A thickened plot…

Lawd, have mercy!

Just when I start to think the Russian poisoning story…well, ummm...I guess a bitch should clarify which Russian poisoning story (wink)…cough…just when I think the Russian poisoned in London story is going to get boring it heats the fuck up again!

Andrei Lugovoi, who is being accused by British authorities of poisoning former spy Alexander Litvinenko, held a press conference and went off.

Lugovoi, who this bitch is fascinated to see still alive given the amount of polonium-210 he is being accused of dropping hither and non ‘bout London proper, accuses British authorities of poisoning Litvinenko and then trying to frame him for it!

Mmmhmmm.

And he said Litvinenko was working as an agent for British special services…but then he got his Jason Bourne on or something like that and they had to eliminate him.

Blink.

So, British special services either flew some agents to Russia and then flew them back with a whole hell of a lot of polonium-210…which those agents then dropped like birds drop shit all over the damned place…and then dropped some in Litvinenko’s tea and thus killed him…

Pause…gather air…continue…

…or the British agents planted the polonium-210 on the planes and in various locations throughout London in an attempt to link that radioactive nastified shit to the Russian government and blame the killing of Litvinenko on them…

…sip water and then continue…

…or Lugovoi is full of shit, the Russian government had him knock off Litvinenko and then supplied him with some Bond-esque cool as hell poison fighting antidote which explains why he still liveth and does not gloweth!

Blink.

Daaaaammmmn!

Our government uses rancified pseudo reporters with rage management issues and limited ethics to blow the well established covers of spies they wish to punish.

But it’s becoming clear that our sorta-allies are keeping their spy disposal activities retro as a motherfucker…

Technical drama...

Bitchitude shall be delayed due to technical difficulties and computer-based drama.

Sigh.

Thoughts inspired by sanctions...

I was watching the news the other night when the report came on that the United States was issuing sanctions against the Sudanese government in reaction to genocidal violence in Darfur.

Basically, 31 companies and three people will be prevented from doing business in the United States or with U.S. companies.

The Darfur region has been subject to violence, rape, bombings and murder.

The Sudanese government says the violence is the product of rebels…we say the rebels are backed by the Sudanese government…and Darfur continues to writhe under the never ending horror that is genocide.

So, what now?

What next?

It is tempting to turn away from something that feels so out of my control.

But that isn’t really possible, is it?

Not really…right?

But it’s not as if media has been consistently putting Darfur in our face. Some local St. Louis papers have provided some coverage. But the lack of urgent coverage by both local and national media sources…unless, of course, a brave movie star straps on a camera…is beyond disturbing.

It seems that we are the puppet and media is the puppet master…that we can only achieve anxious concern if they tell us and we are capable of calming down only after being instructed to do so.

But genocide still happens...regardless of coverage...in defiance of sanctions...in real time.

What now?

What next after sanctions?

Tick…

There is genocide in Darfur.

…tock…

Is the whole world is watching?

…goes the clock.

Pondering listening impairments...

Thank y’all for the mouse feedback!

It appears that this bitch may have stumbled upon an existing mouse debate. Humane traps…mouse-based responses to humane traps…karma being what karma is…and the fact that this bitch isn’t going to be placing poison in my house because I already have trouble remembering where I put my motherfucking keys much less where I put the motherfucking toxin (wink)…is it any wonder my head spineth?

The cat option was voted down by Theo the BayMaster and Betsey the Original sorta-beagle, both of whom are…well, there’s no other way to put it…the sorta-beagles are anti-feline. Feline sensitivity training is a work in progress, but a bitch doesn’t even want to consider the civil war that will break out if I bring a cat into my dawg dominated lair!

This bitch has decided to inspect our old as hell house for points of unauthorized rodent entry and take it from there.

Lawd, give me strength!

Moving forward whilst casting glances at corners in search of mice-based visitors…

As a practitioner of bitchitude this bitch is full of opinions.

Some people golf…I bitch.

Listening is my most important tool since most of my opinions bounce off of other folk’s opinions or theories.

But the sad fact is that a lot of people do not listen…they just wait for others to finish talking. That fact rarely causes problems when the subject is whether or not Lindsey Lohan will be sharing a jail cell with Paris Hilton. But when we get down to the bitness of discussing the important social topics that the media is too busy discussing Lohan’s Lost Weekend to touch upon...cough...those listening impairment problems become one hell of a stumbling block on the road to understanding shit.

Blink.

My father worked in corporate America for years and was a master observer. After a week spent slinging bullshit through meeting after boring assed meeting my father liked to play the listening game on Saturdays.

ABB’s father to the doughnut shop counter person… “Hi! How are you doing today?” He always sounded beyond cheerful and had a huge grin on his face.

Doughnut ship counter person to ABB’s father without looking up from the task of filling someone else’s order… “I’m great, sir! And how are you?”

“I’m just horrible! Thanks for asking!”…was my father’s response in that same cheerful voice.

“Glad to hear it. And what can I get for…excuse me?”

Ah, the joy of getting cinnamon doughnuts while making someone’s brain hurt on a Saturday morning.

Sigh.

Anyhoo…

Responses are expected to be predictable and folks don’t want to have to listen anymore.

Which may explain why no one understands a damned thing anymore.

People not understanding shit was bad enough if you were stuck waiting behind my father and this bitch at the doughnut shop on a Saturday…stuck watching the painfully deliberate processing of unexpected language in what was supposed to be a predictable exchange followed by a 'I don’t get it' smile on the face of the counter person who by then had completely forgotten the order he was filling.

Wince followed by wicked grin.

But things are much more complicated and there is a hell of a lot more on the line when folks encounter listening impairments with our government or some such gathering of people who don't listen and yet control a lot of important shit.

Blink.

Logs off and mentally examines the odds of making it home without stopping for doughnut-based joy on the way...

HTFWDSHTS?

