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marriage, divorce

There was one thing that scared me a bit in 2013; Divorce. There sure were a lot of people getting divorced. Even people who you thought were perfect for one another and had great marriages, suddenly they were done. Next thing you know that they’re already having deeper issues because of parental alienation syndrome. What is parental alienation syndrome, you ask? Go to kabirfamilylaw.co.uk for more details.  I started to believe that maybe marriage had a shelf life even after you made it past the dreaded 7-year-itch and the expiration date was somewhere between the 11-18 year mark. We’re about to hit 15 years, so we are right smack dab in the middle of the likely to divorce session of marriage.I guess it makes sense, those are the years when people find themselves getting bored. Babies are born and life has become predictable and maybe you miss the excitement of when it was all new. You’ve both changed and maybe instead of growing together, you’ve grown apart. I get it. People grow up and perspectives and beliefs change and evolve. What’s important to you at 23, might not be important at all when you are 33.

It felt like everyone I knew was going through an early midlife crisis and their spouse had suddenly become as obsolete to them as condoms. No one gets married thinking this will be nice for 10 years or so but no one should stay in a bad marriage but I also think we should work hard to try to salvage a good one. Sometimes just talking, really talking and listening to one another can make all the difference because maybe your partner is having all the same questions and fears about the marriage. I have also seen first hand that hurts done without sincerely apology can kill love dead. Together maybe you can work towards fixing it but if one person is oblivious to the turmoil the marriage is in or content with the way things are and the other is miserable, things build up and people part ways. It made me think. It made me wonder what the fuck would I do if I found myself suddenly single at 41?

I mean 41 is not old but it’s also not prime husband shopping years. I’ve given birth, gained weight and have a lot more baggage than I did at 25. I have kids for God’s sake. It’s not just my life a relationship would effect, it’s my girls’ lives too and who could I ever trust to care for them and love them like their own father because they’d be marrying all 3 of us; we’re a package deal. Not to mention, and I hate to admit it, I don’t tan or pluck and shave and workout like I once did. My unibrow is just about got the band back together and my mustache, well, I swear that sonofabitch is trying to join forces with this sudden onset middle age chin fuzz. My boobs, they are further south than I knew was possible for women under 80 and every single bone in my body pops and cracks when I walk. I swear, I am 1 duct taping away from falling completely apart. Attractive, right? You’re probably wondering why the hell my husband’s still around with all that going on in the first place? I can only guess its because crazy turns him on.

The Big Guy and I got married agreeing that we don’t believe in divorce. There is only one way out of this marriage and that is death. Now, you can go by natural causes like old age two days after I die or you can break one of the deadly sins of marriage like abusing a wife or a child in any way or cheating, having extramarital relations. We’ve joked about it and I’ve warned him of how if we ever divorce he will keep me in the lifestyle I am accustomed to and he will have the children and pets every weekend (because you know I’ll have to be on the prowl for a wealthy man. Yep, I married for love once, next go around I need financial stability and botox and such. ) But really, we both know, there is only ONE way out of this marriage and it involves death and us parting.  It’s all just a matter of how, why and when you go.

I’d just assume skip the whole homicidal thing plus I really quite like being married to the Big Guy so I’ve decided maybe I’d like to spice up the marriage we have. What we have works but I know we are boring. At the end of the day, he is still my favorite person in the world, my best friend and when he grabs my hand to hold it, it still takes my breath away. We’re both older, heavier and we know all of each others old stories. We know what the other is thinking before they ever say it. It may sound boring if you are on the outside looking in but we still surprise one another with a flirty glance or a thoughtful gesture. Through it all; ups and downs, good and bad, rich and poor there is one constant; unconditional love and everyone knows that trumps that new relationship feeling.

The girls are getting a little older so maybe it’s time to focus a little more time on the marriage now that we can spend a little less time trying to keep the kids alive. At 6 and 8 they are pretty good about walking up stairs, keeping keys out of electrical outlets and averting danger and they’ve gotten really good at breathing through the night…I know, I still check. So maybe a little 15 year spice is just the preventative measure we need to insure marital bliss for years to come. Plus, really, nobody wants to die anytime soon.

