i don’t know where to begin with this… while still outraged at what is taking place in terms of roman polanski and his team of “rape rape” supporters (whoopi- i am not saying you are one of them. i’m saying they are out there and have made it known they support this rapist), i’m making an attempt to stifle those feelings momentarily in order to share a candid conversation i had with sherri shepherd, co-host of “The View.” she was kind enough to take the time to answer the thousands of tweets that have gone out today regarding my post yesterday.

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i offer many thanks to sherri (can i call you sherri now?) for responding to my tweets and to those who retweeted my tweets all day long.

a very VERY special thanks to @MommyGeekology for keeping my site up and running and being my techy guru while it nearly crashed this morning with all the traffic it was receiving. thank you @dashoff for helping me put together this conversation with sherri via twitter because i plain old don’t know how to do that. i just write words.

lastly, and most importantly, THANK YOU to those of you who are speaking out, offering support, opinions, and letting your voices be heard. regardless of where you stand on this particular issue or any other, it has become overwhelmingly clear to me today that one voice can make a difference.

dear whoopi,
you sicken me. you make me sad for women and men alike. you make me sad for humanity as a whole. you make me sad for those who have been brave and strong enough to endure and come to eventually embrace the label of “rape survivor.”

and quite honestly, you horrify me with the following clip…

even though roman polanski pled guilty to having sex with a minor, HE HAD SEX WITH A MINOR… WHICH EQUALS STATUTORY RAPE.

RAPE, WHOOPI…. “RAPE RAPE,” according to you.

as a rape survivor myself, one who has publicly and proudly shared my story of being drugged and raped with the world wide web, i find myself ashamed to say that i was once a fan of your’s… a fan of your sucesses… a fan of you as a woman.

and now, you disgust me.

please tell me what you define “rape rape” as… i’m just curious. indulge me please.

your ignorance regarding the issue of rape sounds as though some forms of rape are worse than others, which makes me wonder a couple of things about you…

1) have you ever been raped?

2) who do you think you are to judge those who have?

3) what criteria must one endure in order to be “raped” and not “rape raped”?

4) must there be weapons involved?

5) in order to be “rape raped” should there be more than one rapist?

6) does a pregnancy need to result from said “rape rape”?

i would LOVE to say more about how disgusted i am with you and how you make me want to wretch in my toilet, knowing that ignorant people like you, ignorant WOMEN like you exist in this world… but i am a better woman than you. i am a stronger woman than you.

and i will NEVER watch “The View” again, so long as your ignorant ass is on it.

september 26th marked my 9 year “suckiversary” since i was RAPED.

not “rape raped,” whoopi….

I WAS RAPED.

i am a survivor. and now, i have survived what i NEVER in my wildest dreams could’ve imagined… judgment and condescension from another woman regarding rape.

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edited wednesday sept. 30

i urge you all to click here and read my friend’s take and support her as a survivor in the way you have all embraced and supported me.

i remember being assigned projects when i was in elementary school… popsicle sticks, glue and leaves were the necessary materials.

middle school got a little more difficult. those frickin tri-fold boards were included, and a solar system was expected to be created out of styrofoam balls. (hahaha, i said “balls”).

and then high school was the real deal… no messin around. you couldn’t have your parents put together this project for ya. it was do or die.

i died.

i had to take apart a hair dryer (of all things… for the love of women who need to use this device! where’s the humanity?!)

then i had to lay out all of its insides, like a dissected pig fetus (yeah, you remember that, don’tcha!?) label with toothpicks, and i had to memorize and then explain to my teacher how exactly the hair dryer converted energy and moved the energy throughout the contraption that gave me the luscious locks i had as a smokin hot senior in high school.

i died. i didn’t fail, but i died.

i don’t do science. or math. numbers freak me out. i’m a words, colors, images, creative and expressive individual (which side of the brain that belongs to, i couldn’t even tell ya).

and now here i am. in my adult life. married for nearly 5 years (in a few weeks) with a child (coming up on a year and a half years old)… and i have projects consuming me.

as of now my non-mom-household projects include the following:

1) keeping up my own blog… the readership has grown. it’s encouraging. i love you all for reading. truly, i do. i write for me. but i also write for you. you keep me inspired. thank you.