A bitch hopes that everyone had a safe Memorial Day weekend!

Jumping right in...

HTFWDSHTS?
This morning...as I stood on our back porch drowning a mouse in the trash can from beneath the kitchen sink...my thoughts ran to the meaning of life.

Blink.

What?

Okay, let me back up a wee bit.

C-Money and a bitch live in a 110 year old house. Old as hell houses without cats are prone to mice. Not a mouse infestation mind you (shudder as images from that KFC in NYC teaming with rats float through my mind…uh!) but rather the occasional tiny mouse tempted by whatever the fuck tempts mice to venture into old as hell houses.

Last year, C-Money declared war on a mouse that was squatting in our pantry. The mouse willfully defied the off with your head traps she set everywhere. We’d hear a pop…and then see the little fucker taking off for a dark corner.

Ooooh, and our dawgs couldn’t be bothered chasing after a mouse! They see a fly in the room and they go crazy but they see a mouse…don’t get me started.

Anyhoo, C-Money declared war and the mouse appeared to be winning (sorry honey, but it’s the truth!)…but fear not, for Ms. C had a secret weapon.

The Bug Man!

Our bug spray guy came to spray and C-Money confessed the losing strategy with the mouse. He shared that many a homeowner underestimated the mouse insurgency but that a new way forward was available. Based on the Pest Study Group Report, we should put sticky traps throughout the house and specifically in high mouse insurgency areas like the pantry.

Fast-forward several months into the surge of sticky traps…and there I was confronting a trapped mouse at 3-ish in the morning.

HTFWDSHTS...ummm, in translation...how the fuck would David Sedaris handle this shit?

Blink.

What?

Oh, come on…everyone’s read the rodents in France story by Sedaris.

Lawd!

Well, David…we’re not close but I feel as if I know him…wink…David would drown the rodent on the porch.

So, there I stood…tired as hell…drowning a mouse in the kitchen trash can on the back porch.

There was no moment of glee…no rush of victory.

It was just me and that mouse with life and death between us.

I kept watching and eventually the mouse stopped struggling.

But victory over that mouse didn't do a damn thing to prevent future mice from coming in.

A world free of mice is not an option. To prevent a lone mouse from coming into the house I'd have to destroy them all. That's not wise...they do serve a purpose, right? Just not in our pantry!

Mayhap a bit of mouse hole intelligence gathering followed by diplomatic patching is in order?

Sigh.

This bitch went back to sleep pondering rodent blood feuds…

The control behind getting to..

I've been thinking a lot about control. Not the Janet Jackson Control...though I adore that Ms. Jackson for that contribution to the soundtrack of bitchitude (wink). Nope, a bitch is talking about the need some feel to control the behavior of others.

A bitch grew up subject to other people seeking to control my life, which is why I really can't stand that shit now. The suffocating social controls of suburban society in the 1980s...my mother's paranoid control over all things that increased as she steadily lost control of her life...my peers seeking to control my ambitions for fear that they might highlight their personal weaknesses...and the people in my world constantly telling my black ass what black people do/think/eat/like/hate/want/desire/should do.

A bitch is a culture junkie without shame and it has long offended my inner anthropologist when motherfuckers feel compelled to accuse this bitch of not behaving black enough.

Curiously, these 'you are not black' indictments come hand in hand with the and 'you're probably a man too' statements.

Pause...consider...continue.

Because it's not enough to indict my cultural and racial legitimacy...no, my gender must be questioned as well.

Blink...frown...push on.

Which in a sad way is a rather black woman based experience...to be seen as something other than black, which The Man sees as male while at the same time being something other than a woman, which The Man sees as white.

Interesting, isn't it?

Cough.

Well, I see it as a form of attempted control and this bitch ain't having it!

Why are my thoughts not the thoughts of a black woman? Who decides that shit...are they licenced or degreed? And which university is handing out a Masters of Supreme Assholia degree!?!

Who gets to be a feminist? Why are some academics forever at each other's throats unless they are distracted by the fresh meat of a non-academic who dared to venture into the protected woodlands of feminist theory? How did something so broad become the protected fortress of the narrow minded?

What does it mean for us all if a theory of empowerment becomes a tool of oppression and a symbol of denial?

Who gets to articulate black female anger? And who gets to decide who gets to do all that shit?

Why does this bitch intimidate you, threaten you, make you lash out as if to protect...

...what exactly?

Your throne...your territory...the pathetic comfort of your desperate stereotypes...

...or your control?

Shit check your bag, asshole...'cause you've already lost that.

You wanna lose something else?

A Memorial Day memory…

My beloved father, who died several years ago, and this bitch used to have a Memorial Day tradition.

He was born in 1939 and cut his teeth through WWII during which time he developed a fascination with WWII films and history. Every Memorial Day I would wake up, fix a massive breakfast of yumminess and wait impatiently for my father. We’d chat and take care of some basic chores…work before fun, always (wink)…and then we would settle in front of the television set and watch movies or programs about WWII, Korea and Vietnam.

As one program blended into another my father would occasionally comment about his days in the Air Force. My father credited the Air Force with giving him a lot…discipline, strategic thinking and the confidence that comes from learning how to execute complex skills under pressure.

The Air Force was the first place where my father was given expectations and expected to meet them. Not fail, but meet and/or exceed high expectations. My father left the Air Force believing in himself for the first time. With that belief and some nice ‘thanks for your service now get yourself an education, son’ funding he struggled yet succeeded to get an education then build the life he dreamed of as a bitterly poor young man so long ago.

And that belief ran head on into the reality of American during the mid 1960’s…into the reality of prejudice and racism…into the harshness of guaranteed failure and low if not no expectations. Like so many, my father’s military service only took him so far before segregation came into play. But like so many, his service showed him that he could…should, but for the color of his skin, go farther. I have always believed that my father would never have become committed to social justice if his experience post service hadn’t been dehumanizing by comparison.