What do you do to keep your marriage new and exciting? OR if you have gotten a divorce, what do you wish you would have done differently?

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blog, blogging, 2014, New Year

Discombobulated. Exhausted. What time is it? What day is it? Wow! I am in the throes of one of the worst Christmas hangovers I’ve ever experienced. It’s outrageous. My poor blog has suffered and fallen to the wayside of my priorities. With all the moments saturated in holiday joy and togetherness, sitting down to write about it seemed to feel like it might spoil the magic. I wanted to live it not write about it and that is what I did and it was magnificent.

On December 14th the Nutcracker ended and then I played the most intensive game of catch up that I’ve ever had the misfortune to take part in. My blogging has been shit because I had so many obligations that I needed to get done. Then Christmas came and I have purposely been spending time with my girls and the Big Guy. I am like a damn quality time camel, I am trying to suck it all up while we are in this holiday bubble, before people start going back to school and work, before deadlines are mounting and the out-of-control-ness of life takes hold once again.

I do want to get back to blogging like I did in the beginning before I had to worry about who was or wasn’t reading. I’m forgetting that my mom, mother-in-law and Homeland security have all been known to frequent my page. I want to blog like no one is reading once again. I want to comment and read blogs. I want to know what’s going on outside my bubble. I want people to give me their perspective on what I write even if they disagree. I want to have long, drawn out conversations in 140 characters. I want to make new friends online. I want to hug the necks of all those who have taken the time to engage. I want quality to matter over quantity. I want content to be king again. I don’t want to worry about fucking SEO, my “numbers” or how much to charge. I want to write what I feel and say what I mean and not give a damn.

I have a list of goals for my life, the blog and my family (by the way, I always have a list of goals not just on the brink of a New Year. I am a chronic list maker, if you are one too, I am sure that you have a list of goals at all times too. Go ahead, flip through your phone, notebook or journal, I’ll wait). I want to be better and yet, I want to be who I am; loud and proud and free of over-thinking. I don’t want to worry about other people’s judgment or care what they think about what I have to say. I want to blog like no one is reading. I want to live like there is no tomorrow and I want to dance like no one is watching.

Life is too short to do anything else. So this year, I have my list of things that I want to accomplish. Most are things that I do already, some are things I need to remind myself to do and others I have completely forgotten or given up on but I like a challenge so on my list they remain. 2013 was good to me, better than 2012, but I want to blow the roof off of 2014, in so many ways. Mostly, I want to be better, love harder and live fully. I want to mommy with compassion and patience, I want to be more present in my life and more passionate in my marriage. I want to give 110% to the things that matter and most of all, I want to be happy with myself with no regrets.

I wish all of you an abundance of love, peace in your heart and success in your every endeavor. Be brave, blog like no one is reading and live like each day is a new beginning of your story. Embrace it with enthusiasm and wonder, because each day is a chance to rewrite your story. Each moment is redemption and salvation. Don’t plan for how you want to live your life…just live, right this moment; every minute of every single day for the rest of your life.

Wishing you all the happiest New Year filled with moments that take your breath away!

I am serious about wanting to read and comment of blogs and I am serious about more conversations on Twitter and I really want to have conversations and share on FB not just read and like links like its a job. I want to look forward to hearing what you have to say. Let’s do this. Let’s bring it back.Let’s blog like no one is reading…like it’s 2009.

Leave your blog url, twitter handle or FB page in the comments and I will check you out. Here’s to 2014!

What’s your #1 goal for 2014?

 

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Christmas was a blur of warm fuzzy feelings and binging on family time. My cup runneth over. We cut back on the girls’ gifts this year but they still seemed to get everything they could want and more. My parents spent Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with us.  There were grandparents and new babies and lots and lots of love. There wasn’t even a Christmas Eve filled with wrapping sessions because, for once, we did it two weeks before. It was beautiful and magical and I even think I might remember some of it clearly but then the immediate overwhelming sense of impending doom infiltrated every fiber of my soul and I was still. So still that you could hardly notice I was there. I was hoping that disaster and doom would pass me by.

