If you read the story, you'll notice that the police are freaking out about the level of similar crimes happening in their town.
I went looking for the stats...and found one that stopped me in my tracks.
Fifty six percent of women who are murdered are killed by their husbands, or ex's.
Oh...and men commit over 80 percent of the murders in the US today...so if you want to talk about something this serious, it might help if you KNEW WHAT THE HELL you're talking about.
So the beloved daughter wanted to hit an animation/sci-fi convention in the city...but lacked:
1. Funds for a hotel room, which were SCANDALOUSLY expensive.
2. Transportation.
She'd already gotten a ticket, assuming she would find other geeks interested in sharing a ride... but a week ago, it was looking dim.
So...hey...what's a lift into Boston...twice?
Followed by late night pick ups?
It's what you do, if you can. So yesterday I did my walk of NON-shame at 8AM...but tonight, things wound down at 2 ish...so once again I was headed for the Westin. Now my GPS did not take me the same way in twice...nor the same route home. I learned that there a BUNCH of ways in and out of the city...and that Boston looks pretty at night. I also learned that last call in the bars must be at 1:15...because by 1:45, the route to the Westin was AWASH with 20 somethings---all in various states of alcoholic buzzing.
I say that because most of the cabs in Boston seem to be white...my car is dark blue, obviously NOT a cab---yet half a dozen people tried to flag ME down. If you can't tell a white car from a blue car (nearly navy) you have had WAY too much to drink. At one light, I watched a late night hottie with interest. She was THE type most guys seem to find perfect...tall, willowy, slim. She was wearing one of those slip dresses, and tights...no jacket, no purse. She was none too steady on her feet, but like the rest was trying to hail a cab. By the streetlight, her makeup seemed sort of lopsided...she had not been crying...but may have sweated a bit. It was chilly by the river. But if I was a cab driver, I would not be stopping for milady.
1. No purse...she had nothing in her hands. So unless she had the cash stashed somewhere I Didn't want to know about, she was probably broke...no fare.
2. She was just unsteady enough to suggest that she should have declined those last two or three vodka shooters---or whatever the hell they are drinking this week. I am betting she was going to hurl in the cab. Nasty clean up...and no pay.
(By the way...she didn't seem distressed...just pissed that the cabs wouldn't stop.)
I got to the Westin, THEN got the text saying the program had started late...she would be another half hour. (My daughter...not the drunken hottie.) So I amused myself by observing the unconventional conventioneers. (Gotta love the costumes!) One was seriously adorable.
A boy of about 20 was wearing these STILT shoes...
He could BARELY make it through the revolving door...but he did so, holding the hand of a girl dressed like a gypsy. Her friend was tugging her off to a cab---and at the last moment, she pulled away, ran BACK to stilt shoe guy, said something...and they KISSED. Then she ran back to the cab, and was gone.
I'm starting to think when I lack creative juice, I just need to take a ride into the city...
For the second time this week, a young girl came knocking (with a parent!) to sell Girl Scout cookies...and for the second time, I took a pass.
I could blame it on dieting...or the fact that I really don't like them anymore.
I could blame it on the fact that they are horribly overpriced...but...no...That's not it.
I was a girl scout for a year in grammar school. It was the first time they offered "prizes" for sales---other than the pizza party they used to throw. I did my best. I sold about 70 boxes, and really felt good about it...until I was at the meeting where the girls with the huge families, or extensive social circles toted up their sales---high triple digits. Worse...the prizes were things there girls already OWNED...that kids like me could only sort of imagine.
I remember the first time I saw a mom set up a table by the supermarket...which I guess made sense from a marketing standpoint. But I was pinching pennies for my family---and being solicited by the earnest young things bothered me. Worse...some girls were barely willing, clearly bored, and doing it only because their moms were there. Now you could accuse me of lacking entrepreneurial spirit...but the girl scout cookie has changed over the years. Once it was a group undertaking---and now it's become a competition with no clear goal in place.
I think the girls could better spend the time, both with their parents, and each other. And lest we forget, there is the whole "girls sell cookies" while boy scouts clean abandoned lots, do recycling drives, and actually get out there. It's just a little too precious...and a little too sexist. Once, you learned things in Girl Scouts that your parents didn't know to teach you...genuine skills you actually might have need of. But now? Is the best we can do for them the demand that they spend one month a year pushing trans fat, and carbs?
And I am sure other people will tell me I am wrong...which is fine. But if there is more to it, observe...the message is NOT getting out there. People still equate girl scouts with COOKIES. Juliet Lowe Would not be amused...
I was doing some "taxi" work for my daughter in the wee small hours today (for which she is paying me) and I was coming in the house at 8 ish.
It occurred to me that for many, blasting out of their beds before dawn, and returning a few hours later is a demonstration of a secret rendezvous---a tryst...some sort of adult goings on...and it made me sigh a little. I'd like to think I am not too old for such things.
