecure. In the right lighting, I could pretend I was someone else.

I think there's just a little tiny bit of that party girl left in me, in the sense that I'm a bit of a free spirit-- fun loving and silly-- but it's different. I'm more of a party girl in the abstract rather than in the tangible reality of my life. As much fun as I have blogging about what a wild woman I'm going to be, given the chance, it just isn't really me anymore.

In true fashion, I talk a big game, but am really a homebody. This morning, I snuggled in bed next to my husband and watched the sun rise over the ocean. My day since then was spent sipping chamomile tea while reading my Bible on the balcony of our room, and walking the beach and nearby pier with my family. I have a feeling that the rest of the day will be about the same, perhaps with a hot tub soak or pool swim thrown in. Last night hubs and I did go to karaoke, which was a blast, and I've talked my sister and her man into coming here for karaoke tonight instead of hitting the hot clubs. I guess, in spite of my grandest fantasies, that I'm a pretty simple girl, easy to please, who just wants to be with her family. Maybe, just maybe, there isn't as much in my life anymore that I want to escape, and my life is satisfying enough without having to be obscured by disco balls, fog machines, and thumping bass.

Hubs and I talked this morning about the whole protection thing... I think we figured out a few contributing factors to why we felt the way we each did-- things relating to past experiences. You know-- the baggage we tend to drag into relationships and carry with us over time. So, it's resolved. If we can both afford to go, we will. If not, I'll go. Simple. No hurt feelings, no sulking, no nightlife. I probably wouldn't really want to go out anyway, given my tendency toward talking bigger than I'd ever really try to be in real life. But I am a big girl, and could make a trip on my own if that's the way it works out, and he knows I'd spend the whole time babbling to anyone who would listen about him and the kids. They are my heart.

The whole guy behavior thing is an interesting discussion, though. I think that some guys think women are stupid when it comes to knowing what some guys are like, what they think, and how they behave. I think women get it much of the time; we just don't necessarily react the way that guys think women will react. I've said it before and I'll say it now-- the manly man national geographic strut and preen mating dance that some guys do really cracks me up! It does not turn me on or weaken my knees. It's just anthropology in action-- a fascinating display of usually misplaced effort.

Last night, I went down to karaoke, and hubs was going to join me later. I walked in, ordered a beer, and immediately picked up the karaoke song list. I'm here to sing, remember? A small crowd of sixty year old guys (late sixties would be a generous guess on my part), one of whom was extremely friendly and had an earring, were flirting with me. Old guys-- well, that's just kind of cute. I flirted back, because they were so funny, and went back to reviewing my song list. Within a few minutes, 1/2 my beer was gone, and I had found my song. I couldn't find a pen to write my song on the slip, though, and was leaning in toward the bartender to try to get his attention. After a minute, he came and sat another beer in front of me. "No-- I just needed a pen," I said. "Oh-- the drink is compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar." I looked, and there was a forty-something guy with a tropical print shirt smiling at me. "Thanks," I mouthed, thinking about how I'll never see California after this. Less than 5 minutes in the bar, and old guys were hitting on me while some dopey guy at the end of the bar was buying me a drink.

But see, here's the thing. I'm guessing (because I'm not a man) that tropical man thinks, "Hey, I bought this chick a beer. She smiled at me. That must be because she wants me. Maybe I'll get lucky." And as far as I'm concerned, I don't really care if that was what he was thinking. I was thinking, "Kind of dweeby, but seems harmless. Free beer-- not bad. If that guy is married, he's a jerk. Maybe he's not, though, but what do I care. When's hubs coming to the bar? I can't wait for him to get here. I'll drink my two beers and sing love songs to him all night."

A few minutes later, hubs arrived to find me with a beer in each hand (not a normal thing for me, just for the record-- I drink a couple of beers per month when I'm on a roll). I smiled at him, kissed him, and then gestured down the bar-- "The second beer is compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar." Hubs looked, and tropical guy smiled at him. Tropical guy then walked over, play slugged my husband in the arm, and said, "Hey, man, I was just getting her another beer so she'd sing-- haha!" Hubs smiled, because truthfully he's not a very jealous kind of person, recent hooha aside, and slugged tropical guy back. "Yeah, she's a keeper," he said, and laughed. I then spent the rest of the night singing country music to my man (with my voice, everything is country when I sing it), and dancing with a group of forty-something women who were there. We really had a blast, and before long my husband was even chatting with the old dudes, even the one with the earring. They really were friendly guys, and had neat stories to tell (old guys usually do).