I’ve been missing from the blog, social media and any online activity lately. Sure, I still wake up every morning and check my phone before I get up. I share and like and comment on my friend’s warm and fuzzy posts about the love of the holidays and then it happened. I began to read all the posts about being alone, going through divorce, losing someone, losing children, losing parents, being sick and dying of cancer, missing those who they lost and my heart nearly burst from sadness and then from guilt. How the hell am I so blessed when so many others are in such pain? Then I remembered how much pain I was in last year. My heart was broken. I spent nearly a year muddling through the fog and pain of surviving a shitty year. A monumentally shitty year and then I realized that last year I was the sad status.

Then I began to wait for the doom. It sickens me that I can never enjoy happiness because I am always waiting for the counterbalancing hurt of life to even out the joy because no way life is going to let me walk around smiling like a happy, dopey dumb sonofabitch. Life is going to kick me in the balls. It always does, when I least expect it. I know happiness does not last forever but I so want to enjoy these little moments of happiness without worrying about the next bad thing around the corner. The sickness, the death, the loss, the pain and the hurt. So this is me, wishing all of you love, laughter and happiness. This is me trying to overcome my own neurotic state of impending doom. This is me enjoying the small moments of happiness that permeate the air and fill my lungs.

May God bless and keep you all happy, healthy, and wealthy with warm beds and full bellies. May life smile upon you and may your children be safely in your arms, your love holding you tight and may you be blessed with all the love, prosperity and success that the world can muster because life is too damn short to worry about the impending doom that may or may not be right around the corner. The price of happiness is not doom. The price of happiness is laughter and a full soul.

 

Image via Zetson

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Overweight, weight loss, health, New Year's Resolutions

What’s the moment when you know that you are too fat? The photo above is not actually me but it could definitely be my before and after photos..only I was thinner and now, I may be slightly fatter. Either way, I don’t like where I am at or where I am headed if I don’t do something this moment.

I felt my stomach on my lap! That’s when I knew. I didn’t want to admit it and I certainly didn’t want to write it for the entire internet to read but it’s true and being me, I can’t pick and choose where I’m transparent and where I’m not. It’s all transparency; all the time, even when it hurts like a damn open wound with salt in it. But it’s more than just feeling my belly in my lap it was the moment that I said no more. It was my line in the sand. I think anyone who has ever gained and lost weight knows exactly what I am talking about. That moment when you have to face the fact that you are, in fact, despite any tucking and pulling and pushing, overweight.

I’m ashamed. Ashamed that I let it get this out if control and those old feelings have been sneaking back into my head so I’ve decided to get help. I’m typing this from my first weight watchers meeting in 4 years. I’ve tried doing it alone online but that doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried everything but I need human contact. I need support from other women who know the shock and shame of their stomach resting in their lap. I can’t believe this is where I am. It’s yet another club that I wish I never knew anything about. Oh and I am taking the Big Guy along for the ride. This will only work if we do it together.

But here I am, sitting among the kind, understanding, compassionate faces of other women who’ve been here (the bottom) and it’s inspiring me. It takes a baby step followed by another, motivated by the sincere want and desire and dedication to changing your life. I am ready for me. I got up this morning and went to a meeting and faced the scale. It felt like someone punched my in my low lying, overindulgent belly.

Over the past year, I’ve learned (finally) to step back and ask myself why? To stop and pay attention, even when I don’t have a free moment. 2013 was wonderful in many ways. I grew up in a lot of ways. I am finally able to see myself more clearly without judgment or through fat goggles.I had a lot of firsts and I have begun to spread my wings and fly but this is the next step. No more stomach resting in my lap, no more flapping arms and saggy ass. But it’s not just about my belly, my belly is just a symptom of my procrastination and never putting myself first. I have to put myself to make myself feel and be better for me before I can be better for the girls or the Big Guy. I am ready to be happy. I deserve it. I’ve waited my entire life for this moment of clarity and motivation to meet. There will be no magic pills, no cheating or gimmicks, just a whole lot of hard work and follow through.