2) working on “bottle of the week”… which technically i don’t understand, so i have help and then send my help beer in return for his awesomeness.

3) pursuing an agent… i’ve been told numerous times by numerous people over numerous months that i need a goddamn agent. ok fine… but who do i trust??? who is going to “get me,” ya know? like really, truly, “get me.” cuz if ya don’t “get me” you’re screwed even more so than i am.

4) i currently have 3 book proposals sitting in my laptop. 3 who the hell does that??? some have priorities over others, but nevertheless, there are three. GAHURHG!!!

when do i have time to write? i dunno… now… at 11:42 pm when i should be sleeping. “should” being the operative word (that i distain… oh how i loathe that word).

the current goal is to work towards being PUBLISHED and not agent shopping.

i help friends out with their projects. and that excites me. that revs my engine because it’s good karma, man. good juju can take you a long way.

i guess i just didn’t anticipate the freelance writing, project world to be this chaotic (?)

nevertheless… i will live what i love.

and i love to write.

you can find me over here today… my friend sara, fantastic mother to the gorgeous 8 month old chloe, and fellow tattooed hot mama, asked me to do a guest post for her.

this is the first time i’ve posted on someone else’s site and really did not know where she wanted me to take this. often times sara and i will share stories of puke, poop, and “what the hell is going on with our babies!!!”

but sara gave me full creative freedom with this post, trusting where my muse would take me (hell, i don’t even always trust where my muse takes me…)

last night, sara tweeted out a picture of her tattoo she got yesterday. and that was my inspiration for my guest post on her site.

i’ve noticed more judgment of mothers, of women and of those who are “different” in some sort of way (like having tattoos), and it saddens me. there is no “perfect mother, woman, child… etc…” there just isn’t. sorry to burst your bubble.

and while i’ve addressed this topic on my own site before, i went about my guest post in a different manner.

so click here and head on over to sara’s blog. show her some love in her comments section.

thanks for hosting my crazy ass over on your site sweet friend!!! *MUAH*

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in other news, the story of my rape has also been published on another activist’s website, After Silence. my story can be found by clicking here.

i know many of you read it when it was originally published on Violence Unsilenced. the way you readers embraced me after i posted was truly overwhelming.

i am proud to share my story with another site promoting survivors and giving us a voice.

thanks to kim for publishing my story on her site. the blogging community is continually amazing me with support and friendship.

please check it out and show kim some love for the amazing work she is doing.

i had a dream about you once. years ago… soon after you had raped me. i had a dream that i was standing face-to-face with you, on the main street of our college campus.

the entire student body surrounded us. and we all stood outside the bar you took me to. the bar you worked at. the bar where you drugged me.

in my dream, i had a gift for you. as the entire student body circled around the two of us, i presented you with a gift wrapped in white and tied with a black ribbon. i told you to open the gift, in front of everyone.

you did.

you slowly unraveled the ribbon, untaped the tape that surrounded the square box. eventually you opened the box to find your gift. your gift from me that i had been longing to give you for so long.

it was a black t-shirt with the word “RAPIST” in bright white letters across the front of it. it was your size. a perfect fit.

you held the shirt up, not quite understanding the message that it held. and when it was OUT for all to see, i turned and walked away.

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you are forever cloaked in disgusting, horrendous, dark, dreary, wretchedness.

you are a rapist.

and i had given a t-shirt to you in my dream.

a gift for you.

as if you hadn’t taken enough from me.

i had a gift for you.

you deserve the label “rapist.”

i earned the label “SURVIVOR.”

i’ve worn that label for 9 years as of today, and will continue to… proudly.

and you will continue to wear your label… your gift.

so, yeah… being that tomorrow is goina suck, i liberated myself today and cut all my hair off.

the inspiration came from the lovely and luscious sarah’s website, which i love… and then her HAIR website, which i luuuurve. um yeah, homegirl has an entire website dedicated to hair.

so last week, i’m paging through the lovely before and after shots of the magnificence that sarah has inspired for many lovely ladies, and i find this!!!!