So, here's the thing. I think some guys are pigs. Back in my party girl days, I had plenty of married guys offer to meet me for flings, and brazen single guys who expected me to be something I wasn't. I've seen men at their worst, trust me, so much so that I went for years thinking all men were horrible. But truthfully, most of the guys I know now are pretty good guys. I think guys put on this silly show because they think it impresses other people, and who knows?-- maybe sometimes it does. But most men I know now, deep inside, just want someone to talk to, to listen to them, to believe in them, and to cheer for them. They just usually don't expect that other person to be a guy, because it might violate the man code, which really is a silly thing to begin with. And guys, most women are smarter than you think. Even when they go along with your manly man act, it is usually with the awareness that you are in fact doing the manly man act, and that they are doing the easy female act. Don't flatter yourselves too much!

This vacation is a nice thing. Time to chill out, time to reflect, is rare in the daily grind. It's nice to get away from it all for a while. I feel good.

Dweeby Married Guys

So, I've been thinking that this fall, I need to go to Podcast Expo. For starters, I could use some guidance, ideas, and networking to help me improve and promote my podcast. Secondly, it would be fun, particularly since I've never been to California. I experienced it indirectly, through all my sister's Tahoe snowboarding videos, showgirl stories, and inability to speak the English language without excessive word ups, gnarlys, and peace outs (P.S. I found a pic of her to link to with clothes on). And I was at least close when we went to Sedona, Arizona, on our honeymoon. But I've never been there. Finally, I'm such a people person that it drives me ABSOLUTELY INSANE that I don't know what half my podcaster acquaintances look like. Grrrrrrr! (If any of you are reading, email a picture, just so my mental processes can be a little more well-rounded when I'm listening to you.) It drives me just as nutty when I don't know what my blogger friends look or sound like (skype, anyone?). I'm the kind of person who as I'm reading or listening to something, develops an intricate accompanying experience in my mind, complete with sound, visuals, and emotions. And I'm not much for mysteries. So, finally meeting some people I've come to like, admire, and enjoy having as a part of my life would be pretty cool.

However, the Christy family is not particularly wealthy, and I wonder if we'd be able to afford to get both me and my hubs out there. So, last night, I brought up the possibility of me going it alone, and the ensuing discussion was an interesting peek into the bizarre dynamics of my relationship with my husband. Here is my retelling of the incident. It isn't particularly accurate, partly because I can't remember word for word, and partly because, hey, it's my blog. I'll tell it how I want to.

I don't like the idea of you going out there alone.

Why not? What's the deal?

I don't know. I just don't like it.

So, you don't think I'm capable of going somewhere without you, successfully navigating the city, and not getting mugged, killed, or seduced in the process?

No, it's not that. It's just... just... I don't like the idea of you out there with all those computer geek guys.

It's not just guys, you know.

(glares at me) You're the one that told me the other day that you got an email from one of them that he sent to the podcasters in his address book, reading "Lady and Gentlemen."

Well, if you think they're all computer geeks, then what are you worried about?

You like geeky guys, for starters. (Faking a girly voice:) "Smart guys turn me on, ooh ahh," remember? Half the guys you've ever dated have been 34 year old geeks, even when you were 18.

So, you don't trust me?

No. I trust you.

Most of the podcaster guys I know are married anyway.

So. You know as well as I do that being married doesn't always stop guys from being stupid.

Apparently not.

Shut up.

I can't believe you don't trust me.

I DO trust you. I don't trust THEM.

You don't even know any of them.

No, but I know YOU. And I know geeky guys. And it just doesn't sit well with me.

What do you mean, (faking my best dorky man voice:) "I KNOW YOU"?

You're hot, for starters, easy to talk to, sweet, friendly, thoughtful, loving, lovable, beautiful, voluptuous, gorgeous, a genius, with irresistible blue eyes and keen wit to spare. (Okay, so I made up part of that. But he really did say some of it.) You make people feel special, and that really plays well to the geeky guy crowd.

Okay, what if I got V-dogg (my sister) to go with me?

(*crickets* *crickets*)

Seriously, hon. What if V went with me?

That's the making of a reality television special, there.

Don't be an ass. It would be fun. You don't even like going out, dancing, any of that. At least if I took V, I'd have someone to go out with. I haven't been out dancing in years (this is, sadly, a true statement). Hey, I haven't even been to karaoke in over a year, now. If V went, I'd have someone to go enjoy the nightlife with.

That's what I'm afraid of. I love your sister, but you going to California with her makes me even more nervous than you going alone.

Old fart.

Party animal.

(crickets chirp outside, as we both sit there, staring away from each other, like a couple of two-year olds in timeout for fighting over a toy.)

Tomorrow, I'm going to blog about what a dork you are.