I’m not waiting for the New Year or tomorrow anymore because the beginning is always today! (Mary Shelley) THE BEGINNING IS ALWAYS TODAY…no matter what your challenge is in life….TODAY IS THE BEGINNING!

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Sandy Hook, Newtown shootings, Adam Lanza

Saturday was the anniversary of the Sandy Hook Elementary massacre. I was backstage, watching from stage left as my daughters performed their final show. I wanted to be in as close proximity to my girls as possible. I half expected some deviant, somewhere to decide to commemorate the anniversary with his or her own massacre. This is who I have become since December 14, 2012. I am afraid and I can’t shake it. Sandy Hook changed my life. Saturday, my heart was heavy for the mothers and fathers of Sandy Hook. The air was so thick I could barely breathe.

In our world, shootings happen frequently, so much so that it is no longer shocking. A crazed gun man walks into a post office, a disgruntled employee walks into his place of business, a religious zealot walks into a church, a long gunman walks into a mall or a theater, a jilted lover walks into a house…this happens all over the place, all the time but Sandy Hook was different it hit many of us where we live. Adam Lanza made us all feel vulnerable in a place where we already walk around like an open wound to the world; our children. He stole the one place we felt comfortable and safe leaving our children away from us; school.

Every morning when I drop my girls off at school, I am afraid that it might be the last time that I ever see them. Every time I hear a siren, I call the school to make sure everything is all right. If the girls are in a bad mood in the morning and we argue, I always rectify it before dropping them at school. I always hug them goodbye and I always tell them that I love them because I am terrified that something might happen and it might be the last time that we see one another and I don’t want my last words to them to be mean ones. The events that transpired that cold Friday morning at Sandy Hook Elementary did that to me. I know life goes on but my trust in the world has been broken and I am not sure that it can ever be mended.

For the rest of my life, my heart will stop when I hear a siren if my children are not in my line of sight. For the rest of my life, I will watch my children until they are all the way in the building. For the rest of my life, I will remember that my children are the most precious gift that life has given me and I will not take them for granted. For the rest of my life, I will not trust the world to protect our children. That is what Adam Lanza and his shooting spree has done to our world.

Children are not disposable. Human beings are not replaceable. No one needs a gun. Gun violence needs to stop and we need to prevent something like Sandy Hook from ever happening again.No parent should ever have to wonder if this is the last time they will see their child alive at morning drop off. We should not have to live our lives in fear. If you believe that the right to bear arms is more important that the lives of 26 people than we probably can’t be friends. Please pray for peace for the mothers and fathers of the Sandy Hook victims.

How has your perspective on life changed since Sandy Hook?

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coughing, stress incontinence

Why is it that women of a certain age who have children can no longer cough or sneeze without crossing their legs to stop themselves from pissing. Don’t even get me started on the coughing fits. I have another cold and I am terrified that I might piss myself in public. I am actually choosing my wardrobe based on which is least likely to reveal my coughing fit piss stain. I am becoming a Holiday hermit for fear of urinating myself in public.

I’ve tried party-liners and, let me just be frank with you, they only work if you have one of those teeny tiny sneezes or can slam your thighs shut in the spur of the moment like a bear trap. But if you have a full-on coughing fit or, God forbid, a child or dog sitting on your lap when the unfortunate incident takes place, foggedaboutit you better just get yourself a pair of Depends because in some situations its just better to be safe than sorry.  Sorry you pissed your pants Grandma. Yeah, I feel 105 every time I cough. I love my daughters but did their heads have to be SO damn big?

As if it were not bad enough that they split me apart and there is no longer a urethra, vagina and asshole but just one gaping wound, now I can’t even keep liquids down..errr inside..you know what I mean! This should be included in the What to Expect when You’re Expecting manuals. This should be told to every little girl that watches the puberty video. We should all be forewarned that we will piss ourselves after giving birth.I don’t know about you but I don’t particularly relish the thought of running around all stuffed up from a head cold smelling of the faint scent of urine like the homeless women on Randolph because I can’t smell anything and no one has the heart to tell me. Just tell me.

