Dramatic Sigh

Last year, I came across a site called Violence Unsilenced. Survivors of abuse, whether it’s sexual, physical, emotional, or otherwise, and survivors of sexual assault write their stories. I can’t explain it any better than the About page, but basically the purpose is to give people a safe place to talk about things they may not be able to say anywhere else, and to show that abuse isn’t limited to a certain race, income level, gender, etc.

When I found the site, I couldn’t stop reading and thanking god that I was so lucky to have grown up loved and safe. I’ve been verbally abused, yes, but because my parents raised me to believe that no one had the right to make me feel that way, I walked away after only a few months. I didn’t write about that because I’ve done it before and I just don’t think he deserves any more of my time or thoughts. But I did want to write something because I think the site is really important, so I wrote about my mom, and how, if it wasn’t for my sister, I would have suffered a similar fate. This isn’t a plea for sympathy – I don’t need it, I was lucky – but just a small thank you to the two most important women in my life, and a reminder that no matter how much you think you know, it’s way too easy to forget to protect yourself.

So here it is. 

P.S. I originally wrote this last August. The site has inspired so many people that the waiting list to be posted is several months long, and I really want to thank Maggie for allowing me to be on her amazing site.

Before I start, let me warn you that this is pretty fuckin offensive. Don’t read it if you’re gonna be a little bitch about it.

This morning I was talking to my friend Kevin, and as usual, the conversation turned to the disgusting. I’m relatively sure we have a running contest neither of us knows about to see who can make the other person throw up faster. He told me he had sex with a girl (I made sure he meant human girl) and that turned into rules for sex stories. Because there need to be some. So here are the ones we came up with so far (feel free to add yours in the comments):

1. No ugly people. I don’t want to picture that. We can all be PC and say we don’t mind but yeah, we do.

2. Per Kevin: “No morbidly obese people, unless it’s an engineering blog.” I won’t pretend I didn’t laugh at that. I’m not that good of a person.

3. Nothing overly gross. I don’t want to know about your medical conditions. Saying you got your period while you were having sex and didn’t realize it is one thing, but the phrase “rectal bleeding” should NEVER be used (that’s from Kevin).

4. Don’t describe the cum. Just don’t. Fuckin sick.

5. Don’t spring your fetish on people out of nowhere. If everyone knows from the beginning that you like to have sex with your miniature stallion, that’s one thing. I’m still avoiding you like the plague, but at least I’m prepared. But if you seem pretty vanilla and suddenly the story turns into, “And then I fucked the cat,” I will cry. Don’t tell that story, and you know what? Just don’t fuck the cat.

Those were the big ones we came up with before I realized that this was already the most offensive thing I’ve ever written and stopped. Nothing in this blog is meant to say that anyone fitting these descriptions shouldn’t be HAVING sex (unless it’s with animals). You just shouldn’t be telling people about it.

Feel free to direct all hate mail to jag@dramaticsigh.com. Don’t send pictures.

That would be a crappy paint drawing of my boss literally lol-ing at the fact that I ate a piece of cold pizza for lunch. OH MY GOD IT’S SO FUNNY!!!1!11

No. It’s not. It’s not anything at all. And then I said, “Can I help you?” and he was like, “You’re so crazy! Ha I love you!” and  then I walked out. I didn’t actually murder him with my eyes because I don’t have that power but man do I wish I did.

“Paul Blart was the best movie ever!” ZAP.

“How have you not read War and Peace?” ZAP.

“I don’t vote. That’s stupid. You know what else is stupid? The way this country is run.” KABLOOEY.

“You know who’s awesome? My boyfriend. Have you heard about him? Because he’s super awesome and I love his khaki pants and his smile and everything about him ever! Relationships FTW!” PEW PEW PEW.

You get the picture. So to whoever is in charge of things like super powers and eye-murder, have your people call my people. We have some things to discuss, like HOW CAN I KILL PEOPLE USING ONLY MY FACE? And why did I have so so so much caffeine today?

What’s this? Have I suddenly gotten classy? Fat chance. But for the first time probably ever, I’m not going to give you all the dirty details.

I know. It feels weird to me too.

