We Have To Put The Game On Hold for Just a Minute For Some Actual News Type Shit

June 29, 2015

Luka Magnotta, the living embodiment of Stabby’s husband to be; the one who killed, cut up and ate his Asian friend and then had sex with the body has been allowed to join a matchmaking sight for inmates. Canadian Inmates Connect Inc is a website that tries to hook up complete psychopaths with the groupies that love them.


Apparently his profile features two pictures of the former rent boy/stripper/necrophiliac. For those of you who don’t remember, in 2012 he killed and dismembered Jun Lin and then ordered a pizza while he decided who he was going to mail the body parts to.


His sentence includes the possibility of parole after 25 years in Canada because that is apparently just how we roll. He has listed his expected release date as 2037. The still full of himself snotty little fucker stated on his site that only those he deems compatible will receive a reply. Compatible for what I wonder? A nice light snack? A full course dinner?


The chick who runs the website says she is expecting a lot of backlash over his profile to which all of Canada said “no, really?” That concludes the Luka Magnotta news, we now return you to the murder mystery in progress. RBMD Peacing the fuck out

OMG She Is Writing A Post

June 20, 2015

Hai everybody. Tis me, back from my extensive stay at the writers block café. Actually, my brain dragged me back kicking and screaming. I was screaming I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT THIS STUFF. Alas, not thinking about it is not really an option and somebody better start saying something about it soon before this thing we call life comes right off the fucking rails and we have an Exxon Valdez on our hands or some shit.

First, I love my friends on here that happen to be American. I really do. That being said, WHAT IN THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOUR COUNTRY. We share a fucking border and barring me going back to Scotland which is probably not going to happen, I do not want whatever fucked up infection you have going on down there infecting this country. I know that the rational caring people on this board are just as frightened as I am. I KNOW you are. I’m scared and I live in a different country (sort of unless the government takes my advice and builds a really fucking big wall all the way around this bitch.)

What is with all the wars? Let me tell ya. OIL. Wars are about OIL. OIL which is helping to speed the extinction event that I pray for every single night. Why? Because we as a species are completely fucked and should not be allowed to lead a family of ducks across the road never mind think we can run a planet.

Your gun laws are not only complete insanity, they are why so many spree killings take place. The NRA can suck my ass. Hear that Ted Nugent. Come here and debate me about guns. I’ve had one butted up against my head so I fucking double dog dare you to debate me about the right to fucking bear arms. What is it going to take, for real? What is it going to take before the powers that be realize that you need gun reform in a huge way. Maybe some yokel fuck will decide he hates newborns and shoot up the nicu in a hospital. Would that do it? Sadly, my gut says no.

Are you aware you have the highest incarceration rates in the world. THE WORLD. NOT like the first world but the entire fucking planet world. Think about that for a minute. Why? Because a large percentage of jails are privatized and incarceration makes money. Why are non violent offenders routinely incarcerated? I don’t give a shit if someone wants to kill themselves with heroin as long as they aren’t violent. Know what we do in Canada? Needle exchanges and a place they can go shoot their shit. Dropped our crime rate for that particular thing by 13% and nobody gets incarcerated.

How come rich people have an entirely different set of rules in the States. I don’t have data for Canada, but I will let you know once Ghomeshi the rapey fuck comes up for trial.

My biggest question, and the one that keeps me up at night. How did the 1% brainwash the 99% that they needed to become cogs in a wheel that never stops going around to keep the 1% in their cheddar? How did that become a thing and why do we accept it as the norm. Work more, make more, buy more, credit, credit, credit, owe till the day you die, rinse and repeat for the next generation. As an aside, Canada is just as bad for that as the US is.

I’m not picking on the US. I’m not. But holy fuck, you have people walking around pretending to be black because why not, you have black people that are 10 years old screaming about oppression and slavery and all that shit. Were they there? Were you? Why do they get to comment on it? That is like me bitching that England stole Scotland. THINK ABOUT IT. I was born in Scotland, Scotland used to have it’s own monarchy and now we belong to the UK. Waaaaay before my time. There were bloody wars, a shit ton of Scots died, were raped, they tried to breed the scot out of us (yes that is a true story) and yet we survived and yes, the old timers hate the British. I don’t, wasn’t there, don’t care this is the way it is now.

I think it is sick as fuck that there is still this black white thing going on in the US. Why can nobody get it that all color is’ is the amount of melanin in your skin. That’s it, that’s all. It is a pigmentation, not a breed. We all have the same organs, we all bleed red, we all want the same things. A little fucking peace. The African Americans of the NOW, this generation, they were never slaves, or segregated or any of that shit. Maybe their parents or grandparents were. Maybe they want to propagate that poor me mentality, but it makes no more sense than me saying I think I will go pick a fight with the UK because they stole my land. It’s all just bullshit. ALL OF IT.

And no white people, I didn’t leave you out because it seems that every fucker with a gun lately is a white guy. Feeling a little inadequate are we you fucking loser. You go to a place of worship and open fire. I bet the devil wants to know when you show up cuz even he went “damn son”.