I was so concerned about shitting on the delivery table while pushing my children out into the world, if only I had known about the entire pissing ever after, I may have begged for a Caesarian section. They say that a steady regime of Kegels will rectify the situation but I say, they are damn liars. I have kegeled so much that I walk around with my vagina closed tight like a fist and yet, one rogue tickle in my throat and cough and there I stand, with a leaking closed fist where my vagina used to be. It should come standard to do some sort of urethra/bladder reconstruction for all women after giving birth. At the very least, can we stick an extra stitch or two in there to bring it back to some semblance of normal? Hell, sew it shut. I just don’t want to have a steady drip during flu season. Yes, doctor, I would like the number 3; urethra reconstruction, labia beautification and a tummy tuck.

Anyone else dreading cold season and stocking up on panty liners? Don’t say know because I noticed a definite shortage of Tylenol cold and flu and pantyliners at the local Target, coincidence? I think not!

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Caroline Berg Eriksen, weight loss, mommy wars, sisterhood

So it happened. You know that moment when something just clicks? Well, yesterday something just clicked. I decided to just do it. I am doing it. This morning was the first day.

I’ve been seeing this photo floating around FB of Caroline Berg Eriksen, the Norwegian soccer wife and fitness blogger, in her undies and bra looking like a svelte supermodel four days after giving birth. People are annoyed by her and asking why she would do something like this. People are pissed off. How dare she look that good 4 days after giving birth! It has to be a fake.

Well, not me. I say, Go GIRL! Hell, I don’t know how she did it. I am assuming that she was in pretty damn good shape before giving birth, being a fitness blogger and all and maybe she just has those good genes. We don’t know her story or her struggles. We just saw a picture and got pissed because life isn’t fair. I won’t lie, I’m a little jealous. She’s got my “after” body. You know the body I “hope” to have after getting in losing weight and getting into shape.

caroline berg eriksen, weight loss, mommy warsMy sister-in-law had 4 kids and after every birth, she looked svelte. Of course, she was an athlete and I was not. Both times, I left the hospital at my pre-pregnancy weight, wearing my regular pants, with a muffin top and the best thing that ever happened to me bundled in my arms. As far as I am concerned, I was the luckiest girl in the world. I wish we didn’t all define ourselves by the size of our asses and that we didn’t always compare the size of our asses to everyone else’s asses, but we do.

All summer, I was very diligent about working out. I was walking/jogging 5 days a week and watching and logging every single morsel of food that went into my mouth. It was becoming a habit; a healthy way of living. For someone who has obsessed over her weight for most of her life and then tried to cheat her way to skinny, a shift in my way of thinking and habits was almost a miracle.  I was embracing it. I felt proud of myself. Hell, I even felt a little sexy which is something I never feel. My clothes were fitting better and life just seemed brighter. If you’ve ever battled with body image, you know that this was not vanity; this was security.

I felt good about myself and that was something foreign to me but it felt good. Then I went to BlogHer and I fell off the wagon. I was eating whatever I wanted, drinking alcohol to be social and snacking on tiny cheeseburgers at all hours of the night. I just wanted to be normal; enjoy my time with my friends and not worry about food. Fucking food is the bane of my existence but I didn’t just fall off the wagon, I went charging off the wagon head first.

I had every intention of getting back on the wagon when I got back home but I never did. I tried but here I am 5 months later confessing that I gained all the weight back. I am disappointed with myself but instead of doing something about it, I just fed my shame with more carbs and it made matters worse. Since Halloween, all bets have been off. My eating habits have been like a runaway train chocked full of poor choices and absolutely NO.EXERCISE! Every day is a perpetual walk of shame. If you’ve ever been heavy or unsatisfied with the skin you live in, you know what I am talking about.