I don't care.

(More silence...)

Seriously, man, you can't really be this big of a dork!

Well... I guess if you had to go alone, or if you went with your sister, it would be okay. I wouldn't like it or anything, and I'd worry about you while you're gone. It's a man thing, you know, and I can't protect you if I'm not there with you.

One wrong move on the part of anyone out there stupid enough to mess with me, and I'll break out some of those martial arts skills-- a bit of Pitida Fu would put him soundly in his place.

Now who's a dork?

Whatever. Anyway, it's still several months away...

...............

And that was the end of the conversation. So, if any of you have any ideas for comebacks, pleading my case, or whatever, should the issue be addressed again in the near future, send them my way. :-)

*Edited 2:00 pm to add: In his defense, we've never really been much for doing things that aren't family-oriented. Homeschooling hippies, remember? Anyway, I spent my first night away from my children EVER in June of 2004, and have only done it twice since then. And my first night away from everyone-- kids and family-- was in October of 2004, when I went back down to Florida for a quickie visit to perform a funeral for a good friend's grandmother. My friend's mom had specifically requested me, back before I left my ministry position, to do the funeral for her ailing mother, and I also married both of her children, so it seemed the right thing to do and I kept my commitment even though I had moved out of state in the between time. I spent 17 hours traveling by bus to get there, about 4 hours there, and then another 19 hours to get home. I haven't spent the night away from my husband in our entire marriage, except for the two nights I spent sleeping on that bus. So, for all you well-traveled geeks out there wondering what the big deal is, this isn't a typical thing for us.

In other news, it's amazing what a good night's sleep can do for a foul mood. I need to get away this weekend, and since the convent wasn't an option, I went to plan B. An old friend, mentor, and previous employer from my childhood and teen days now owns a good number of hotels, timeshare, and condos in Myrtle Beach (where I grew up). I have an open invitation anytime I want to go visit to stay, for free, in one of his properties. So, I called him this morning, and my family will be checking into an oceanfront hotel tomorrow evening to stay for the weekend. Excellent. ;-)

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Okay, so my husband is modest, humble, and much less full of himself and obnoxious than I could ever dream of being. After a few days without reading the blog, he checked in yesterday. So, he is thoroughly embarassed that I ramble on about him the way that I do, and has threatened to sneak in and change my blogger password to prevent future gushing if I don't cut it out now. I don't really know what has me feeling so lovey-dovey and schoolgirl lately, but it wasn't working yesterday at lunch. I briefly considered putting the man into a headlock and being a brute, before realizing he would win any physical match. But anyway, yesterday's blubber has been placed behind a cut, out of respect for the man I love. Warning: If you click on "more..." you will hear about how much I adore my man. You have been forewarned.

I have never, in my life, known someone who is as strong and as gentle, as tough and as kind, as courageous and as revealing, as my husband. Next week, we will have been married for 6 years, and I could still gush over him for hours (in case you haven't noticed). And no, it certainly isn't because I'm a delicate little flower of the South who thinks she needs a man to be complete. I'm not. While I'm a bit disappointed that the feminist movement seems to have been hijacked by radical liberals, I still call myself a feminist. I don't need my man in order to feel like a complete human. But having him around sure does make life better. He's just incredible.

I think of some of the stuff he went through growing up, and it amazes me that the exact same experiences that can lead someone turn out screwed up (distant, violent, a drunk, an abuser, a manipulator, a philanderer) can lead other people into becoming absolute people of integrity and true honor. Some people acquiesce; others see what is going on around them and vow that they will never be a part of that once they're calling the shots. What makes that difference? How can some people grow into adults who use excuses-- I grew up the son of a wife-beating alcoholic so it's okay for me to be screwed up forever and repeat the cycle? As if it's just expected? Personal responsibility, people... It's a beautiful thing.

I was reading over at 4haks and something caught my attention: From Wild at Heart by John Eldredge: "The violence we see is a result of a wound that each man receives earlier in his life." As a mother, and a generally heart-on-my-sleeve kind of person, this breaks my heart. To imagine any child being hurt, abused, neglected, made to feel less-than, or not having a positive father (or mother) figure in his life just makes my heart drop. But the thing is, childhood is no easier on women. We just cope differently. Women are taught to be manipulative and needy to deal with the pain. They grow up to be promiscuous, hate themselves, and give up dreams. They quit eating, or cut themselves, or sit around thinking about ending it all. Men are taught to keep it all inside until they damn near explode, and when they do, it isn't pretty. I've seen it, not from my husband, but throughout my life in other situations. And depending on who is there to witness the explosion, it might inflict another wound on another person, maybe a child.