My boyfriend? Is awesome. I know, I’m not normally one to be like, “my boyfriend this, my boyfriend that, and did you hear about my boyfriend?” We all know that’s annoying. But in certain, exceptional cases, I think it’s warranted. And this was beyond exceptional. I would give him a round of applause if I could, but we’re both at work and my boss already thinks I’m crazy without me clapping alone in my cubicle.

So what’s inspiring this gushing praise*? Well. Last night…um…there’s no polite way to say this. I came so hard I had tears. Not emotional tears. Tears of holy-wow-oh-my-god-bluhh (and then it degenerated into gibberish). THAT HAS NEVER HAPPENED.

So. Congratulations boyfriend, you win at life forever. Here’s an award.

It's a gold medal AND a blue ribbon. That's how much of an award it is.

*Pun totally intentional.

…he would taste like these:

What those are, for all of you NOT from Colorado, are corn fritters from White Fence Farm. And if you ARE from Colorado, and have never been there? You should probably get on that like…tonight. I don’t even really eat meat, but their fried chicken is good enough for me to make sweet love to it. With my mouth, not my genitals. No one wants pre-humped chicken. Or post-humped…you know what? Let’s just leave the humping totally out of this discussion. TWSS for real.

Other than fantasizing about those delicious little bastards, I’ve pretty much dedicated my time to drawing things in paint for Allie’s new forum. Like, I made a dinosaur, that looks like this:

It’s a Velociraptor-Stegosaurus hybrid with one large claw on each appendage. The claws are used for tearing open other dinosaurs that he killed, which is a LOT of other dinosaurs, let me tell you what. That volcano is ruining his plans for a bbq that day because you can’t have a bbq when there’s volcanic ash all over the place. So he’s a little pissed. That discussion topic has a bunch of other awesome dinosaurs that you can see if you click on my dinosaur. I think probably a lot of them are actually dragons but those are cool too. And there’s a boobasaurus who is totally sexy and has a bikini on.

This forum is easily the best thing that’s ever happened and is also the reason I have literally not done any work for like, 4 days. How can I do work when I have to help decide who would win in a fight, Miss Frizzle or Jean-Luc Picard? Did I just blow your mind?

(40 minutes after last sentence was written)

I forgot to finish this post. I was too busy making graphs that are full of math and science and win. Get some!

Ohh the loss is so painful.

For those of you who don’t know, Dr. Piven is the name of my vibrator. I can’t remember who participated in the naming, but I figure that Jeremy Piven + a doctor = the hotness. I’m good at math. Dr. Piven is a purple hummer.

Not like this.

Getting closer...

 For those of you who don’t know much about vibrators, a hummer is like a better (way more expensive) version of the rabbit. That makes it approximately one billion times better than a regular old vibrator. It has a hummingbird instead of a rabbit, and it has the beads that rotate in the shaft, and the top half of the shaft turns. You have no idea how many times I giggled every time I typed shaft. Yep, did it again. Heeee! Basically, the only reason to have a man around is because…um…weeeell…OH! The hummer can’t make me a snack afterwards. There we go. Whew, I knew there was a reason.

Anyway, Dr. Piven very tragically passed away sometime in the last…month or two. To be honest, I don’t really know because I LIVE WITH MY PARENTS. And I DON’T HAVE A LOCK ON MY DOOR. AND I DON’T REALLY EVEN HAVE A BEDROOM. AND MY SISTER’S BED IS RIGHT NEXT TO MINE.

It’s great. Seriously.

Since I don’t have privacy, I have been seriously lacking in personal time. That means Dr. Piven has been laying in my dresser drawer all alone. I suspect it died of loneliness. Or one of the batteries leaked. Whatever. So now I’m left with just the remains and the backup travel vibrator that totally sucks, comparatively speaking, because all it does is vibrate so it will NEVER be the man Dr. Piven was and that’s just really creepy, isn’t it?

I just wish I could say that my bionic vagina killed it.

So we all know how much I don’t like kids, right? Bleh, kids. But then they go and get cancer and I can’t hate them anymore because they’re just little and full of cancer and that totally blows because it’s not their fault and then they’re bald and it’s sad. I mean, it’s sad when anyone gets cancer, but I think it’s hardest to understand in someone who only reaches your hip (or in my case, my neck). How does someone’s body fail them so badly when it’s still so new? Sad stuff.