This is a mighty slippery slope for the girl in recovery from Eating Disorders. I’ve caught myself lately thinking; maybe I should just throw that up. Mostly, I don’t but in all honesty, a couple times I have; silently and quietly and then I find myself thinking, I can do this. But I don’t want to and I don’t let myself but right there in my brain, I know the cheater’s solution. I know how to gain control of this runaway train (or maybe just trade it in for a better looking model). I have little girls and my selfish days are long over, I can’t be that horrible example for them. I need to be better than that, in spite of myself. I need to be strong. I need to be healthy.

I’ve had some very inspirational women present in my life lately; my sister with hard work, exercise and a change in eating habits has changed her life. My friend Erin is bravely facing her challenges in life and getting stronger every day. It’s not easy but she is worth fighting for, finally she knows that. My friend Jenni is one of the strongest women I know and she never gives up. She dusts her self off, does what needs to be done and kicks another day’s ass. My friend Niki always keeps going, even when she is too tired and weary to take another step. She stays positive and never loses sight of what’s important. My friends Amy & Jennifer, they are busting their asses and you can see the changes in their bodies, minds and in their spirits. They are happy and determined. All of these women are changing their lives by making the decision to face the hard choices and to take control when the whole damn thing is out of control. They inspire me. I am happy for them. I support them for being their best even at life’s worst an for persevering even when life’s challenges seem insurmountable. I want to do the same.

I don’t need to knock anyone else down in order for me to stand tall. Who cares if Caroline Berg Eriksen looks unnaturally perfect after giving birth, we don’t know how she’s come to where she is in life and we don’t know her struggles and challenges. Truly, I’ve got plenty to worry about in my own house, like my own weight and making sure I am being a good example to my girls, I don’t have the time or energy to be hating on a new mom who looks fantastic. I’m happy for her because I wouldn’t wish unhappiness with your body on anyone.

I am doing it. Today, I made the decision to stop listening to the self defeating voices in my head and know in my heart that I can do this…the right way. Thank you for the inspiration ladies.

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It’s been one of those weeks. You know the ones where you are bone tired but at the same time there is something inside that won’t shut off. It’s like your flight or fight response has kicked in and you have no one to fight and nowhere to run because the cause follows you because it is within you.

The week started with a midnight ding on my laptop; a comment on a blog post about my battle with anorexia. God that seems like a lifetime ago in the miserable state of affairs my body stands in today. The comment was left by a 15-year-old girl in New Zealand who is struggling with eating disorders. She is crying for help but no one believes her. I know how this turns out if no one pays attention; the story ends with her dying. Gone. No more because even her own parents wouldn’t take her seriously. I reply. I give her some number and emails to a hotline. I am triggered. I want to swoop in and save her but I can’t. I am here. I can only offer assistance, listen, believe her and hope she takes the next step. Fight.

Then a couple days later, I hosted a twitter party. I was really excited about it because it meant that I could giveaway  a prize that I thought would make some little girl’s Christmas morning. That meant something to me because I know there are mothers out there who can’t afford to give their children anything for Christmas and I could help a mom give her child the best Christmas ever. It took a lot of work. I’ve been planning and negotiating this since August. Then I even got to give away 2 houses and then after it was all said and done, I was called a liar and a cheat by two participants who didn’t win. I know I shouldn’t take it personally but I do. Fight.

Then I read a post by an asshole man called, Five Reasons to Date a Girl with an Eating Disorder. You know, the disease that kills women, the disease that might be killing a 15-year-old in New Zealand right now and the disease that could have killed me. He makes light of this disease that I suffered from for 8 years; the very same thing that I will be in recovery from for the rest of my life; the disorder that kills women. He obviously has no understanding of it or is the most callous and unkind human walking the face of the earth. Fight.