But what we do with that wound, how we try to recover from the confusing swirl of memories and pain-- it sometimes seems to be pretty arbitrary. Some grow up and end up strong, advocates, achievers, or perfect spouses to someone who really needs a little extra patience and nurturing. Others end up in crack houses, strip clubs, or on the streets, with drug problems and no self-esteem. What makes the difference?

As a mother, I'd like to know. I'd like to provide all the support and nurturing for my children that I can to help my boys grow into healthy, strong, compassionate men, and my daughter grow into someone who knows her worth. But as a wife, I'm not too concerned about what makes the difference. I'm just thankful that I finally ended up with someone who has turned adversity into strength at every opportunity in his life, and who has used everything he has been through as a stepping stone to greater love and understanding. My husband is not my world; he is simply its' color.

I love you, sweetheart! Happy Birthday!

pigs need not apply

Men. As someone who has finally found and married the most perfect man in the world (who just happens to have a birthday tomorrow), I don't really think about //men// as a concept, generality, label, or subgroup of the population any more. I don't have to worry as much any more about men who are liars or men who approach me with less-than-honorable motives, as the primary man in my life at this time is the kind of person who amazes me with his... his everything. Can't list it all, it's just all so good.

But that hasn't always been the case.
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I didn't really date much in high school-- I was more the freckled brace-faced geek in the corner wearing plaid flannel and Doc Martens, too scared to be social, sitting around listening to the Pixies, the Smiths, and They Might Be Giants so that I wouldn't have to talk to anyone at lunch time. I had a few boyfriends (mostly people I'd met while at band camps, drum major camps, and Governor's School). Truthfully, I had received two marriage proposals before even leaving for college, both of which I turned down. All in all, though, I wasn't much of a player on the dating scene. But when I went off to college at 17, that all started to change, at least a little.

Serious boyfriend #1: Losing the Race (I was 18, he was 23; 3 months)
In case you haven't noticed, I am white (for most purposes). My first serious boyfriend was not. I actually met him when I was a senior in high school and he came to my hometown (a major tourist attraction in South Carolina) for Spring Break. He and his buddies stayed in the hotel where I worked (operating a small convenience store part time), and made an unusually high number of trips to the store to buy stuff. It wasn't until later that fall, when I realized that it was the same guy in the USC marching band with me and we started dating, that he confessed that he had made up excuses to come into the store just to talk to me. It might be good to note at this point that 4 generations up my ancestry tree, I have a biracial great-great-grandfather. Knowing that he would have been born in the Deep South in the mid-late 1800s, the imagination doesn't have to travel far to suppose the kind of circumstance into which he might have been born, but that's another post for another day. For the purposes of this story, the relevance is that although I have fair skin, freckles, and very white features in general, I have at least one (that I know of) branch of my family tree that goes back to both white slave owners and black slaves. So, the fact that my entire family flipped their lids over me dating a black guy remains a complete and total mystery to me. In any case, I didn't dump him because of my parents hissyfits. In fact, I think I went a few months without speaking to them because of their hissyfits. But in the end, the stress and anxiety of my parents' reactions (and his) contributed to the demise of the relationship. VERDICT: NOT A PIG

Serious boyfriend #2: Double Agent (I was 18, he was 34; off and on for 5 years because I'm a glutton for punishment)
Not much to say about this one, simply because there's too much that I could say. For now, I'll simply caution married men out there: If you one day find yourself dissatisfied with your current marriage situation and decide to take on a lover on the side in another state, at least have the decency to let the potential "other woman" know that you are married with a family in another state sometime before she's been in love with you for a year, and preferably before you take her out trying on engagement rings, meet her family, and start a new family with her. A woman, however young and naive and stupid, deserves to be able to choose whether or not she will be a pawn in someone else's betrayal. VERDICT: PIG. Primarily because he was someone who had so much potential to be an incredible person, but has never seemed to want to light that potential on fire and use it to make the world a better place.

Serious boyfriend #3: I was the heathen (age 21 [and already a single mom], about 6 months)
This was my first experience of falling in love with my best friend. In an attempt to put some space between me and boyfriend #2, I had moved to Florida in May of 1997. After a couple of weeks of writing back and forth, it occurred to me that there was, in fact, at least one guy out there who had never treated me with anything but respect-- someone who had taken care of me during rough times, listened to me, supported me, shared with me, and participated in absolute silliness with me (an important element of any relationship, as far as I'm concerned), and who had never once taken advantage of my emotional struggles for his own benefit. I wrote a letter confessing my complete and total admiration and infatuation, which led to a few months of a great long distance relationship-- lots of phone calls, letters, and road trips. Eventually, #3 became the 4th person to ask me to marry him, and for the first time, I said yes. And that was about the end of that relationship. Turns out, his parents, who are the first generation in his family to come to the United States and who are not Christians, were very much opposed to him marrying into the family of the great white westernized Christian devil, particularly at such a young age, and being the kind of son most parents dream of having, he would not oppose their wishes. He is still a very close family friend, and has become a friend to my husband as well, and remains one of the men I think of when I think of integrity, honesty, and character. VERDICT: NOT A PIG