But it also occurred to me that had someone witnessed my bare daylight return, they would more likely think I had been to an early garage sale...and that makes me a little sad.
I'm not talking about food, of course.
Since Desi and Karen left, I've been trying to summon the stamina to clear my room...with a flu in between then and now. So today I have been domestic---and FINALLY took down my tiny tree. While I was carefully removing the glass ornaments, it occurred to me that this was the first Christmas tree I've had since college...that was MINE. Over the years, I had to compromise constantly to maintain peace in the house...and while that might sound great for the marriage, it was bad for me. I disliked being asked what I wanted, or liked---because 9 times out of 10, it didn't matter. I loved garland for trees...but he preferred tinsel---so garland was out. It was expensive, and messy, and hard to hang, he insisted.
I actually got to the point where I resented being asked what I liked, though that was a rare occurrence. Because it DIDN'T matter. That started years back, when we first bought our home---in February the gardening catalogs would start arriving. At first, it was fun to look through them...but...there was always a reason to not order the plants or flowers I liked. So...I was lucky if 10 percent of the garden was something I admired. So I decided it was a waste of my time. He said no...but if I REALLY wanted something, I should be prepared to argue for it.
Ummm...huh?
That struck me as the WEIRDEST logic on the planet. I believed that you should pick you battles with care---to keep the fights and disagreements to a minimum. I didn't want to sweat the small stuff...so I left the garden choices to him...and then we REALLY started to fight. Nope...not kidding. He DEMANDED I go through the catalogs, and choose things...even if he had no intention of getting them.
And we did that sort of thing a lot. "Where do you want to go for vacation?" That seems like a simple question. But no...it was a bear trap. No sooner did I express an preference, when it would be explained to me why that was a bad idea. And if the vacation didn't involve a tent, "we can't afford that". I used to love camping...until it became the ONLY vacation style available. After my first accident, we went on a trip to the Smokies. It was lovely...BUT...we were a half mile from the water supply. I had to hand carry pots full of water to the campsite, and I was in some serious pain. They didn't figure out about the bone shards in my spine will a few months later. But I had to sleep on a gravel bed under the tent floor...it and it HURT. Chuck would go off to take pictures, or hike---leaving me with Desi.
I cooked every meal...and cleaned up after...hauling the water three times a day. I find myself wondering why camping was such a thrill...I was doing the same stuff I did at home...only it was harder. The scenery was nice...but I went home more tired than I started out. A few weeks back, I was talking to Charles, and he shocked me by pinpointing exactly WHEN our marriage turned...that trip. I'm not sure he knows WHY, but he knows when. You could say that compromise KILLED my marriage. I tried not to keep score...but he did. Any time I wanted something, there was always logic to deny it...he would come home and SHUT OFF music---if it wasn't "his kind". He would complain about every meal...one thing had to be wrong...be it protein, carb, or veggie. I couldn't plan meals, because he only wanted to eat what he was "in the mood for"...and then he wanted it served immediately after he got home. If he had to wait, he got testy...later down right nasty.
I couldn't keep the "right" foods in the house. He refused salads, so keeping the makings was futile. He would wait til they had gone bad in the bin...THEN ask for one. If I fed him small, careful portions of food, in keeping with his diabetic requirements, he would get angry, and bitch about being hungry. If I fed him what he liked? I wasn't helping him with his weight issues. Just before I left, i remember looking in the pantry one day...and realizing there wasn't a single thing in there that I liked. I stopped taking meals with him more than a decade ago. If I tried to eat at the same time, he always needed something...a condiment, or a beverage...and he expected me to fetch it. My dinner would get cold...and I just stopped caring.
Sometimes, I read a blog from a newly married guy, or girl...and it sort of hurts. I only dimly can recall the "honeymoon" period we had...though it lasted about ten years. The next 20 sort of blurred them out. But today, I took down my small tree. I was loathe to do it...because it WAS perfect. Small, and pretty...one string of lights filled it. I had small glass ornaments, and yes...bead garland I found cheap during the season. I sleep well now...instead of wandering online every night til I am tired enough to sleep. I've started to lose weight. I only cook what I want to...and no one complains. I'm learning how to be who I was...who I've always been, before I took on wife, mother, and companion. And I am relishing small things that make me happy.
Some would consider it arrogant for a woman who left her husband to offer advice...but here it is. Make a point, at least once a month to make SURE you get something "your way". And do the same for the person you love. All half a loaf means is that you never get to enjoy something the way you like it...and I promise you that two decades of that will wear you down. It's not "selfish" when it keeps you whole...because half a person can't make a marriage work...that takes two whole people...on that you can count.
I just spent an HOUR working on reply to Nous Aperion's latest post...hit a button with the edge of my finger and the WHOLE fucking thing vanished...I am sorely tempted to throw the laptop OUT my fucking window...