So anyway. The new guy, being totally awesome, shaves his head every year to raise money for St. Baldrick’s. I’ll be honest, I’ve heard of it before, but never actually knew what it was. Basically, the organization funds research for childhood cancer, and new guy is totally into it. This is his 5th year doing it, even though a shaved head isn’t a great look for him. That’s how not superficial and cool he is.

I will not be shaving my head because I AM superficial and I want to be pretty. So instead, I told him I’ll pony up a few bucks for his team.*

I know everyone just donated buckets of money for Love Harder and Bust a Move and Haiti so this is bad timing but I figured why not put it out there anyway, right? If this gets his team five more dollars, I’m ok with that. I’ll still have earned a foot massage or something. And hey, if you skip one GHCS2PLSHLWNF, that’s like, $4 right there. Or maybe have one less drink (I KNOW! Blasphemy and I’m sorry I even said it!) or maybe just don’t order drinks for 3 of your friends all night not that I know anything about that at all why are you looking at me? I don’t know, I don’t make the rules about liquor and how much you can and can’t drink. God makes the rules. It’s God’s water.

I suspect I’m getting off track here. Basically, if you feel like you don’t like cancer or maybe just hate having money or want me to get a foot massage or something, here’s the link that helps with all of those problems. Maybe if 5 people donate or something, I’ll post sexy pictures of me on here.**

*I told him it’s on the condition that he does a stripper dance while I throw singles at him. That’s how I donate money for cancer, damnit. He said no g-string though. Selfish.
**My standards are low. But it’s ok because I’m terribly unphotogenic so sexy pictures of me do not and can not exist so it’s a trick anyway. Or is it?

I am, as we speak, drinking an earl grey latte. Which tastes a little bit like sour ass. But I’m sick and it was $4 so I’m still drinking it. Normally, I wouldn’t even have Starbucks, but I made coffee this morning and my milk has apparently gone bad since Wednesday, because that also tasted like sour ass.

It’s a sour ass day, I guess.*

Gross.

I have a Starbucks in the lobby of my building (are you jealous?) so it’s a short elevator ride to Tastytown. Did I just say that? I blame the lack of caffeine in my life. Don’t hate. Anyway, you should really not be jealous because having one that close generally means that I spend half my paycheck there and am subsequently broke by the end of the month. It also means I’ve developed a particular loathing for Miss “I’ll have a grande half-caf soy 2 pump low sugar hazelnut latte with no foam” and her friend “Venti quad non-fat sugar-free because I’m watching my weight vanilla soy latte with extra whip cream and some foam.” I see that a LOT. I work in a building with lawyers and bankers, who apparently need to extend their love of details to their coffee. Meanwhile, I’m standing there crabby, pre-caffeine, and I just want my tall coffee. Or sometimes, if I feel fancy, I’m waiting on a 2 pump vanilla latte.

I get it, I get it. Starbucks owes its success to the GHCS2PLSHLWNF (even the acronym is unwieldy) orderers of the world, and can’t tell them to go away for being obnoxious, but can those people please die in a fire?

Wait, that’s harsh. Um…please go to another Starbucks where everyone is ordering things like that so I never have to resist the urge to stab you again? Is that nicer? Because I STILL HAVEN’T HAD ANY COFFEE AND ASS LATTE IS ASSY AND I DO NOT WANT!

This is the most pointless blog ever. I’m sorry. Just tell me you hate people like that too and then come stroke my hair and say I’m pretty even though I have a snotty nose. That’s what Jesus would do.

*This could be related to the large amounts of mucus currently resting in my face/mouth/nose/throat region. I missed TMI Thursday because of said mucus. I hate missing TMI Thursday. Bastard snot. Anyway, I think it might be making everything taste like ass. Sigh.