This Memorial Day my father will not be there but our tradition lives on.

A bitch shall eat a huge breakfast and watch documentaries on The History Channel. I’ll consume too much ice cream while watching A Soldier’s Story, Stalag 17, Platoon and The Bridge On The River Kwai on Turner Classic Movies.

And I will remember those lost to war and those still in combat.

There is a power in remembrance. I can’t help but think that folks wouldn’t be so quick to rush into conflict if the wounds of war ached in constant remembrance.

Lawd knows I’ve looked into the eyes of many for whom remembrance is no longer optional…no longer a simple choice of programming on a Monday afternoon.

Those in the service who can still read a bitch’s blog (wink) should know that you are ever in my prayers…

...‘til we study war no more.

By request, the Sorta-Beagles...

C-Money needs to take some new pictures of my dawg-niece Sweetie, but here are my sorta-beagles!

Theo looking unhappy 'cause we were ointing his eyes to clear up an infection.

Theo hopeful for a treat.

And my beloved Betsey, fed up with all the fuss about Theo.

Gawd, I just adore hounds...

History repeating…

This bitch may have to break out the Watergate documentary tonight and indulge in a comparison between the corrupt assed shit the Nixon administration did and the current skin abscess fit to burst that is Bush’s closet full of political scandals.

Long time readers know that a bitch is a history addict with a special adoration for Watergate. I was born during that scandal…grew up on a diet of “this is why you can’t trust The Man”…and have always been fascinated by the fucktitude that was the Nixon administration.

Each time a new Bush administration scandal breaks I can’t help but think of Nixon. Yes, other President’s have been fuck ups. Hell, even beloved President’s have lost their minds at one time or another. But it takes a uniquely fucked administration to match Nixon on paranoid speculation, secret governments within our government, secret spy departments within departments, out right lying, more lying, spying on citizens without authority and using the weapons of government against political enemies.

The latest turd to be added to the pile is a minion revolt coupled with a word this bitch associates with the fall of all things Nixonian.

That’s right…you guessed it…immunity.

As in ‘John Dean was given immunity and then proceeded to vomit all of Nixon’s business into the public record…specifically his business of taping himself’.

Fast-forward and we arrive at a certain Susan Ralston who would be more than happy to tell Congress about Abramoff and Rove and so forth and so on…as long as she gets immunity.

Ralston may have the goods, having been Abramoff’s assistant before she went to work for Rove.

Blink.

And the fact that the West Wing has been talking shit about how they weren’t close to Abramoff…were never close to him…don’t even know each other’s middle names and are not nor have ever been BFFEs...only makes me suspicious.

Mmhmmm, that shit never passed the smell test for me...nor has it proven to be true.

Sigh.

But as eager as I am to see someone testify about something that they can recall under oath…ugh…a bitch does understand why Rep. Henry Waxman (D-California) is being cautious.

I just hope we don’t wind up with a building full of flies before someone agrees to play Dean and state on the record that they recall a lot of shit being ‘round the house.

Thou shalt not…

…plot to detonate explosive devices in an attempt to prevent protests at the funeral of a certain protest inspiring Reverend.

Heavens!

I've read the Bible several times and blowing up thyne enemies because they may tax thy wig through vocal protest wasn't in there.

Not even in the NIV version (wink).

Lawd, have mercy.

Speaking of political theater…

There’s been some movement on the Russian poisoning story, chil’ren!

A British court has charged a certain Andrei Lugovoi with poisoning Alexander Litvinenko using Polonium-210.

Gasp!

The Russians told the British to go fuck themselves and are refusing to extradite Lugovoi.

Oh, no they didn’t?

Yes they did!

Blink.

What?

Anyhoo, this is how it plays out in my Three Days of the Condor influenced mind.

The Russians move first and with breathtaking aggression by dispatching a former KGB officer to take out…well, umm…another former KGB officer. With alarming arrogance the Russians utilized a poison that is only available to a limited number of countries…all but declaring to the world “we’ve killed this talkative motherfucker and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it!”

They met with the target…maybe rubbed their glowified hands all over his face and mouth…blink…or, mayhap just drop a dollop of Polonium-210 into his tea when he wasn’t watching. Then they took off on a jet plane back to Russia…where I assume they took some sort of antidote…or someone’s going to have to explain how they are still alive after coating London proper with radioactive material.

Ahem.

Condor...I mean Litvinenko (wink) gets sick…he enters the hospital…and in a scene hauntingly reminiscent of D.O.A they tell him he’s been murdered but isn’t dead yet!

Jesus!

So, in his final act of protest, Litvinenko went off old school and told the world that Putin is a shady motherfucker who killed him even though he wasn’t dead yet.

Then he died.

The British investigated…found that half of London was covered in glowified shit…narrowed the search and even went to Russia to do interviews.

And now we have a…uh…a declaration of intent?

Shit, it’s not like they can really arrest this dude!

Putin isn't even taking London’s phone calls.

Blink.

And he’s going to get away with that arrogant shit...again.

Which may be why certain countries in the world have figured out that one doesn’t need diplomatic skills nor does one have to tolerate dissent if you has nuclear weapons and a fear inspiring radioactive war chest...hmmm?

Shit.

We're knee deep in a hot war and folks are kicking off a cold war at the same damn time...

Back to the bitness of bitchitude…

Let’s jump right the hell on in, shall we?

A certain Scooter B. took time out of his hectic vacation...wait a minute...I said hold up!

Why the hell hasn’t anyone taken President Bush’s lazy ass to task for vacationing whilst the nation is at war after criticizing the Iraqi government for attempting to vacation while their nation is at war?

Shit!