Everybody, EVERY SINGLE PERSON needs to stop with the racial stereotyping. BOTH WAYS. People are fucking people. Good people and bad people come in every color that we have. All lives matter. Not just black, not just white, not just yellow, not just brown. ALL LIVES MATTER. Hashtag that everyone. #alllivesmatter

I’m heartsick, I’m sad, and I am so damn angry and so should you be. This isn’t going to stop until the governments of the 1% hear us and they are not going to hear a couple of thousand people. It’s got to stop. We are slowly killing our species, and our hope and the future and nobody can see the forest for the trees and that right there is the saddest thing of all.

RBMD peacing the fuck out.

Mama Speaks-Gremlins Have Stolen the Comments! (And “The Tale of the Tail”)

June 14, 2015

Where the FLIP did the comments on the previous blog go??!  I was fixin to comment on Kelly’s “writers block” and ask her if “writers block was catching (cuz I think I got it too!)…when I noticed that all of the “reply” buttons were gone.., so, here is a new blog to just comment away on!

The heat is awful here…and papa and his blood thinners and mama with her hot flashes are gonna be the death of one of us!  
Health report from down south…Thursday I get my new left eye…just the cataract removal and new IOL..easy-peasy!
Boo report…when we returned home from Alaska last September, Boo had Itchy Butt….He had never had IB (itchy butt) before we left was because we don’t have a yard, so he never had the chance to spend extended periods out in the heat and humidity,,,(or just sit in the wet grass)…but…at the Dog Sitters home…he could go in and out whenever he wanted…so was outside all the time!  
Frenchies are born with a little “nub” of a tail (rarely longer than your little finger)…Boo’s tail is even shorter than normal…in fact, it is almost an “inny” instead of an “outie”…it is surrounded by fur, and butt muscles…and doesn’t stick out very far…as a result…it seems to always be “moist” now…and all us girls know about what can happen to warm, furry, moist places…
Boo is too short and chubby to actually reach his tail to bite at the itch…so he must resort to a rather cute move that we call “the Boo Boogie”…we didn’t know at first what he was doing and why…we thought he was just entertaining us…but…one day, just looking, I discovered a big area, under his tail that was all red and itchy looking…
I’d heard so many times from the vet to use baby aspirin, or Benadryl …you know, human medications,,,that my first thought on a Saturday afternoon was…”Well, get the Vagisil”…..my poor husband laughs at some of my exploits…but putting a “feminine hygiene product” on our male dog’s tail was just too much for his sensibilities!  But…it stopped the itching, for a few hours anyway!
Monday morning, I took Boo to the vet…they weighed him and did all the doodah that the vet does.  When the Doctor came in, I explained about Itchy Butt anf using the Vagisil…I noticed that the Vet assistant was trying not to laugh!  So, they took Boo back to the back room again,,,and I waited a few minutes…and then I hear the loudest laughter….when the assistant brought Boo back to the room, I noticed that she looked like she had just had a good laugh at the woman who had put Vagisil on her dogs butt!!
Anyway…the doc said “yes, he has a yeast infection….” And she gave him a shot and some medicine…his little IB got better for a month,,,or so…and he started doing the Boogie again,,,back to the vet…who says…”it’s a bacterial infection”. (How many of us have cured one thing,,,just to get something else?). So, back home with a prescription for antibiotics….which worked for a while….
Since September, I’ve accumulated 12 bottles of medications…(have I confessed I’m a hoarder?) anyway…Poor Boo…we take ALL sorts of precautions…always wiping his butt after he “does business” …using unscented baby wipes…being sure to wipe AWAY from his tail, so that no “nasty” gets underneath in that hot, moist, furry area…every other day, we use a special wipe all around his tail, then use a special powder to keep it dry…
So…he was doing the Boogie again last week…Papa said “I made an appointment at the exotic animal hospital for Boo, I’m worried…”  So, we get to the Exotic Animal Hospital…and they recommend a surgery on his tail…this seems to be an issue with many short-tailed animals in this area of the world…so they recommended a surgeon…a tail specialist…
So, after seeing the specialist, Boo has an appointment to get his tail worked on…his surgery is Tuesday…we will drop him off at 7 am …this should solve the poor fellows case of itchy butt.  The surgeon was a nice man…had nice firm hands…so I trust that Boo will be safe.
So, there it is…the tale of the tail…
Now…I wonder if there is a specialist to remove my writers block?

Mama Remembers-Do You?

June 8, 2015

Where were you November 22, 1963?

Do you remember your first 45?  Your first LP?  Or first transistor?
Reel-to-reel tape deck?  8-track tapes?
Did you play “pong”?  Hula hoops, Chatty Cathy, Betsy Wetsy & Barbie!  Silly putty, Slinkey, Mr. Potato Head & ViewMaster.
ONLY CBS, NBC and CBS!  Remember the National Anthem was played at 2am, followed by the “test pattern”?
Putting tin foil on the TV antenna.  Getting up to change the channel (no remote) and change the volume.
Do you remember what L.S.M.F.T. stood for?
Who/what would rather “fight than switch”?
My “fancy” semi-formal 6th grade graduation dress was VERY expensive!  It cost $22!
I received my first pair of “French Heels” in 1965, along with a garter best and my first “nylons”.  (Pantyhose weren’t available until 1970!)
We realize now that “Duck & Cover” was not going to save us!
Did you have both “hat & gloves” for Easter Services?
TV dinners were in metal trays that had to be baked, because microwaves weren’t available.
Roller skates had a “key”, were metal and had metal wheels for using on concrete.
Telephones had “dials” not buttons.  In every house, ONE phone and ONE TV.  
Phone was on a “party line”…nosy neighbors would listen in.
S & H Green Stamps
Mr. GreenJeans
Manual typewriters and Gregg Shorthand.  Carbon paper.
WRITING letters and mailing them.  Long distance call was a “treat”.
Men landing on the MOON!
Percolator coffee pots.
Girls couldn’t wear pants to school, only dresses.
Nurses wore all white.  With their “caps”.
Pay phones.
Home Economics (girls only) Woodshop (boys only)