Since arriving here in September, I came to the conclusion that MA drivers, while aggressive, also tend to drive well. A LOT less nutjobs than NJ...until yesterday.
Desi and I were in Peabody. I was at a light, and right next to one of those very LARGE pick up trucks. (You know the kind...Extended cab, sits high---and way too shiny to have any practical purpose. This wasn't a tradesman...just an asshole who was compensating...) The way the road is laid out, you needed to be in the right lane to make a turn---but I was in the left. So I gunned it when the light changed, turned on my signal...and discovered that the dude in the truck was PISSED OFF. He sped up to cut me off. Not nice. Not Friendly...but I still got there first.
That really frosted his cookies.
At the next light, I was in the right lane...the left was wide open for fast traffic. He sped up, and got in my lane...and jammed on his breaks.
I swerved...no damage. Yes asshole, I get it. Your pride was offended.
But he did this three times in a mile.
It occurred to me he was doing road rage...and I was actually getting scared of what the lunatic would do next. He finally made a left at the Walmart.
So let me get this straight...Mr. My Truck Is Actually My PENIS had to pull that sort of crap...because he thought I slowed him down on his way to freaking WALMART? I've been injured in accidents as a result of inattention---but he set himself up TWICE to be in front of me so he could FLOOR his brakes. The rules say if you rear end someone, you're at fault. But this joker would have caused it...and why? Jesus...grow a sack. Flip me off, and get to the damned blue light special...but don't hurt people because you have anger issues.
Someone gifted me with premium...and I don't know who to thank!
It was a lovely gesture...truly!
Whoever you are, a million thanks...it really made my day...and blew my mind!
I don't drink and drive.
That's not me boasting, or being obnoxious...simple fact. You know how they say some people "can hold their liquor?" Well I've never been one of them, so even when it wasn't an instant major driving offense, I didn't drink and drive. (One glass of wine and I giggle...bad sign.) But since moving, I have been observing the laws in this state, and have come across two that while harsh seeming, I actually approve.
The first deals with texting. It applies the same legal standard to driving while texting that it does to drunk driving...if someone dies as result, you are in DEEP shit. It wasn't always that way. Massachusetts had a "year and a day law". If the person you injured lived for more than a year and a day after the accident, you were in the clear. But that was changed, possibly because people wanted it to be. Last year they sent a young man (18) to jail for three years. The man he ran into while texting a friend died, changing his "driving while distracted" into vehicular homicide. It was a closely watched case. The usual defenses were offered. No intent---just bad judgement...but apparently Massachusetts takes a dim view of "bad judgement" when someone dies as a result.
In another case, a man who had already served 2 years for drunk driving is now facing another date in court. His victim was a state trooper he'd run into---and put in a persistent vegetative state more than five years ago. That trooper died in 2011...and now he is facing new charges...for causing her death. (For any junior attorneys out there, this is not "double jeopardy". He was never charged with vehicular homicide...just drunk driving. You can't argue that he's already "paid".) But this man has turned his life around. He's now a successful realtor, He argues now that he paid his debt, cleaned up his life, is a contributing member of society...and that facing the potential of 15 more years in jail isn't fair.
Possibly...but the state trooper remains dead...her daughter will never have a mom, and has spent the last six years of her life without one. The young man at risk says he really wasn't drunk. He denied drinking that night at all. But he still blew a .5 on the test. (It may not sound like much, but the law says .2 is drunk for an 18 year old...the age he was at the time. And if he hadn't touched a drop...how did he get a .5? He admits he was over tired---exhausted in fact...but not drunk. He also says he doesn't remember the accident. Which is where he loses me. I've been in three accidents. I never caused one. For each, there is a sickening memory---the crunch when metal hit metal...a slow motion nightmare. From two, I was badly injured---even though my car took little visible damage...I got hurt enough to need spinal cord surgery.
The article in the Globe had a picture of the police cruiser he hit. It was one of those big ones---and it looked like a bomb went off in the trunk. But he can't remember it. That says to me he was not only out---but something helped him get there. The breathalyzer was not taken til two hours after the accident...and still delivered a .5...which also seems telling. So I will persist in my nancy pants, lame ass tradition of not driving and drinking, thanks...not only because the penalty is severe---but because I might end up hurting people I never met or knew. I might end up destroying lives, if I am stupid. I feel sorry for this guy...to a degree. But not enough to give him a free pass on an accident that killed someone. It will suck to be a cautionary tale...but to a generation that grows up believing all the bad stuff is erased "expunged" when you turn a certain age, its a reminder that their can be consequences...stuff mom and dad can't make go away.
So make mine a coffee please...I'm driving.
It's been slightly nuts here...I had to deal with both my recovery, and my daughter and her college...and frankly I was too pooped for much.
Thanks to the folks who noticed me gone...nice to be appreciated!
And a VERY happy New Year...to everyone.
May the blessings flow to you and yours!
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