Shark-fu’s slightly off topic rant…

We are about to go into the Memorial Day weekend and this bitch is once again disgusted that Scooter B. is on vacation. If a normal citizen fucked up as much shit on their job as Scooter B. has fucked up on his they’d be fired. Shit they may be held criminally liable. But they sure as shit wouldn’t be given a vacation while the shit spirals of their own creation continue to spew.

I don’t want to hear any bullshit about how hard the job is. If the current state of events is what results from “working hard” then I, as his motherfucking citizen-based employer, don’t think the situation is working out. Mmhmmm…might be past time for him to get gone! Or take his ass back to the office and get something done.

Lawd, give me strength!

End of Shark-fu's slightly off topic rant.

Where was I?

Oh yes…this bullshit!

Democrats are preparing a no-confidence vote on Attorney General Gonzales. A certain Senator Spector thinks that Gonzales will resign before the vote, but then again he also bought into that magic bullet nonsense back in the day.

Blink.

Upon hearing that Democrats were going to publicly state that they do not have confidence in an Attorney General that anyone with a lick of common sense would still have confidence in…cough…Scooter B. spoke out calling the move “pure political theater”.

He then went on to have his friend's back…said Gonzales did nothing wrong…and then attempted to chastise government for being distracted by this very distracting shit.

Never you mind that the reason folks are going to having this sorta-vote is because Gonzales ran an office dedicated to just about everything but THE MOTHERFUCKING JOB THEY WERE APPOINTED TO DO!

And never you mind that Scooter B’s confidence track record is frightfully bad. He had confidence in No Child Left Behind... confidence that there were weapons of mass destruction…confidence that the insurgency wasn’t a long term threat…confidence that a lasting democracy could be built like a fucking IKEA coffee table…oh, and don’t forget Brownie!

Makes a bitch wonder if he knows what confidence means.

Hell, no-confidence might just be the understatement of the century…

Ah, honey honey..!

A bitch has been fascinated by reports that all the honeybees have disappeared and that scientists are having trouble figuring it out.

Confession - I keep waiting for someone to put for the Bee Rapture theory.

What?

Oh c’mon!

It ain’t exactly a long walk from Intelligent Design to Bee Raptures.

Anyhoo, news that honeybees are disappearing really did freak me out. Shit, if there was a Bee Rapture we’d all be fucked! Bees are necessary…big time.

Well, this story on CNN.com calmed my fears. Mayhap the bees of America didn’t get spirited up to heaven after all! They’ve just gone underground to mount a honeybee-based attack against North American humans.

Blink.

Oh, go ahead and doubt me!

Mark my words…this was just a dress rehearsal of bee-based aggression.

These bees are pissed, heavily armed with stingers and have demonstrated stealth capabilities!

Mmmhmmm, makes you look at honey in a different way.

Logs off to place large order for EpiPens...

Unamazing...

This bitch had to step back from the computer this weekend and get my head back together.

Blink.

Okay, maybe not get it back together…I can’t claim to have been right in the head in the first place…but at least closer to my individual definition of a healthy mental state (wink).

As most of you know last week was full to bursting with concern for a 14 year old young woman I know who was raped. I can share that she is not pregnant as a result of the rape. I can also share that the waiting and worrying over whether she was pregnant or not was torture...torture. Since she was not given the option of emergency contraception at the hospital, I believe that torture was unnecessary and unethical.

Sigh.

I made myself sick with worry and the worry doesn’t go away simply because she is not pregnant.

I officially hit overwhelmed Saturday.

This bitch stayed up all night…couldn’t sleep for shit. There I was…watching but not really seeing television…thinking over and over again about some of the encouragement people shared last week.

People have said that I’m an amazing person…that the young woman in question is lucky to have me in her life…and that my volunteer work is extraordinary.

Now don’t get me wrong, I find that kind of communication very encouraging…to a point. It can easily become something else...fuel for a perception that could be dangerous.

I am not an amazing person.

Cough.

Well, I am amazing (wink)…but not because I volunteer.

Trust that this isn’t a dig for praise…I’m way more obvious when searching for adoration.

Ask yourself the question I asked myself Saturday night whilst not sleeping.

Should folks that volunteer and are activists within their community be considered amazing or heroes or special?

What does seeing them that way mean…what impact does elevating them have on society’s perception of the participant citizen?

I think that way of thinking creates an environment where volunteering, being a mentor, supporting your community through action and participating in local organizations is the exception not the norm.

And this bitch thinks that society reflects the outcome of that…big time.

Pause…consider…continue.

I am a volunteer.

That isn’t exceptional or amazing.

Young women aren’t lucky to have me participate in their lives.

I’m lucky that they tolerate me being there (wink)…and we are blessed to have each other.

The way I see it, we may need to redefine amazing to really address some of the shit that really needs addressing.

Just a thought...

A Thirst for Life based Thank You!

A bitch was at my beloved AMP in support of Thirst for Life last night and just wanted to thank everyone who came in and got their drink on in support of this fundraiser.

Y’all rock!

And a very special Thank You to all y’all at AMP for being fantabulous…for donating 25% of your beverage sales to PAWS (oh my!)...and for making one hell of a vodka cran!

Oh, and locals should save the date for AMP’s official Grand Opening Bash.

AMP
Friday June 1, 2007
4200 Manchester in The Grove
5pm – 3am (Lawd, give me strength!)

Check out the new patio, nibble on yummified munchables and get your drink on in celebration of AMP’s brand-spanking (wink) new location!

Thanks again for supporting Thirst for Life because Pets Are Wonderful Support!

Pondering diplomatic curb kicking...

A bitch took a moment to search the internets for a news-based story that might divert my troubled mind from fretting.

And damn it all to hell and back if I didn’t stumble upon this shit.

A certain Wolfowitz…not to be confused with the Wolfie B. of the Blitzer variety over at CNN…looks to be heading to the curb.

Slowly…with excruciating input and review…and above all diplomatically, because Gawd forbid an unethical American asshole get fired for being an unethical asshole who happens to be from America...Wolfowitz may be headed to the curb.