The In House Psychic Presents Stabby’s Obituary

June 5, 2015

Hello everyone. Sorry you get me today. Seems that the boss broke out in a laughing fit over something on the internet this morning and hasn’t been able to stop. Anyway, since Stabby is going to die in prison I thought that it would be nice of me to save everyone some time and write her obituary for her. I hope she appreciates all this work. (No I don’t) I’m sure that Alfred E. will be more than happy with what I have come up with. Since I’m psychic I happen to know what is going to happen to Stabby, so um, spoilers ahead.

Stabby Anal Arias was found dead in her cell at Perryville Correctional Facility. It has been reported that she died of multiple shank wounds, syphilis, ingrown anal warts, a horrible foot fungus, 3rd degree burns, and apparently rabies from one of the prairie dogs she tried to kick in the head. A traffic cone and all 31 flavors of Baskin Robins ice-cream were removed during a preliminary cavity search. A post mortem will be performed as soon as a Hasmat team can be called in.

Stabby was a gifted tracer of actual artwork and a budding yogi who did headstands whenever possible. She dabbled in amateur porn work and stalking. Her ex-boyfriends all say that she tossed a hell of a salad and expressed their extreme sadness at her expiration date. Apparently Matt McCartney was closest and won the pool. She will also be remembered for possibly the sloppiest meat flaps on the planet as well as her affinity for pigtails and making up words that sounded Einstein-y.

There will be a memorial service held at Perryville where awards will be given out for the people that helped speed her demise. There will also be a memorial service held at the KY factory because they expect sales to drop dramatically now that their poster girl is dead.

Stabby is survived by a bunch of leeches who are as we speak fighting over the irrevocable trust and a group of inmates who are still high fiving each other that she is dead. Auntie Sue could not be reached for comment as she was out Lexus shopping. Stabby’s mother simply stated “meh, I’ve got a couple more.”

Stabby will be buried in the prisoners graveyard since nobody in the family felt that they could afford the cost of retrieving and burying the body. One of them commented “to let the state do it, what do we care.”

The family asks that in lieu of flowers you just send them cash.

This has been the in house Psychic. Have a great night.


June 4, 2015
An old friend of mine owns Volcano Press.  Volcano Press has published books on domestic violence and women’s health for over 40 years.  I recently discovered that the 92-year-young owner of Volcano Press took a “bad spill last year in which she broke her right ankle, knee and shoulder. The recovery process has been long and arduous.”   Will you add Miss Ruth to your prayers or send some healing vibrations her way?  Back when the “women’s movement” was barely more than a handful of small shelters, Miss Ruth was a visionary and pioneer. She is one of the many women who helped bring about changes in our society.  In the last forty years, so many things have changed.  My goal as a child was to grow up and be either a “MOMMIE, a secretary or a stewardess” and I was expected to accept the moments my Dad or husband hit me! I remember my pastor advised me that “it is a duty to turn the other cheek, and to obey the Head of Household to ensure a harmonious home!”  It was women like Miss Ruth and her contemporaries who helped change our world.   Now, we are protected by Joe Biden’s federally funded Violence Against Women Act, and women like Hillary Clinton have  run for the Presidency and served as Secretary of State!  Miss Ruth is “feisty”, like we are.

Sadly, I never had the opportunity to come to know Miss Ruth as much as I wanted to; but the short time we shared, she influenced me greatly, she inspired me to change the “cycle of violence” that I was born into.  Part of who I have become is due to Miss Ruth’s influences.  I’ve read many of the books she publishes on child abuse, rape and domestic violence.  I’m planning on ordering a book or two about “Women and Aging” that are available.  

If you’ve experienced trouble locating a book about women’s health, violence or aging, check out Volcano Press!


The following is a poem Volcano Press shares.  I hope you enjoy it!

Hugs and love!

We’d Like to Share a Poem

“My ’63 Plymouth Belvidere” by Candace A. Hennekens

In 1978, that ’63 Plymouth Belvidere
was already old but it ran. Your mother
had gifted the car to me on her death bed.
Two years later, I drove away, the back seat
piled with clothes, our daughter in her car seat.
I forgot shoes, winter coats.
You mailed those and anything else 
you could find that was mine 
in an enormous box–my grandmother’s wall vase,

college papers, cut crystal, all mixed up.
I vomited in my mother’s basement toilet,
knowing you had touched all my things.
The night we escaped, I decapitated a goose
on some dark country road; the state patrol
ticketed me for speeding. I pulled into my
mother’s driveway, my eyes dilated, panting,
reeling, like a prisoner released after a long sentence.
My mother touched your hand prints on my neck 

and wept. The Belvidere had a 318 engine.
I knew how to change oil, replace spark plugs.
I pushed buttons on the dash to make her go.
Painted bright yellow I never drove anonymously.
Sometimes I search for that car in the classifieds.
If I find her, I’ll buy her back, restore her
to mint condition, and keep her as a memorial
to my freedom that all these years later
is still precious, a gift from your mother to me.

