Converting

Voldemort is 26 months old, and, while he has yet to try climbing out of his crib, he does try climbing into it.

And, he’s getting really tall.

And, while he and Brandus were in Colorado visiting Brandus’ folks, Voldemort was sleeping on a mattress on the floor.

So, today? We’re converting the crib.

I have no idea what this will do to his sleep schedule, but I am truly terrified of what we will start waking up to.

Naked and jumping on the crib mattress, Im used to. Naked and standing on top of his dresser is a bit more scary.

HELP. I HAVE A TWO YEAR OLD.

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Warning Signs

I’ve been in Seattle for the past week, and except for getting stuck in the airport yesterday for 8 hours, have had an awesome time.

Im a little afraid I stressed out my friend Rinny, somewhat, as she seems a little flabbergasted by me.

I told her I would get a tshirt that warned, “Talks to Strangers,” if she thought it would help.

But talking to strangers is fun, so long as nobody is crazy.

This week, talking to strangers meant that I talked to a guy in a tree, discussed the joys and pains of house sitting with a woman on the bus, had a road worker offer me the chance to pour concrete, and got to drive a gangster car.

It was really that last one that made Rinny hiss, “YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR MIND. YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.”

But, she doesn’t lock the door to her house. Ever. At all. So, I maintain I am infinitely safer. I can always walk away from the stranger I am talking to.

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“That Guy”

I was linked to this post about rape and men and the culture surrounding rape, and Ive been reading through the comments and the linked posts for the past four hours.

To me, it all boils down to how tragic it is that there are not more men who are willing to be “That Guy” who stands up to his friends/guy he doesnt know/stranger on a train when a woman is being hassled/is unable to consent/looks uncomfortable with the attention. What is worse is that when a man is That Guy, he gets praise and thanks and grateful expressions that he didn’t take advantage when she was drunk/stopped when she said no/walked her back to her house and made sure she was safe – instead of it being a standard of common human decency.

I think men who are That Guy SHOULD be praised, but I also think that it’s horrifying that they need to be.

I’m lucky, I’ve never been in a situation where I was honestly afraid of being assaulted. I’ve been groped (I was 12. He was a grown man), I’ve been pushed past my point of comfort in sexual situations (full conversation- Me: no, i’m not comfortable with that. Him: Just trust me. – and because I was 16, and wanted to be liked, or whatever, let it continue), I’ve been leered at, and I’ve had lewd suggestions offered – but I’ve never been afraid for my life or my body. Does that make what has happened to me any better? No.

I’ve met That Guy. I’ve been around That Guy. I married That Guy. That Guy who goes pelting down a dark alley IN THAILAND because he hears screaming. That Guy who interrupts a friend and goes, “dude, she’s way too drunk for that.” That Guy who doesn’t try to “talk me into it.” That Guy who approaches the mom and daughters of our next door neighbor who have locked themselves in a van, and stays there with them trying to talk the drunk dad down until the cops got there.

Before him, though, there was a whole group of That Guy – both boys and girls. I was just a kid, and so were they. But there was a boy harassing me, and the group of That Guy closed ranks. They didn’t leave me alone – not ever. The boy wasn’t allowed to sit anywhere near me at group times. They kept me safe – and at that age, I was probably not in danger of anything other then annoyance. And that is what sticks with me. That a group of kids who were maybe nine years old were willing to stick up for another kid they had just met.

For me, I need to learn how to better step up and be That Woman. That Woman who says, “excuse me, you’re in my seat,” to a guy who is clearly coming on to someone who doesn’t want it. That Woman who calls the cops when the couple on the street looks to be in an argument that could turn nasty. That Woman who speaks up when someone says something derogatory or joking about a woman, or rape. I’m pretty darn good at doing it when it comes to someone using the word “retard” or someone saying nasty things about people who are gay, so why do I have such trouble when it’s someone who is talking about women?

The other thing I pulled from this is the sheer rage I feel over rape being classified as a “woman’s issue.” Rape is NOT a “woman’s issue.” A woman (or man, or transgender person, or child) should not EVER be raped. Rape should be fully accountable as a MAN’S issue. As a HUMAN issue.

I know the statistics. I know how lucky I am. I can point at some of the women I know and say, “a man raped her.” I was involved in the Vagina Monologues, I’ve gone to Take Back the Night events, and I still feel like I can’t do enough.

Other links of interest:
Men Speak Up – men for gender equality and sexual respect
An Emotional Missive to Men – women have a checklist to even leave their house. modestly dressed? not asking for it? female?
Anti-rape role models – a discussion of men in tv/movies/books who are That Guy. Surprisingly, Austin Powers is on this list.
Thoughts on Men and Rape – a man’s take on it. And he’s just as pissed as I am.
Sex, Thugs, and Rotten Role Models – opinion piece on the murkiness of “consent.” I heartily endorse the idea of replacing consent with “mutual pleasure.”

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Things Four Year Olds Say

1. “I just farted out my mouth.”

2. “Can I stand on your tummy?”

3. “Girls dont have a penis. They go shopping.”

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A Bad Idea

We have a newish kitty. We’ve had her for a couple of months by now, and the other two are still picking on her a good deal. She spends a lot of time under my chair, hanging out, and grabbing my shoelaces playfully when I walk by.

She comes out at night when I’ve settled into my chair, to drape herself over my arms and my keyboard, because what is a cat for if not to impede typing abilities.

During these lazy times, I have come to the very definite conclusion that Yuki’s nails are very very sharp. I would know, Im generally wearing shorts or thin pajama pants while hanging out in my chair, and she likes to knead.

Last night, I made the mistake of idling mentioning her sharp nails to brandus.

We have one of those Pedipaw things, which are supposed to be better for kitty nails and such. We’ve only really used it once, and before I realized it, he had turned it on, grabbed her claw, and started filing away.

Now, if you’re familiar with Pedipaws, there is this entire “training” you are supposed to do first. This involves things like, “how to get your cat comfortable with Pedipaws.”

Brandus neglected to follow the training.

Five seconds later, I’m sitting in shock in my chair, cat having levitated through my arms and over my head to get away from the spinning file of death, and brandus is rushing to get gauze and rubbing alcohol to keep my finger, thigh, belly, and head from bleeding all over everything.

Blood is a bitch to get out of fabric.

Next time, I’ll wield the weapon of filing terror, and BRANDUS can hold the cat.

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