Blink.

A bitch prefers rapid and painful 'on the curb before you can spit' depositing of worthy assholes myself…but maybe that’s just me.

Anyhoo…

As you probably already know, Wolfowitz of the would be the reincarnation of McNamara if McNamara were dead Wolfowitzes got set up at the World Bank post leaving the Bush Administration(nice payoff, motherfucker)…at some point hooked up with a woman already working there or got his main thang a job there (does it matter?)…inappropriately promoted said woman…and then allegedly set out to take over and run the World Bank like the absolute monarchy he clearly feels his royal in his own mind ass has been denied in this lifetime.

Cough.

Since he ain’t slick…totally is not slick...couldn't be slick with training...cough...Wolfowitz fucked up the execution of his flawed plan.

And then time slowed down…clocks seemed to move as if through mud…and this bitch began to observe the slowest onto the curb depositing of someone beyond worthy of getting intimate as hell with the curb I have witnessed in a long ass time.

I mean, daaaaaaammmmmn!

Don't get me wrong...I understand that diplomatic curb kicking is complex. One would think that a person exposed as a fuck up…then examined and found to be an official fuck up…wouldn’t let the system get around to the official curb kicking.

Doesn't anyone resign anymore?

But these Bushies are a rare breed of ass.

Lawd, they are as resistant to correction as flesh eating bacteria!

Shudder...and then return to fretting.

Nancy G.'s Article at Politico...

Please take a moment to check out the fantabulous Nancy Goldstein's article over at Politico.com.

Go on with your bad self, sister-friend!

Faith…

Thank you all for your comments to yesterday’s post. I really appreciate your support.

I want y’all to know that I don’t share stories from my life to inspire defeat. I share them to gain strength in numbers…to be refueled for the struggle…and to keep this shit real in my heart and mind.

So thank you for your prayers, advice and concern.

Several of you have asked for an update. For obvious reasons I am limited as to what I can say, but I will share what I can. We will be able to confirm if there is or isn’t a pregnancy within the next week. The police have been notified and the rape is being investigated.

As for the hospital in question, I have contacted them and plan to have a sit down soon. Trust that I’ll let y’all know what’s what once that meeting is over.

An anonymous comment asked who I was to take a 14 year old to Planned Parenthood. Well, I’m the human being who was there at that moment in her life. I believe that I was supposed to be there and take that young woman someplace where she could get answers and options. I’m grateful for that and would do it again in a heartbeat.

Another comment asked where her parents are. I knew that one was coming. There is the world of parenthood we would like and then the world that really exists. Parents are human…some are fantabulous…and some are not. Not every parent is there for their child and some of those that are there are not the parents you want with you when dealing with drama.

But the “where were her parents” question speaks to the assumption that they are not “good parents”. How could they be? If they were “good parents” their child wouldn’t have “gotten herself into trouble” then sought out an AngryBlackBitch to help out.

Right?

Wrong.

I know that song and I’m in no mood to dance.

Sigh.

We can acknowledge this reality…see the system failures within it for what they are…and do something.

Contact your local Planned Parenthood or NARAL or ACLU and ask them what the hell is going on regarding Emergency Contraception in your area. Find out if there are incidents of hospitals refusing to offer it…find out if pharmacies have refused to fill prescriptions…find out if there are age limits on access, what those limits are and ask why those limits are.

Know who the local rape counseling agencies are and what they are in need of…who is offering what services and how they are doing…what shelters are where and what they need to continue to provide services.

Get familiar with the violent crime statistics in your community. Find out what the hell is being done about it and what you should be aware of as a resident. Find out what you need to alert your friends and family of.

Find out what the real is…and then do something.

I did not share this with y’all to demoralize and I sincerely hope that isn’t the result. I want you to know that by sharing it I have felt rage shift to anger and confusion shift to purpose.

Even in moments like this we are not powerless.

Particularly in moments like this we must be powerful.

Be blessed.

Untitled…

This past Saturday I had a happening that I am struggling to deal with.

A 14 year old young woman I know told me that she had been raped.

She related that she went home after and then noticed that she was bleeding.

She then went to the hospital where she was examined. She was offered counseling and testing…and comfort in the arms of nurses and a doctor.

Then she was sent home.

Six days later we met for a Saturday outing.

When she told me I was horrified for her…deflated because this young woman has already been through a lot of shit in her life...and angry that rape was now being added to a list that reads like an indictment of our society’s devaluing of human dignity and life.

Then I asked her if she was offered emergency contraception.

She wasn’t.

I asked if she knew what emergency contraception is.

She did, but admitted that she was too upset to even think about asking for it.

That’s when I got angry.

As I drove her to Planned Parenthood…I offered that as a way to get a handle on her options and she accepted…my blood pressure shot through the roof.

A 14 year old was raped…she did the right thing and went to the hospital…she was offered tests and counseling…but she wasn’t offered emergency contraception.

As a sister in the struggle I am beyond words.

A 14 year old was raped and she wasn’t offered the emergency contraception I have personally spent time working to make available to all women who find themselves in such situations.

I certainly want 14 year old rape victims to be given the option.

I sure as shit wanted the young woman in question to have been.

When we arrived at Planned Parenthood we got another dose of reality. It was too late for emergency contraception but too early to find out if the monster who raped her had also gotten her pregnant.

With an appointment having been set we left…walked out and got into my car…drove past the crowd of anti-choice protesters who chose that moment to thrust dead baby pictures at my window…and out onto the road.

I drove…and then I pulled over, turned and folded her into my arms.

We wept…rocking back and forth on the side of the road...and I have no idea who was comforting whom.

The thing is...this young woman is strength.

That 14 year old is the very definition of what strength is.

But I am struggling to turn rage back into usable energy…frustration into action.

Beyond the rhetoric and policy debates over emergency contraception there are clients and patients.