That title just sounds fancier than “Some shit’s been happening so I thought I’d write about it or something.” I’m FANCY. In my pantsy. Wow, that sounds sissy as hell. I ain’t a sissy. I will punch your mother if you say otherwise. (Please someone confiscate my coffee.) I’ve regressed to just making sounds. Instead of coherent sentences, I’m sitting here thinking and it sounds like this: “Woopty woop pew pew pew pew guns! Dinosaur raaaawr VELOCIRAPTOR HANDS (at which point I make velociraptor hands) do re mi fa so la ti da I wonder if that’s on Netflix instant a doe a deer.”

You get the idea. NOTHING IS MAKING SENSE. Not even to me. In other words, it’s a pretty normal Monday.

Anypayingformyownhosting, since I bought the damn site – side note, why did I do that? – I thought maybe at some point I should get my money’s worth. The big fat however is that I’m not feeling terribly inspired. I’m happy though, at least about 90%, which is pretty solid. So maybe I’m only inspired by depression and poop? If that’s the case, I’d gladly stop writing forever because that sucks. The depression, not the poop. I still enjoy doing that. As much as one can enjoy an essential bodily function, which is a LOT, let me tell you.

Dear god I’m way off track again. Back to the point. The boy and I officially split up a couple weeks ago, which you probably all know from following me on twitter. He “doesn’t want a relationship but maybe will in a few months” which, translated from his language means, “I don’t want a girlfriend during snowboarding season but when that’s done, I’d like for you to still be around.” Um. No. I’m way better in bed than a snowboard. Can a snowboard make lasagna? I would like to see it try. So, you know, it took me a little bit to balls up and just end it, even though I knew it was pretty much over as of New Years.

After all that nonsense I was all “Self, let’s give this online dating thing a fair shot, since we’re not meeting anyone besides younguns at the bar.” In the past, I’ve signed up for a site, gotten a couple of decent emails and 102 stupid ones (“HAY GURL U FINE WANNA PARTY?!” No thank you.)  and then been too overwhelmed to continue. This time I decided to actually commit to meeting at least one person. Once again, I only had a couple of promising emails but I figured even if nothing came of it, at least I tried. And then I got one from a guy whose profile was, frankly, pretty boring, but his email was funny and he was cute and he has a minpin, which is good because it means he won’t hate on my dog. And then we chatted for a couple of hours and ZOMG he actually asked me for my number instead of emailing back and forth forever.

We went out to lunch on Saturday and it was easily the best date I’ve been on in…forever. That’s all I’ll say about it because I don’t want to jinx anything but he seems really great. So yay.

The only other important thing that happened this weekend is that THE COLTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPERBOWL!! Woot woot!

And we’re back to the noises. Sigh. It’s good to be back.

I wasn’t planning on blogging today, and I never plan to ask you guys to promote my posts, but this is one exception. Please, please pass this one on.

Last night, my former roommate told me she didn’t want to go out because she had a bad night on Wednesday. I figured it was to do with someone she’s dating or something. The normal bs that leads to “bad nights.” But when I asked her this morning, it was a whole lot more serious and MUCH scarier – someone drugged her.

She was at a bar she goes to regularly with friends. She told me there was a group of people she’d never seen before, and they asked her to do karaoke with them. Afterward, they bought her a shot. This is fairly normal behavior, and, like her, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Awhile later, after she got home, she started hallucinating. Even worse, she lives alone. And she can’t even smoke weed without having serious problems. Drugs are not her thing. I would have been scared shitless – and she definitely was. She said she was aware of what was happening but couldn’t control her body. I speak from experience when I say that’s absolutely the worst feeling ever and I’m just SO glad she was home when it happened.

The thing is that we all know not to take drinks from random guys, especially if the bartender doesn’t hand it directly to you. But the group that bought her a shot? All women.

Women drugged her. I have no idea why, but my best guess is that they wanted to see what happened. See some girl embarrass herself. Whatever. But she could have been seriously hurt, and she WAS seriously scared. If she hadn’t made it home before it kicked in, I don’t even want to think about what could have happened.

I’m guessing since it’s Friday, many of us, myself included, will be at a bar tonight. Most of us know to watch out for ourselves when a man offers us a drink. But please please please think twice before anyone offers you a drink. I’ve never heard of women drugging another woman, but clearly it does happen. I know none of you are stupid but neither am I and I would have taken the drink too. So please just be careful this weekend and be safe.