“shorter, non-pixie styles” = ME!!!!!!!!!!

i wanted mena suvari’s hair like RIGHT THE EFF THEN!!!

so i book my appointment for “operation liberation,” ready to de-baggage myself of the hair that has weighed me down for oh so long. and i wait… and wait… and then today, the day before THE DAY i gots mah hairz did y’all…

(yes, sarah, you can take any of these photos you want lova…)

the before…

long, thick, heavy, yet luscious

the hair…

over 5 inches of baggage

the during…

the back…

promise, it's my hair... just not blown out straight

the me!!!

mah hairz is the shitz

so yeah, tomorrow may suck. it is quite possible i’ll spend the day in my bed. but dammit i’ll look goooood.

the magoo is turning into a manipulator. yup, it was like he hit 17 months this week and is all of a sudden the 2 year old little shit that i babysat for once upon a time.

(pretty positive that family is not aware of my website. if they are, sorry, but you know she was a little shit back then too).

i know what you’re thinking… “oh no, not the magoo. not the curly haired precious love with the rosy round apple cheeks and chicken legs.”

LOVE ME LOVE ME LOVE ME

problem numero uno: dad is the favorite. it’s cool and all that jackson is a “guy’s guy” and loves hangin with the boys. he loves all of his uncles and has A TON of them (paul’s USNA roommates included) who he sees quite often. he’s rough and tough. bumps his meat head at least 42 times a day and doesn’t even realize it, as does his dad. bottom line, dad’s the favorite.

I LOVE MY DAD. I LOVE MY DAD. I LOVE MY DAD!!!

DAD LOVES ME. DAD LOVES ME. DAD LOVES MEEEE!!!!

problem B: both magoo and i are of the same sun sign. that’s right. taurus the frickin frackin bull reigns this household. granted, i am ALL taurus and jackson is just barely a taurus and dangerously close to aries (the taurus nemesis). nevertheless, we’ve got some stubborn peeps up in this piece.

NO MOM. TALK TO THE HAIR.

troisieme probleme: these manifesting issues we’re having with the magoo are causing this type of dialog between paul and i to happen more often than it should…

paul phone call: “hey. checkin in. how’s it goin?”

me: “effin sucks. our child hates me and only wants you. bring wine home.”

paul: “i swear, i’m not the favorite. as soon as you leave the room, it’s all ‘mom mom mom.‘”

me: “bullshit. bring wine.” click.

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the magoo has started this fake crying/whining bit that just drives me up the frackin wall (really trying hard not to drop the f-bomb, mom).

when he doesn’t get his favorite spatula because i’m actually using it to cook with (yes, occasionally i cook. i know, i can hardly believe it myself) he does this “ehhh diss (translation: this) ehhhh diss” that has got to be the most pathetic thing i’ve ever heard.

sometimes when he does the “ehhh diss” i mock him with the spatula. that’s right. i show it to him and say “oh what? you want this? SORRY! NO DICE!”

(i realize this post is making me sounds like a horrific bitch, but those of you who know me know that i’m not… all the time. and those of you who don’t “know” me but read me… well, you can come to your own conclusions on that one).

i digress…

so when the magoo is not whining and moaning or groaning to get something he can’t have (like the candle lighter or my beer bottle) he goes ape shit. the tantrums have started and this child is not even 2 yet. NO ONE TOLD ME THIS HAPPENS BEFORE THEY’RE EVEN 1 AND A HALF. THANKS.

and godalmightyinheaven, allah, the universe, goddesses, ninja aliens, or whatever you believe in as your higher power, when dad leaves for work in the morning, the beast that lies within the magoo comes out in full force. it’s ugly nasty. and it’s a combo of fake whiny cries that don’t produce tears, and anger towards me because he knows he’s left with me all damn day.

guess what kiddo? i’m not too keen on it either.

tips on master manipulating toddlers???? HALP!!!