Beyond all the political bullshit there are women who deserve the respect of choice.

Now I know that there are those who speak of a world where emergency contraception is never necessary.

But for those of us who live in the real world choice is very necessary.

In this specific case, a lack of choice has a 14 year old rape victim counting days and praying for her menstrual cycle to come early…all while trying to come to terms with having been raped in the first place.

I am struggling to come to terms with that.

Struggling to put these feelings into words that motivate something…anything…some kind of understanding that women’s lives are involved in this shit! Women with hopes and dreams and fears who are being denied choices because of someone else’s feelings on the issue of emergency contraception…because of misinformation about the issue of emergency contraception...

…because some seek dominion through this issue of emergency contraception.

And I just can’t make myself come to terms with that.

Thirst for Life and this bitch...

Last year they called it Cocktails for Life...and now they are calling it Thirst for Life.

Blink.

Anyhoo, a drink-based festitude event is going down next week and it benefits PAWS (Pets Are Wonderful Support)!

Please join this bitch at AMP Thursday May 17, 2007

AMP has agreed to donate 25% to PAWS!

When - Thursday May 17, 2007

from 6pm until they kick us out

Where - AMP 4200 Manchester StL, 63110 (314) 652-5267

Why - because Pets Are Wonderful Support, damnit!

Come the fall...

This bitch caught the end of a news bit this morning and had to dig a wee bit deeper.

It seems that Republican lawmakers aren’t so opposed to war-based deadlines after all!

Blink.

They just want to set them with Scooter B. rather than the Iraqi government.

Blink again.

CNN is reporting that GOP lawmakers had a meeting with a certain President Scooter B. and…well, they spoke to him bluntly.

Which begs the question of how they have been speaking to his ass up to now…but a bitch suspects they went from kissing that ass to avoiding it like the plague and didn’t bother to pause at blunt talking.

Cough.

GOP lawmakers want to see progress in Iraq by September…but they have no bloody idea what to do if they don’t see progress by September. They have been hammering away at Democrats for allegedly not having a viable plan, but are now lifting the basic framework of the Dems sorta-viable plan and applying it to Scooter B. and his minions...err, administration.

A bitch’s sources (wink) tell me that the GOP Ain’t No Jive Talking Anymore non-binding sorta-ultimatum may also involve lighting candles and a lot of late night shredding.

Gawd, I can so see how that meeting went down!

Scooter B. looking pinched faced and avoiding eye contact like you know he used to do every fucking time he fucked something up in the past…and he has fucked a lot of shit up in his lifetime.

Condi having his back on this mess in the face of all logic…but freakishly maintaining eye contact with her unblinking and apparently blind to reality gaze.

Rove looking bitter, pinched of face as well and emitting a foul someone is rotting from within odor.

And all those GOP lawmakers telling Scooter B. that he now has a September deadline and that he’s lost credibility so they no longer want to see his dumb ass on television.

Well pinch me and call me Sharktastic!

My guess is that they got the new polling data and shat themselves.

Shit, this fear of being tossed out in 2008 may have some benefits.

The Iraqi governmental vacation is rather unpopular too. Maybe Congress will lead by example and cancel their vacations?!?

Uh...well, probably not.

The odds are better that Paris Hilton will get a pardon...

A pondering inspired while limping...

A bitch would like to thank everyone who has inquired about my fucked up leg!

The sprain is healing…slowly…and the swelling is still there. I’m going back to the doctor for another x-ray to double check on the possibility of a hairline fracture.

Ugh.

Anyhoo, since a bitch has been limping about St. Louis I’ve noticed some things.

Shall we?

A Pondering inspired by limping through St. Louis…
A bitch is not one to wait for others to open doors for me. It took me forever and a day to get used to that shit when I lived in Texas! But my fucked up leg has resulted in some slow ass walking. Most people make it to the door before me and it is the rare motherfucker who doesn’t pause to hold it open.

People slow down to match their pace with me…offer to carry things…offer medical advice.

It’s amazing!

Get this; the other day a bitch was knee deep in fubarity and seeking yummifed ice cream at the market to drown my sorrows. The flavor I was lusting after was on the top shelf but this bitch is not the tallest bitch so it was out of reach. Normally, I’d use the bottom shelf as a step and take care of bitness…but my lower leg isn’t fond of stretching in step formation right now and an ice cream flavor hasn’t been created that’s worth that kind of pain.

I wasn’t there looking at my heart’s desire…so close and yet so far away…for more than a minute before a young man approached and offered to help.

“I can see that you’ve hurt your leg. Let me get that for you!” he said.

After ice cream and thank you so muchitude were exchanged this bitch checked out and headed home…and couldn’t stop pondering what the young man had said.

Did he help because he approved of the source of my need for help?

Or was he just trying to explain his offer of assistance?

It reminded me of a volunteer-based experience I had last week. I took my limping self to volunteer at a fundraiser for Place for People. It was a fantabulous event and lots of folks showed up for yummy food, great music and glamorous people watching. The Executive Director took a moment before the auction to tell those attending a couple of mission based stories about their clients and how the money raised would help.

She told of a woman who lived on the streets, one of the thousands of mentally ill citizens who do. The woman was given emergency shelter but felt that she wasn’t good enough to live in such a place…a simple apartment that was a luxury to her.

I thought of her and of those she represents as I returned home from the markets with my ice cream…the ice cream that I am blessed to be able to afford …the ice cream someone was kind enough to get down for me.

We are a generous city. The support of the Places for People fundraiser is an example of that generosity. But it occurred to me that some people still think in terms of acceptable need.

If someone is homeless they are too often seen as lazy and manipulative…willful social drop outs or misfits who deserve their lot in life.

But many are mentally ill.

And they are people in need of a place.

As a volunteer I well know that there is joy of having helped someone. I also know that finding a safe place to stay and proper treatment shouldn’t be placed high on the top shelf…so close and yet so far away.