Copyright VOLCANO PRESS 2000-2015

Caylee Anthony We Will Not Forget You Or The Bitch That Killed You

June 3, 2015

There is nothing on earth I hate more than people who hurt children. NOTHING.

Caylee Anthony was a sweet little baby who happened to draw one of satans minions for a mother. The entire family dynamic was completely fucked up with the family first in denial about the pregnancy and then once poor Caylee was born playing a sadistic game of chess with Caylee as the pawn.

Casey Anthony who is a child murdering piece of human excrement whether she got away with it or not just did not have time in her party and boyfriend filled life for Caylee. Casey had serious issues with her mother who happened to love Caylee or at least loved to use Caylee as a way to get at Casey. For 31 days that child was missing and it went unreported. When Casey’s mother finally tracked her down and demanded to see the baby, Casey first said it was late and she would pick her up from the fictitious nanny in the morning and then when mother was not having it she told mother that the nanny that never actually existed had kidnapped poor Caylee. Caylee of course was long dead by that time. Dead and buried in the exact same way that the family had disposed of pets that had come before her, which is to say she was stuffed into a laundry bag and thrown into the woods for the animals to have at her.

Casey’s car was found at an impound yard and the first thing that Papa Anthony noticed as an ex-police officer was the extreme odor of decomposition. It is a smell that you never forget, be it human or animal and in his initial statement while still in shock he said it was definitely absolutely without a doubt the smell of decomp. That would later become the smell of a piece of rotten pepperoni.

It seems the whole of Florida rallied to try and find Caylee. People came from all over the state to help search. Most of them were very aware that Caylee was dead but they searched anyway because that is what you do when a child is missing. Casey was combative in jail, expressing to her parents that they needed to come up with bail because she was of no use helping to find a child she already knew was dead from there. She was combative on the phone with her brother, refusing to discuss Caylee and instead trying to get her boyfriend Tony’s phone number to try and explain why she had been arrested and what a huge mistake it was.

Equisearch even came in to help try and at least find her body and they were very aware they were looking for a body since the Nanny story had long since fallen apart.

The skeletal remains of Caylee Anthony were found in a swampy area very close to the house. Animals had been at her. Her face had been wrapped in duct tape. A twin laundry bag was found in the Anthony house to the one that had become Caylee’s burial shroud. Searches for how to make homemade chloroform were found on Casey’s computer. The working theory and one I believe to be true is that Caylee was being drugged to sleep so that mommy could go out and do her hot body contests and party and fuck her boyfriend whenever she felt like it. Drugged and locked in the trunk of a car. Even Tony who had not been dating Casey for that long began to ask all kinds of questions about where Caylee was. Casey always said with the nanny that didn’t exist.

My personal theory is that Caylee was getting big enough to be able to articulate certain things and Casey certainly didn’t want Grandma asking what she did that day and the answer to be we went to McDonalds and the park and then mommy put a cloth over my face that smelled funny and I woke up in a trunk. So, I think she took Caylee on that last day and drugged her and wrapped her face in duct tape and smothered her to death.

She was found not guilty because apparently Florida is the most fucked up state in the USA for judicial process and walked away a free piece of shit. Then someone actually named Zanny came forward and sued her for liable since the made up name she had used for the nanny was hers. Casey filed for bankruptcy to avoid having to pay Zanaida for the lawsuit.

As part of the bankruptcy agreement she was ordered not to write any book. This she argued about because why shouldn’t you be able to kill your daughter and profit from it? She lost.

She was also a thief of epic proportions, stealing from her parents, her grandmother, and her friends so she didn’t really have anywhere to go once her court case was over. She ended up living with Cheney Mason, one of her attorneys and doing little jobs for him (and you can read into that whatever you like because I don’t doubt it for a second).

He eventually got sick of her mooching ways and she had to find an apartment somewhere. She whined and still does to this day that she cannot have a normal life because she was unjustly accused.

Now it had been revealed that she is in New York to do an interview for huge gobs of money. I have not been able to confirm an amount other than it is substantial.

I hope she gets hit by a car on her way to the interview, or the ceiling falls in or she is electrocuted by the equipment in the studio. Actually what I really hope is that someone wraps her face in duct tape and they all sit back and wait for her to suffocate to death, and then they stick her wretched corpse in a car trunk and let it rot there for a few days and then put her in a crappy bag and toss her into the woods.

You got it wrong Florida. I know it is not like it is the first time or even the fiftieth time, but you got it wrong.

We remember you Caylee, we are sorry that your mother was more interested in having a good time than being a mother, we are sorry we didn’t find you sooner. A country mourned you and continues to do so. We won’t forget.