Then today, November 24th, what would have been the first birthday of the baby I lost. I accidentally watched a 1st birthday video of a friend’s daughter and that’s when it hit me like a MACK truck. I should be celebrating but instead my lap is empty and my heart is heavy today. The air is thick and it’s hard to breathe. I don’t know when this will stop happening. I don’t know if we ever really get over our hurts in life. I think maybe they grow to be a part of us and change us. Flight

I’m here, hammering out deadlines and avoiding my reality. My heart is pretty fragile this week and the slightest push of pressure in the wrong way may break me completely. But in this moment I thank God for what I have; a man who loves me with all my flaws, children who I can hold in my arms a little longer than I need to today, a best friend who reaches out from across the universe to make sure that my heart is still in tact and work. Work that keeps my mind occupied and tears at bay.

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Melissa Bachman, African lion, animal rights,

Melissa Bachman is a huntress, slayer of defenseless animals and seems to enjoy it a little more than most. The Minnesota-based television personality and big-game hunter’s photo of herself posing with an African lion she’d killed in South Africa goes viral just as conservationists warn that the big cats could be gone from the wild in the next decade. 75 percent of the wild lion population has been killed just in the past 20 years and if we don’t stop, the only lions left will be the ones in cages at the zoos.

Lion hunting is not illegal in Africa, so Melissa Bachman, traveled her animal killing for sport happy ass to Africa to hunt and kill one of the world’s most endangered and majestic species, the lion, just because she could. Then there was the awesome photo op because obviously it takes a lot of sport to hunt and kill an unarmed animal. She was smiling so big you would think she won the lottery.

There are only 30,000 lions remaining in the wild, these majestic big cats are vanishing from the African landscape. Habitat loss and human-wildlife conflict are the main reason, but trophy hunting by assholes like Bachman is responsible for the slaughter of 600 lions each year. Nearly 60 percent of all those slain kings of the jungle are killed for sport and shipped to the United States of America to set in someone’s trophy room. This is able to happen because the U.S. Endangered Species Act does NOT protect the African lion.

Look, I won’t lie, I am against all sport killing and mistreatment of animals in general. Unless you are going to eat the animal and use every usable square inch of the animal for shelter, clothing, food and protection just leave it alone. Honestly, I don’t think you should do it at all unless you are being attacked.

You know what I think? I think if you are only hunting for sport and not for survival you should be required to fight with a knife not a rifle. Let’s make it a fair fight. Let’s see how sporty you are feeling after you come face to face with a living, breathing, pissed off threatened African Lion. If the Lion would have been at her dwelling and stalking her as prey, then yes, shoot him to save yourself or protect your family but don’t just go out and shoot a living being for no purpose other than you can.

I don’t hunt. I don’t believe in guns and I don’t believe in hunting for sport. If I had no option and my kids were starving, I would hunt for survival but never for sport. What kind of monster must you be to take pleasure in killing an animal who is minding his own business, simply existing in his own habitat? It’s like we learned nothing since the Bob Parson’s incident.

Melissa Bachman, African Lion, extinction, africa,

Melissa Bachman you’ve earned yourself a King of the Jungle sized throat punch this week for being most outrageously offensive human being and grinning like a psycho the entire time.

Melissa Bachman

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racism,Richard Cohen,biracial children, interracial marriage, throat punch thursday

Yesterday, I had an article come across my tread about Richard Cohen, a writer for the Washington Post, who declared…

Today’s GOP is not racist, as Harry Belafonte alleged about the tea party, but it is deeply troubled — about the expansion of government, about immigration, about secularism, about the mainstreaming of what used to be the avant-garde. People with conventional views must repress a gag reflex when considering the mayor-elect of New York — a white man married to a black woman and with two biracial children. (Should I mention that Bill de Blasio’s wife, Chirlane McCray, used to be a lesbian?) This family represents the cultural changes that have enveloped parts — but not all — of America. To cultural conservatives, this doesn’t look like their country at all.