Those things shouldn’t be unreachable.

For more information on Place for People and the work they do please visit their web site.

Reflecting on fubarity...

Heaven to hell and back again!

Have you ever experienced a fubar day?

I’m talking hours of back to back to back to back incidents of drama on multiple fronts!

But I’m here to tell you (holds head high)…ain’t a day from hell been tossed at this bitch that will break me.

You feel me?

I’ve been broken before and that shit simply will not be happening again.

So I survived yesterday's fubarity…went to bed, but not to sleep...and woke up this morning at 5 o’clock to reflect on the previous day (wince).

This bitch is a huge fan of inner work. I have to admit that the hardest thing for me to do is to be critical of my own ass (wink). But in the end it made sense. I can only live my life and at least I’m willing to address my shit that needs addressing.

I’ve worked hard at my inner work because I grew up in a house full of blame and lacking in personal responsibility. I witnessed the damage done to self and others as my mother spent hour after hour, day after day…we’re talking years, chil’ren…blaming everyone and anyone for the shit that went wrong in her life.

And if shit went great she took full and absolute credit…of course.

Cough.

Well a bunch of challenging shit happened yesterday…and I survived to examine my role and my actions.

Not to take responsibility but to take my responsibility...and be a better bitch for it.

This bitch is thanking the Divine One for this fantabulous new day and for the ability to learn, adjust and evolve.

Sigh.

As we are liberated from our own fear our presence automatically liberates others. (Mandela)

And I'm not gonna take this anymore...

Okay?

Nope, not by a long shot.

But you can bet your ass I will be.

Bitchitude shall return tomorrow…

A nudge - Go Check Out Broadsheet…

A bitch would like to direct your attention to my post over at Salon.com’s Broadsheet.

Thanks again to the fantabulous activists at NAPW for facilitating the conference call my post refers to!

A QEII pondering...

Oh my Gawd, I am so glad Friday has arrived!

Heaven to hell and back again, this week has tried a bitch’s nerves…and then dance on them…and then kick them in the face (wince).

Anyhoo, I wanted to pause for a wee exploration of the royal (pun intended) star fucking frenzy going down over Queen Elizabeth’s visit to America.

The media is beside itself with speculation on etiquette (curtsy or bow, extend hand or wait for hand to be extended), what color outfit Queen Elizabeth would wear to each location (c’mon people!) and how the “average American” feels about our “royal visit”.

A bitch is amazed with all the flutter and bother…but then again I have a different perspective on shit like this.

Some people talk in terms of the first settled colony in the New World. This bitch talks in terms of the violent conquest of an already settled land.

Some people see a colonial vacation spot. This bitch sees yet another monument to domination, genocide and oppression.

Some get all nostalgic about how the “first settlers” lived and eventually prospered. A bitch reflects on how the prosperity of Jamestown was built on forced slave labor which resulted in my people on my father’s side of the gene pool being enslaved against their will to build the economical foundation for a nation that still struggles with words like equality and justice.

Some get romantic about an Indian princess falling for a handsome colonial hero.

I don’t.

I turn on the television set and watch Queen Elizabeth tour to crowds of adoring wanna-be subjects and the bamboozled press mob and I just don‘t get it.

But hey, folks can star fuck the Queen if they are so inclined.

This bitch doesn’t curtsy (wink).

A quick read...

A certain Courtney sent this bitch an e-mail asking all sorts of questions about my leg (still fuck up, by the way...but getting better).

Courtney with a C. thinks that a bitch should read The Secret and is pretty damned sure that my leg is fucked up because I “brought that negativity on myself” and that I need to practice the “laws of attraction” to bring about a healing of some sort.

Blink.

Courtney, please sit down.

Go on, honey…sit.

As a word of advice, telling a bitch that my sprained ankle and slow to heal leg-based area are my fault rather than the fault of that motherfucking uneven pavement combined with two overly eager to get their walk on sorta-beagles is just fucked up.

Shit, a bitch’s leg is swollen to twice its natural size!

I need an ice pack and some Aspirin, motherfucker, not a pep talk.

Cough.

I am aware of The Secret.

A bitch is all about positive thinking, but I come from the realness school of life. If something is fucked up I believe we should acknowledge that it is fucked up, study what it will take to fix it and then get about the business of making it not fucked up.

That’s positive as a motherfucker in my book.

I do not believe that America is in debt because of the laws of attraction. America is in debt because of a pork adoring Congress, flawed financial management, insane trade policies and war. The only role attraction played in that shit is that bullshit attracts flies, idiots attract fucked up policy and poor planning attracts unanticipated consequences.

Blink.

The way I see it someone ripped off Mary Baker Eddy, added some current interviews and has proceeded to cash the fuck in.

But fuck it…if it works for your Courtney, go with Gawd. Shit, you’ll probably blame yourself for attracting this bitchitude, won’t you?

Lawd, have mercy!

A bitch finds this school of thought dangerous.

If it doesn’t work for you, that’s your fault.

If it does then the book is genius.

More over, I feel that it supports the view that those who do not prosper under the American definition of prosperity have only themselves to blame.

The poor need to get up and work…the over weight need to push away from the table…so do the mentally challenged need to try to attract mental stability?

There are no real problem solving solutions contained in this model.

Just a series of validations for doing what you want to do and ignoring what you want to ignore.

So, I think I’ll take pass.

But hey, thanks for sharing Courtney with a C!

Toodles…

Let’s Talk About Sex!

This bitch it toying around with the notion of a quick trip to Chicago so that my ass can attend the Let’s Talk About Sex! 2nd Annual Conference and 10th Anniversary Celebration (go on with your bad selves, SisterSong).

The conference will take place in Chi-Town May 31 through June 3rd (anxiously glances at checkbook)…and is so close to St. Louis that a bitch really should find a way to attend (glances at checkbook again and curses the power of money).

