So consent (to engage in sex) is a hot-button issue these days. Questions of Who can consent? and When can someone consent? and, of course, What circumstances prevent someone from consenting?
The legal age of consent varies from state to state (in the US). In Texas, one must be 17 years of age to consent to enter into a sexual relationship. I’m not going to argue with the state of Texas on that…they made a law, it seems straightforward. Until you get to the part about how nude pictures of a 17 year old are considered child pornography. In other words, the same 17 year old who can legally consent to be in a sexual relationship can’t send his/her partner nude photos without said partner getting arrested for possession of child pornography.
So to recap, in Texas, it’s legal for a 17 year old to have sex (with any partner of their choosing) but it becomes a felony in the state of Texas for the same 17 year old to send a nude selfie.
I think the state of Texas needs to decide if 17 year olds are children or adults, because they can’t have it both ways.
Because he beat his wife, Amber Heard, and newspaper pictures of her show the bruises to prove it. Some have already branded Amber a gold-digger, saying she only wants “shut up money”, but I hope to high hell she doesn’t shut up about this, no matter how much he tries to pay her to do so. Fame and money don’t get you a free pass to knock your wife around (whether you’re an A-list actor, a football star, or whatever). So I won’t be seeing Alice through the Looking Glass or anything else Depp appears in (including the Hollywood Vampires) because I’m not putting money in a wife-beater’s pocket. Depp has even gone so far as to get his first wife from the 1980s to say he’s a “nonviolent, soft person”…or at least the papers say she said that. And it’s ALWAYS the “nonviolent, soft” guys who end up getting caught throwing an iPhone at their wife’s face or pulling the hair out of her head, because those guys aren’t man enough to fight other men. The shit has hit the fan, and I know where I stand.
Anytime my mother has a project for my father, like this thing
she nominates, constitutes, & appoints yours truly to put it together with him in her stead because she can’t be bothered. He’s very non-mechanical & non-physical (in fact he’s been on a bathroom break for 20 minutes already) and all my mother knows is she wants it “done by close of business today”. All I know is I don’t enjoy being a surrogate or a stand in for her.
So public schools in North Carolina want to ban skinny jeans (on students, apparently it’s A-OK for faculty to wear them) and their rationale is
Some of the bigger girls have been getting bullied
Now, as a fuller-figured woman (specifically bottom-heavy) myself, I’ve been told…well, I’ve been told that skinny jeans are not intended for fat asses (and I appreciate the honesty of those who tell me that). Thing is, I don’t buy skinny jeans. I buy the size that fits me, I buy straight leg. If I want jeans that fit through the hips, thighs, and seat, I have to buy them too big in the waist & have the waist taken in so they fit right. I’m 38 years old and I’ve been buying jeans for decades, so I’ve had a lot of time to figure out which brands & cuts of denim work for my body. Girls in junior high and high school haven’t figured all that out yet (or they think they get it figured it out and their body changes, the jeans from freshman year don’t fit the same sophomore year). So the big girls who are being bullied may not actually be wearing skinny jeans. Maybe they just haven’t found a cut of denim that properly envelopes their assets. Rather than shame them further by pointing out the problem, the school district should be taking a zero tolerance policy on bullying.
So “everybody’s favorite TV dad” Bill Cosby will FINALLY stand trial for rape, after more than fifty women have come forward and told how he plied them with booze and drugs and had sex with them while they were unconscious (for those of you who don’t know, an unconscious person cannot consent to sex). What he did isn’t just illegal, it’s ungentlemanly, unmanly, and an all around bitch move (as in if you’re so scared someone will refuse you/laugh at your anatomy that you have to drug the person into oblivion, then you’re a little bitch & not a man).
The sad thing in all this is the statute of limitations has run out on some women’s claims (apparently Cosby has been a dirty bastard since the late ’70s/early ’80s) so the law can’t prosecute him for every rape he’s committed.
And some of you might be thinking
But what’s the point of prosecuting him for this NOW, he’s in his seventies?
The point is old men don’t get a pass because they’re old. The point is the fact that he got away with it for as long as he did doesn’t mean we let him keep getting away with it.
His name is Michael. He’s a divorced engineer with two children (yeah, I know his business, but he’s the one who told me). He shows up to comedy night every other week at The Postmark Cafe. Sometimes we have some interesting, friendly conversations.
And then I message him on the Meetup message board, to say
Good to see you last night
the day after, and it’s like talking to my hearing-impaired father. The message just doesn’t get through. So I figure he was just talking to me to be polite, he doesn’t really like me. Until the next time I see him, when he acts like he never got my message (which I’m kinda pissed he didn’t respond to) and says
Good to see you again
like nothing happened, and shows me a cell phone pic of his kids dressed up for Easter.
So we had a nice chat tonight and I just don’t know. I don’t know if he wants to be friends, lovers, or if he just wants me to drive myself crazy trying to figure it out.
Maybe now that Kesha is singing a “survivor’s song” people will take what she says about Dr. Luke seriously. Not that it wasn’t serious when she wore glitter & sang party anthems, no, it’s always been serious.
So at 10:55 am New York time, I was in the office of my gynecologist, expecting to have an endometrial polyp biopsied. I figured I would then be scheduled for a procedure (in a hospital) during which the polyp would be removed, but no. In the course of the biopsy, the doctor managed to get the whole polyp. Yup, I “delivered” a polyp that was 7 cm in length & looked like a miniature sausage. I named it Pasquale D. Polyp, & I’m happy to report that Pasquale is no longer confined to my body but rather on his way to a medical lab for testing.
Meanwhile I, having no stitches or bandages, am going to eat something fried & smothered in cheese and then go to pub trivia tonight.
“You really want a job way the hell out in Garden City?”
Pays twice what I make now,” I said, “for that money, I’ll commute on the LIRR.”