I hope that everyone of you refuses to listen to that interview. If they get no listeners or readers depending on what medium they choose, maybe they will think a little harder next time before they interview a baby killer.

I hope you die a horrible death Casey Anthony and I hope it is long and drawn out and you are very afraid before the end. I bet Caylee was.

RBMD peacing the fuck out.


June 2, 2015
It’s 3 am, and I am somehow wide awake, with shreds of a dream so quickly fading that all I can recall is that I was talking to my sister.  In the few seconds that have passed, I’ve forgotten everything…what my sister & I talked about and exactly why my next thought was to grab my tablet and tell you about it.  I had a need to explain everything that flashed through my mind…I felt I needed to tell you right now…did my sister tell me the secret of “what is next”? Did she reveal “heaven” to me? Did I have a message to give you? 
I’ve had these dreams of “talking” to my sister before, but I can never recall what she says or what we did in my dream. Sometimes, I’m left with a great sense of “Peace”,  I feel very “loved” in the few minutes after waking.  And I almost always feel such a great sense of “loss” when my consciousness breaks the dream, I want to cry, and no matter how hard I try…I can never “go back to sleep”..(perhaps “go back to my dream” is a better phrase)  Anyway, it is impossible for me to return to the dream I was living in prior to whatever broke the spell.
*Comments on “Part One” were getting rather lengthy on the subject, and I wasn’t sure if we were all DONE talking about the subject yet, (so I decided to open Part Two!)
*Have you ever had dreams where you’ve conversed with a loved one?  Were you able to remember what was said, or is it like mine, where it is all gone within nano-seconds?  How did you feel afterward?
Hugs, and love to all!
Edit and repost: 5/31/2015
Here, I thought I had gotten away with my little 3 am posting, then the UN-posting of part 2 (when I discovered that Kelly had posted another blog while I was writing this one) but, I was found out…so I guess I didn’t cover my tracks well!  Kelly said there is “no problem” with having TWO posts on the same day, so after chatting about it, we decided that I could go ahead, re-edit the post and then repost it for you.  I’ve also added some new content to the original post.
Our Queen of Fuckery had a “date”….a VERY handsome, polite, well mannered younger gentleman asked Kelly for the pleasure of her company ALL day Sunday…I am waiting to get the scoop about Queen Kelly’s Beautiful Sunday (because in just reading the words she writes about her time with a Certain Young Gentleman makes my heart so VERY happy!)
I envy those of you who still have children at home!  The years after my son graduated from high school, (but before he joined the Navy) were so very special to me!  I was single, and my son and I shared a lot of fun times together!  After he got out of the Navy, we had some time again…and we took a few other cross country vacations, experienced some very hilarious adventures and made some wonderful memories together.  My Son is a mischievios, witty and playful man (less so, now that he is the “over 40” crowd) and we love to tell tall tales of our adventures together!  My son has taught me more about men,  and more about unconditional love than I expected I’d ever learn.  Any parent who believes that s/he is “all-knowing” needs to re-think the basis for their delusions!  (Learning to stop acting “parental” to your ADULT children allows for some amazing adult bonding. The time that I spent with my son is priceless…and I will always be grateful for the gifts he has shared with me…there is nothing more rare and precious than receiving someones “time and attention”.  (A special “thank you” to my son…who chose me to be his mom…and for giving me the most precious of gifts…you are my heart…and when this phase is over, I hope to see you again…in the next life…or in Nirvana..)
*MORE-  6/1/2015
*I know one person who could be a PERFECT match for our Inmate #281129…my ex-husband…the man LOOKS perfectly normal…more or less…well, actually, I believed that he was quite handsome when I was married to him…and actually, if I put away my “personal issues” with him, he still is VERY handsome.  (Warning:NEVER, EVER judge a book by its cover, covers are only “marketing tools”!  And be VERY VERY careful with any man who has a dimple on his chin…I’ve discovered that “dimple” is really something else; it is the FIRST sign that someone is a BUTT HEAD!). Despite being 75, he could EASILY pass for 50 or 55.  He is Hispanic, and has a beautiful combination of true “platinum silver” hair (with dark eyebrows) and beautiful tan skin.  It’s just not fair that he has so few wrinkles!  Perhaps that is due to having more natural oils and collegen than most of us Caucasians have…AND he has some amazing green/hazel eyes.  It’s really too bad that his multiple psychoses make it impossible to relate to him for an extended period of time!  
During the 10 years we were married, his actions provided such a wealth of comedic humor that I was never without a new routine about his latest activities.  He didn’t MEAN to funny, I think that between his actions and my “different” outlook on things, comedy just naturally ensued.  I suspect that he is an alien of some sort, probably abandoned by the crew of his spaceship because he was driving THEM crazy too!  (Actually, it’s possible that the aliens have been dumping crazy crew members here frequently for EONS!  Perhaps for Millennium!  It’s all rather like the English dumping their convicts in Australia….probably.60% because they COULD and 40% because there’s nothing anyone can do to stop them!)
* I have a JOURNAL (that makes me a “journalist” right?) somewhere around here that has page after page of the crazy stuff my Ex-husband did while we were married, but I can’t seem to lay hands on it….MAYBE I threw it away…but it had SUCH a wealth of  “Material” for a comedy routine, I rather doubt I tossed it.
An example:  He was the executor of his father’s estate; as the oldest son, following the customs of his culture, he was to receive the bulk of his father’s property.  Instead, his younger brothers walked away with the antique grandfather clock, which his grandfather had given his grandmother the day they married, the gold and silver jewelry, the rental properties, etc,ball of it… in exchange for the contents of between 100-150 Folgers coffee cans located in the garage.  The cans contained a hoard of washers, screws, nails, nuts, bolts and cotter pins.  He had this hoard delivered to OUR garage, then went and purchased 4 WALL size units of 1 inch by 3 inch by 5 inch drawers which he installed on the garage wall.  He had recently retired, so, after these cans were delivered, he began an 18 month process. Each day, the process was the same routine…the process began with pouring a solvent over the contents of one of the coffee cans, then setting it aside to begin the cleaning process.  He then chose the can he started the day before, poured off the solvent (to recycle and use again) and with a brass wire-brush cleaned each and every washer, screw, nail, nut, bolt or cotter pin (now shortened to WSNNBC) then, a nice rinse in clean water, and laid out in the sun to “air dry”….he then got the label-maker and made a label for each of those 1 x 3 x 5 drawers. He had purchased a huge ID sheet that had a drawing of each and every WSNNBC manufactured or sold in the USA, which he took to Kinkos and had laminated.  He placed this laminated sheet on his work bench, then, he sorted each item, comparing each WSNNBC to the “Master Sheet”.  