Serious boyfriend #4: Weenie Man(I was 21, he was 34; 1 year)
This relationship was doomed from the start. We met at church and had a great time, and I think he was just excited to find someone who was both Christian and fun, and who (like him) enjoyed art museums, indie films, ethnic foods, and mellow nights at home. We were also both disability advocates at the time-- me working with kids with autism, and him working in technology for disability rehab. Unfortunately, two major things led to the end. First, I was terribly insecure and not very trusting after the betrayal of boyfriend #2, and #4 was the geeky big-brother kind of friend to a horde of gorgeous young women who never made an effort to get to know me. Secondly, I was a single mom and no longer interested in dating "just for fun," and #4 had some MAJOR commitment issues. Note to any guy thinking about dating a single mother: No matter how un-needy this woman may try to seem, don't waste her time if you know in your heart that you aren't ready for a commitment. It just isn't fair or productive. As a side note, #4 is now in his forties, and still not sure if "Mrs. Right" is ever going to come along. He'll be waiting a long time, I imagine. VERDICT: NOT A PIG. JUST A WEENIE. No guts, no glory.

Serious boyfriend #5: Skeezy Porn Guy(I was 22, he was 34; 3 months)
I met this guy at a healing service at the church I started attending. He was one of the hands-on healers participating in the service, and I spent most of the service praying that he wouldn't come anywhere near me. Truth be told, I had just about had it with guys by this point, and didn't want to be touched by some jerk I didn't even know. Well, as things would turn out, he never did come to pray with me. But after the service, he came up to make sure he had not offended me: "You know, I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I was ignoring you or anything-- I just really felt it on my heart that perhaps you didn't want me to come into your space, so I wanted to be sensitive to that and not make you uncomfortable." A man who is sensitive, thoughtful, and spiritual? One like that exists? *swoon* After I found out he played in our local symphony, I was sold. At 16, I had been the youngest member to ever play in our local symphony back home, so it was a nice common bond. Once we started dating, I realized what a complete and total condescending, chauvinist a-hole he really was, and couldn't believe I had ever fallen for his act. He lied to and manipulated me, and told me lots of half-truths because he thought I couldn't handle knowing certain things about him and his lifestyle. Then I discovered the porn. Boxes and boxes of it. Videos, magazines, toys, and web histories that were pretty overwhelming by their sheer numbers; teens, barely legal, disgusting stuff, really. By this point, I had had it with guys wasting my time. I gave him an ultimatum-- get rid of it or I go. He babbled a bunch of excuses, and I left him. I probably would have left him anyway, even if he had gotten rid of it. He was a sorry excuse for a human, and the sad thing is that he probably still believes to this day that I was the one with the problem. VERDICT: PIGGIEST OF THE PIGS

That was the last guy I dated before my now-husband. Quite a passel of pigs, eh? (with a few exceptions...)
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So, the past few days, I've been thinking a good bit about my husband and how thankful I am for him, for his integrity, for his honesty, and for him being such a larger-than-life great guy for my children to look up to. His birthday is tomorrow, and our anniversary is next weekend, and I can't help but be overwhelmed and humbled when I think of how greatly he towers over most of the "men" I've dated in the past. It's so intense, my admiration for him, so much so that I think we should quit calling everyone with a penis a "man." There's got to be a better word. We really should think of reserving the word "man" for people who actually deserve it-- for those who set the standard for others to follow. Pigs need not apply. Now, I know that the only commenters I ever seem to get on my blog are men, and from what I have gathered thus far they seem to be pretty extraordinary men, and so for weeks, I've resisted the urge to post something that might be seen as anti-man. But for the women reading this who have been putting up with CRAP from guys for however long, and for the male readers I may occasionally get who are blissfully unaware that they are pigs-- be aware. Ladies, there are in fact real men out there-- men who will respect you, love you, lift you up, adore you, spoil you, inspire you, and be your best friend. Don't settle for less. And pigs, watch out. Those real men-- they will happen upon your women eventually, and when they do, all your flaws and secrets and silliness and control issues will be exposed for what they are, and you will be very, sadly, and completely alone. Change now, or prepare for the worst. :-)