Trust that I shall alert the Chicago-based flock of bitchitude if I confirm!

Anyhoo, a bitch was talking about sex just the other day.

Pause…lift artfully shaped eyebrow…continue.

Specifically, this bitch was chatting about a piece of information passed on to me regarding a certain former U.S. AID director Randall Tobias…and his alleged use of an alleged call girl service…and the hypocrisy of that shit in the face of his demand that others sign on to an anti-prostitution oath in exchange for aid.

Blink.

Now, a bitch should confess that I’m not at all fond of oath-like things being tied in to aid programs.

They come across as rather ‘master to slave’ to me...like the oath-based equivalent of making someone call themselves Toby.

Cough.

Tobias and his fellow Bushie minions demanded anti-prostitution oaths from countries who were trying to get some aid to fight AIDS. The oath, which was one of a whole shit load of policy-for-votes creations set forth by the we’re willing to trade policy for votes Bush administration, was so broadly worded that it prevented those receiving funds from doing outreach to sex workers.

Blink.

At first that made no sense to me…sex workers being at risk and the aid supposedly being there to deal with risk. But then I reminded myself that these minions and those they serve feel that the wages for sin should truly be death.

It struck me as fitting that Tobias, who enforced that fucked up from all angles policy, should be undone by an alleged call girl scandal.

Oh, what the heck…let’s have some fun!

***brings out the abstinence-fidelity score card with a look a glee***

Shall we proceed?

Yes indeed!

Following the "A" followed by "B" followed by "C" model...

Abstinence?

Well, he resigned rather quickly…which a bitch doubts he’d do if all he was getting was a massage.

Survey says!?!

Toby…err, ummm...Tobias gets 0 out of 3 on the abstinence tip.

Next!

Be faithful?

Blink.

I’m guessing his wife Marianne is not too pleased with his ass right ‘bout now.

Survey says!?!

That’s 0 on the faithful tip!

Last but never least…

Condoms?

Ummm.

Well, this bitch hopes he learned something from that successful Brazil-based program before he fucked it over…

Ready or not, here they come...

Whew!

A bitch has been pondering the political race that is now clearly upon us. All manner of presidential candidates, eager to dazzle and woo the middle territory that is Missouri, will be coming to town in the month of May.

Sigh.

Politics is local, chil’ren…but political campaigns rarely are.

When politicians visit St. Louis they usually attend some shined up community effort and pander to the disconnected masses by waxing on and on about how {insert name of local program shined up for campaign visit} might be recreated on a national level.

I have seen candidates swing through…visit, smile, shake hands and take pictures…and then attend some glitzy high dollar fundraiser where they give the same speech they gave yesterday which is the same speech they’ll give tomorrow…and then visit, smile, shake hands and take pictures…only to be out of town less than 10 hours from when they first entered.

An amazing accomplishment of scheduling execution that results in said candidate having seen nothing of the city, its residents or the specific issues facing those of us who live here.

Sigh.

Anyhoo, the other day I watched the political chat shows and wished Missouri was Iowa.

Blink.

What?

Shit.

In a bitch’s mind, if Missouri were Iowa we’d have intimate sit downs and chats with candidates.

Sigh.

I’ve always imagines that Caucus shit to be more one on one.

Fuck it, this bitch is envious as hell of Iowans for the face to face attention they get every four years!

I just wish…oh, how I wish....that those candidates were visiting with a bitch for a week (wink).

I’d show off my St. Louis…the awesome diversity and funky neighborhood sensibilities….the abandoned buildings in need of companies and the boarded up schools in need of students. We’d walk down Grand north of Lindell and view a street in need of repair, a community in need of jobs and people in need of representation. We would journey to shelters where so much is accomplished with so little funding or support…we’d tour mental health outreach centers where the people are connected with opportunities and statistics have names and hopes, dreams and fears.

We’d walk through amazing rebirth and established prosperity as well. I did mention that this city is diverse, didn’t a bitch?

Most importantly we would see a more complete picture. I happen to think that understanding matters.

I just don’t believe good policy can be developed from a distance…any more than I believe politics should be the domain of the wealthy and therefore connected.

But who the hell am I, right?

Just another AngryBlackBitch who those smiling candidates won’t be chatting with when they swing through my city this month to pick up those entrée granting donations that prevent political campaigns from being as local as politics will forever remain…

…who votes.

Hitchified...

Last night this bitch and C-Money settled into our couch-based areas and prepared to enjoy The Daily Show. I was all excited to see the comic spin on the recent Democratic debate.

What I was not prepared for was a Christopher Hitchens moment. Nor was I prepared for the sight of his throw back to a 1970’s porn fantasy chest hair explosion (wince).

Shit, a bitch didn’t even get a warning!

I look up to find Hitchens looking bloated and trussed up as if he were encased in a girdle-like contraption (confess, you knavish ass…the only other thing that results in that posture whilst sitting is a butt plug…blink (wink)… mmmhmmm, CONfess!). Hitch (we’re not close, but I know him like a pain) then launched into a random pitch for his latest attention seeking feat of hackdom, God is Not Great.

Cough.

Just when I was about to give him points for switching his watery gaze from his fear of all things birth-based to his fear of God and those who believe in God, he launches into a bizarre rant about all gods being born from some area other than the vagina.

Blink.

No, I’m not kidding…made my vodka cran go down the wrong way!

Something was also mentioned about sawing off the tip of a penis...it was hard to make out with that fussy accent and his tendency to sound as if he’s been holding in a massive fart for hours if not days. But I'm pretty certain I heard him say that gods are not born vaginally.

Ahem.

Which is why this bitch is now taking bets on when...not if...Hitchens pens some sort of I Was Birthed Through My Mum’s Left Ear Thus I am God article for those eager chil'ren at Vanity Fair.