(By, the way, just to make something perfectly clear…his man lived in and owned (NOT with the bank, outright OWNED his own home, valued a just a little over 1 million, located in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Orange County, he owned (outright) 6 cars, (including a 59 Corvette convertible, 72 Corvette Stingray and a brand new 99 Corvette; a 5x Chevy Nomad (completely restored), a 7x Chevy El Camino, customized with “pearl paint” and “hydraulics” (for “jumping” and “LowRiding”..I never understood this, as he wasn’t a “low rider”, but it seemed to be a mandatory item for 70+ year old Hispanic males to own), a 1995 “Anniversary Edition Ford T-bird with 200k plus miles, which he was POSITIVE would be an “investment” because it will “someday” be a “classic”, and  2000 Toyota RAV4, which has never had an oil change and usually had bald tires (because “there’s still a few more miles left in them”) (at one point, before I bought my Z4, I was driving that car and THREAD was showing on both front tires…it was only when my son “cornered” him in the garage and threatened bodily injury to him “if anything happened” to me that he went and bought the cheapest tires he could find)  He also had several other cars that came and went over the years, but those 6 were always there…and no expense was spared for the customization of HIS cars.
Additionally, he had his original 1950 Schwinn Panther (the very same bike he received when he was 9 years old) professionally restored, and he paid more than $5600 for the restoration.  The bike “lived” in the living room, in front of the windows, so that anyone driving by would receive a blessing by just looking at it, I suppose…(yet, one day when I was at work, he put my great grandmothers spinning wheel into the recycle stuff (because it was “cluttering the house”)…and took it to the recycle station…no, I never found it, or got it back…) back to the WSNNBC story…
*Instead of perhaps grabbing a handful of washers (like you and I might do with coins) and sorting by the handful…he sorted each WSNNBC one.by.one….comparing each individual WSNNBC to the Master Sheet, checking it to be sure it was clean, then, he either put it back into the solution for more cleaning or found or labeled the correct drawer.  EIGHTEEN MONTHS!!!  Monday thru Friday, 8:30 am to 4:30 pm with 30 minutes for lunch…sometimes he would work on his “project” on the weekends…then, at 5 pm EVERY weekday, he went to “the gym” to play handball for 2-4 hours….when he returned home, he resumed commandeering the satellite dish…(which he set to play what HE wanted to watch–on EVERY single TV in the house: the living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, both offices, guest room, garage, and, yes, 2 of the four bathrooms! He also added a TV at the Hot Tub and another out where he pretended he was a Ceramic Artist..out in a lean-to shed where his potters wheel was located outside.   Yes, we had 12 TVs!  And if HE wanted to watch “The 70s Show” EVERYONE watched “The 70s Show”…the COMMAND center also controlled the VHS/VCR…so, all day long…he controlled the TV& VCR…ONLYduring the  2-4 hours he spent playing handball was I able to watch what *I* wanted to watch. When I complained, saying we had no choice in programming,   “Yes’ you do,”  he said, I DID have a choice…””you can watch ANY TV program you desire…SOMEWHERE ELSE!”….. Al’s way or the highway….
After the WSNNBC PROGRAM was completed, he began obsessively playing “Solitare” on the computer….ALL DAY LONG….as an escape from his insanity, I enrolled in a college program…so, HE enrolled in a college program…I enrolled in an Architectural Design School, carrying 25-20 unit hours.  HE enrolled  in Advanced Ceramics, the SAME class was offered at SEVERAL of the local the junior colleges.  But, then when anyone asked ME how my classes were going, HE answered that his “Advanced Ceramics” class (which he had to get a waiver to take, because he was repeating the SAME advanced ceramic class (3 semesters per year, year after year)  He had attended that same class back in the 60s and 70s…and enrolled again in 1996…by the time we divorced, he had attended that class every semester for more than 8 YEARS!)   Of course, he never told anyone THAT, when someone asked ME what classes *I* was taking….he would take the question, and give a long (boring) lecture about ceramics, and “everything he was learning”…and went on to brag that he had “all As” in all of his classes at the 3 colleges he attended…..(I was told later that wherever we went, word was out to NOT bring up the words “school”, “college”, “ceramics” or “art” in front of my “significant other”…later, other words were added as he became self-proclaimed “expert” on wherever he went on vacation…so, Peru, China, Hawaii, England, Spain and France (where he once spent 24 hours) were “off limits” in conversations….
*Not long after I married him, I said to him “it’s funny (odd) that you’ve lived here in this same house since 1973, yet, you have no friends…all the friends we have are MY friends…why is that?  “Well” he said “I’m more SELECTIVE than you are about my friends.  NO one lives up to MY “high personal standards!”  I see….(how did I come to be attracted to this man?). I’ve come to the conclusion that a person with “no friends” usually has no friends for a reason…find out what that reason is!! (BEFORE you marry them!!)
*A final quick (I promise, quick) story….Al retired after more than 30 years with the County…and, admittedly, back in the 60s, it WAS tough for Latinos to get promotions up the ladder….some of the Caucasian County workers maintain that many of the “coconuts” (brown outside, white inside) got promotions due only to “affirmative action”…I don’t know, I wasn’t there….but, I know THIS…when he retired, as a “joke gift”, someone had a County street sign made for Al….it read: AL LASTNAME WAY. My son and I were at the party when it was given to him…everyone was laughing so hard!
Son and I gave each other “the look”…we understood the street sign…(the drunk behind us was laughing very hard…and he shouted the same thing Son and I were thinking:  “Al’s Way (or the highway)!”  
*Al never did realize that the “gift” was a purposeful slap in the face; “someone” or several “someones” at work had obviously been given the same message I had repeatedly received, “no, you don’t have to do it the way *I* want you to do it…you can go find another job!”….the very next day, he installed the sign hanging from the pergola over the patio…proclaiming his dictatorship over “all he surveyed”….that sign was a constant reminder, even when Al wasn’t home, “my way of the highway” every time I stepped outside, every time I looked out into the yard…He was SO proud of that signs he would point it out to every visitor to the house…even the insurance guy who stopped in to write up a rider on that Schwinn Panther displayed in the living room window…(which had now, miraculously, increased in value to $12,000!  What good is a $12,000 you cannot ride? Just asking!)   As the insurance salesman left, he said to Al “Did you notice that two of the tires on the RAV have cord showing thru?  You really SHOULD get them replaced, before you or your wife end up in an accident…..”
I could easily imagine someone beating some sense into Al…but, it would take a REALLY LONG BEATING!