If you ask me, Bill de Blasio sounds like a man who sees beyond the surface and does not judge people on what they appear to be but for what they actually are beneath the exterior, superficial appearance. I went to the source and read the entire article, in Richard Cohen’s own words. After carefully reading the piece, I began to second guess whether or not he was actually a racist or if he was just the victim of misunderstanding and salacious headlines. Been there, done that. Then, I read this paragraph…

Iowa not only is a serious obstacle for Christie and other Republican moderates, it also suggests something more ominous: the Dixiecrats of old. Officially the States’ Rights Democratic Party, they were breakaway Democrats whose primary issue was racial segregation. In its cause, they ran their own presidential candidate, Strom Thurmond, and almost cost Harry Truman the 1948 election. They didn’t care. Their objective was not to win — although that would have been nice — but to retain institutional, legal racism. They saw a way of life under attack and they feared its loss.

And just like that all doubts were removed. Because with him making that one little remark, “ although that would have been nice” he confirmed that he, in fact, is opposed to equality and biracial marriage and for legal racism.  He’s a racist.

I am the product of a biracial marriage. My children are the product of a biracial marriage. I am trying to raise my children in the United States; a country that is supposed to be a melting pot of cultures and color, but still, there is racism and the them and us mentality lives on.

Richard Cohen,biracial children, interracial marriage, throat punch thursday, racism

When my mother married my father in Virginia in 1972, 41 years ago, she took my father to meet her Grandfather who had helped raise her. He had not come to their small wedding so she took her groom to meet him. He told her that she might as well have married a n*gger and promptly slammed the door in her face. I cringe every time I even think of him using the n word because it wreaks of so much ignorance and somewhere that asshole’s blood runs through my veins.*Hangs head in shame*

I am sure after he shut the door he threw up in his mouth a little. Too bad he didn’t choke on it. Maybe he did, how would I know? I never met him. This has been our legacy. My mother was devastated and never saw her grandfather again because she didn’t want her children around that. She protected us but to the racists she was even more disgusting than my father because she chose to be with him. She chose someone her grandfather felt was less than her; a poor mountain girl from a divorced family in the south with nothing, at all. He made that assumption based on the color of my father’s skin. He didn’t care that they loved one another or that she was happy. He only cared that it wasn’t what he thought was traditional. My mom, the damn dirty liberal she was. I’d like to think people have evolved since 1972 but I honestly think we are in a state of devolution, if Richard Cohen and the Iowa Tea Party are any indication.

Here’s the problem, aside from the fact that humans are humans and as such we are all created equal, we live in a country where everyone is mixed.  I mean how many of you are English, just English? Hell, I don’t even think most of the people in England are pure English unless they are royalty. I mean if we are going to be literal, if you are not American Indian, you are not native. Guess what, I am 1/16th Cherokee. So, aren’t I more American than someone who came over on the Mayflower?

Apparently, the issue most conservatives have which causes them to vomit in their mouths a little bit is when they see actual colors mixing because you can’t hide that. You can’t hide from the color of your skin, no matter how ashamed or self-loathing the right wing conservatives try to make you feel. It announces itself before you ever enter the room.

Richard Cohen,biracial children, interracial marriage, throat punch thursday, racism

This sort of mentality makes me sick and it makes me afraid for my children. People who see others as less important, somehow less human than themselves, also see those same people as disposable threats. What happens when we are all so mixed up that you can no longer identify people by their colors? Do we feel betrayed or duped because we didn’t know that we were supposed to be throwing up in our own mouths with disgust because two people blindly fell in love with a human and not a color of skin?

Personally, I am looking forward to the day when the entire country is a beautiful shade of café au lait. Life is not black and white; it’s not that simple. Humans are complicated. But there is one thing that is clear, I want better for my daughters. I never want them to have to hang their heads in shame for being Latina. I want them to live in a world where racists are the minority and are the ones hanging their heads in shame for their despicable behaviors. If you are a racist, I pity you because there is a whole group of people that you are cheating yourself from knowing simply based on the color of their skin.

Today, my throat punch goes to Richard Cohen for writing such an offensive piece, the Washington Post for employing such a racist pig and to all those like Mr.Cohen who think people should be separated by color like laundry instead of standing shoulder to shoulder, intermingling and learning from one another. I want better for my girls.

What do you think about Richard Cohen and his take on race and the tea Party?

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