Mama Speaks-True Battered Wives

June 1, 2015

I was only twenty…my husband just a year older.  We both had high school diplomas, he was in the Air Force, and because I had become pregnant, I was released from my 4-year contract with the Air Force, so, I was unemployed.  We were both E-2s at the time, base pay was a little over $300 a month for each of us but our salary had effectively just been cut in half.  The payment on our trailer was $75 a month, plus lot rent and utilities.  We had a newer model Ford Pinto, but the first month after I got out of the Air Force, we fell behind on the $100 payment, we never got caught up and it was eventually repossessed…..so, my husband, JT, bought an old beat up Mercury with what little savings we had.  I remember praying that the baby would wait to be born until after the 15th (payday) because we couldn’t afford the $7 that the Base Hospital demanded for our co-pay when the baby was born.

My husband started beating on me in June…the first month that we had to try to survive without my paycheck. I’m sure that the pressure of a new baby and an unemployed wife was VERY stressful for JT.  Trouble started with physical abuse; pushing, shoving, yelling and screaming.  That escalated into beatings…he hit me, violently and repeatedly.  I had bruises and swelling, he would at times choke me till I was unconscious.  I remember one time, he  only let go because his little brother pulled him off of me…the result of that action was that JT turned on his brother and beat him badly, busting his lip and bruising his face.  JT even been hit and kicked me after he threw me into a wall or threw me onto the floor…I was 8 months pregnant…and he was wearing his steel-toed combat boots. JT was an unpredictable, violent man.  His threats and “warning” gestures often blossomed into me becoming his personal punching bag. He threw many things at me, whatever was near, and at hand.  He usually punched me in the face, head or stomach, and he expected me to just accept his actions.  

 After his anger faded, and he was able to see what he had done, he expressed remorse.  I always got “I’m sorry, but …”  “I’m sorry BUT you make me do this, I don’t WANT to, you MAKE me!”  Or “I’m sorry BUT if only you didn’t (…..,) then I wouldn’t have to hit you!” Or “This is your fault, I just LOVE you so much, and you make me so mad!”  And, then always The Promise “I promise to never do that again.” (And it always happened again…)

Garth Brooks has a song with the lyric “sometimes we fight just so we can make up…”  JT was “sweet” and it was his sweetness that came into play (when we eventually made up) that kept me from leaving.  There was always the hope that THIS time really WAS the last time…that he would keep his promise.  His “sweet days” lasted about as long as the bruises did.  It seemed as long as there were bruises or a swollen cheek or a busted lip that there would be no beatings, but, it seemed like only the visible effects would curtail his anger with me.  The “good days” we’re wonderful.  He would hold me and hug me.  He would buy me flowers…he even remembered that my favorites were tulips and daffodils.  He might even bring a box of my favorite candy!  When I was pregnant, he even would massage my back or rub my aching feet!  The “good days” allowed me to not think about solutions to the problem…  A year after my son was born, my dad and only sister were killed in an auto accident. And suddenly, my options to act were very limited.  I had to look for the good each day because there were no other alternatives.  I had nowhere to run to, no one to depend on.  I had no job and no money.

I was slapped or punched for a variety of things; disagreeing about politics, for not wanting to attend his Evangelical Church, for swearing, for crying, and for not wanting to have intercourse. I was berated and threatened for not doing something he told me do, when he had a bad day (or a good day!) or for not vacuuming the carpet before he got home from work.  I was beaten after telling him that I didn’t like that he had visited a prostitute when he was TDY in Korea.  And once he forced me out of the car in one of the most dangerous areas of Montgomery, Alabama and then drove off and left me standing on the sidewalk (because I said that “when our child marries” that I didn’t care what their fiancee’s ethnic background was, that our son could marry ANY person he wanted to marry!)  He left me in that ugly area for about 30 minutes (to teach me a “lesson”)…but when he came back to pick me up (yes, I got into the car because I was frightened!) he asked if I had “learned my lesson”?  I waited till he had driven to a better area before I said “What I learned is that YOU are a bigoted ASShole!” (which I knew I would pay for later, because he HATED when I “got uppity”!). 

Before my dad was killed, I called him and said “Daddy, JT is BEATING me!”  My dad responded with “What did you do to deserve it?”  When I talked to our Pastor, he told me that “wives are meant to “obey their husbands, and then THEY answer to God” and that I needed to be more “supportive and understanding” of my husband’s insecurities.”  “forgive him as Jesus forgives you,” he said. 

We finally were permitted to move our trailer onto the base, where we didn’t have to pay lot rent, but the trailer park was next to the minimum security federal prison.  The result was that the Security Police could arrive within a few minutes when called (on the outside chance that one of the prison inmates were being naughty) but their attitude regarding spousal abuse was not “helpful”, they basically stood in front of the trailer with my husband and discussed cars or football, then left.  During the years I was married to JT, I was the most “accident” prone and clumsy woman in history; I “accidentally” walked into more doors, had more “auto accidents” and more “dental procedures” all of which caused me to have black eyes or swollen jaws! I remember calling my neighbor, and asking if my son and I could come over for a while, I needed to “get out of the house” until my husband “calmed down”…she said “oh, sure!”…but before I could grab my keys and a diaper bag, she called back and said that her husband didn’t think it was a “good idea for (them) to get in the middle of a “family tiff”, and he didn’t want me to come over.  (Do I need to mention that I didn’t feel that I could discuss the issue with JT’s Mother?)

I FELT abandoned, I FELT that no matter WHO I talked to, they blamed me!  I FELT that no one believed me and that I could not depend on any outside help or resource.  Help did not exist.

When you are facing no alternatives, you succumb to depression and self loathing.  I knew that I HAD to pull myself together–not just for my own safety and well being, but my SON’s safety, too!  There were no Women’s Shelters back then…no “family guidance agencies”, and back then (early 70s)  only CRAZY people went to see a Therapist. 

I realized just how bad it was, and how important it was for me to find a solution when, one day, after my son witnessed his father beating me, the moment his dad left the house, my son ran to me just as fast as his little 2 and 1/2 year old legs could go…he put his arms around my neck and patted my back with his tiny hands and repeated back to me the same words I had been saying to him…his little boy voice reassured me “It will be okay Mommie, it’s okay…”

I came to the realization that abusers will strike out when they WANT to  and for whatever reason they have at the moment. I realized that I did not MAKE him do ANYTHING, he made the choice for all of his actions.  He alone was responsible. I was his excuse, not his reason.

I knew that I had to get out. The fear of having nowhere to go, the fear of being alone and on my own with no emotional or financial support was overwhelming.  I had to find a way to support myself and my son, I had to find a safe environment for my son to grow up to be a good, logical and kind man. 

No one “deserves” a life of abuse and  every child deserves a loving home where s/he is loved, wanted and cherished.  A life without fear.

This has a happy ending…my ex-husband and I divorced.  When our marriage ended, I promised myself that I would never be in another relationship that included physical or emotional abuse; and I’ve kept that promise.  I will not try to convince you that it was easy, because it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  No, I don’t “hate” my ex-husband, not only is he a different man now than he once was, but I’ve discovered that hate is a powerful poison that destroys the person carrying it. I’ve also learned that there is a difference between “surviving” and “thriving”…I believe I am thriving, I’m LIVING my life fully, without regrets…(and no, I don’t pimp any stinking “survivor” t-shirts!)

I would be pleased to talk with anyone who needs a little bit of emotional support if they are trying to escape an abusive relationshp….I wish the best of life to each of you….you are all a part of my family and I’ll be forever grateful for the love and encouragement you all give.


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