Natalia A.

This one’s about rape again. Rape of children, in fact. So you’ve been warned.

“I cried as if I was his daughter,
As I felt my insides being slaughtered.”

– Jasmine Mans

Is there a bigger betrayal than a parent raping a child? We talk about Caesar and Brutus quite a bit, but a parent raping their child? You might want to invent an entirely new circle of hell for that one, Dante. Just saying…

I remember a time I was terrified of my father. It wasn’t because he was doing anything wrong , it was because I had been abused, at that point, for about a year now by another relative, and began associating all men with what happened to me. My father would go to kiss me on the cheek after a day at work, and I would feel as if I was about to puke up my own stomach then run away screaming.

It’s bad enough when some asshole creeps into your bed at night, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to have your own father do it. That’s a new dimension of stark raving horror.

I once corresponded with a woman who found out that her husband was raping their daughters. When confronted with the fact, he offered up this priceless reply: “Well, if you had spent more time pleasing me sexually, I would have never had to turn to them.”

The girls were about 9, 12 and 14 years old, respectively.

What struck me about the response, aside from the aforementioned stark raving horror of it, is how the wife was to blame, of course. “Bitch, you didn’t like it rough, so I got our fourth-grader to take it like I want it instead.” I mean, seriously. Of course, this Beezlebub in human form just had to be a freaking boy-scout in real life. His entire office, like, cried, when he got his prison sentence. I don’t necessarily really blame them for crying, though. If anything, that entire fiasco proved that it could be anyone who can do something like this.

I have a lot of friends who have children. Sometimes, we end up having conversations that basically amount to – “Natalia, how can I make sure that what happened to you doesn’t happen to my own kid?”Continue reading “This one’s about rape again. Rape of children, in fact. So you’ve been warned.”

Are you in Jordan? Want to send food and clothes to civilians in Gaza?

Then watch this space.

Gaza Protests in Amman

Lots of protests about the latest flare-up in Gaza in town today. I’ve been advised to “steer clear,” but there was one going on in my neighbourhood, and it went alright. No craziness. Just some really angry and frustrated people.

I don’t have any words on what to do about, well, any of this, really. You’d think that since moving to the region, I’d be running my mouth off about it on any day of the week. But I have gotten much, much quieter.

Everywhere you look, there’s death. That’s all I can say for now.

Feminist Mommy Wars: Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss

This post is going to get heavy in a moment, but before we get in to all that, here’s a gratuitous picture of hot dad Hugh Jackman being hot whilst playing with one of his kids at the beach.

This picture fills me with all sorts of confusing, pervy feelings – do I want Hugh to BE my dad? Or just the dad to my future children? (With all due respect to his lovely wife, Deborra-Lee Furness, it’s very hard to resist the siren call of one’s reproductive organs when faced with pictures of Hugh Jackman. She knows what we’re all talking about. She did marry the guy.)

You know what’s nice about Hugh Jackman? The tallness. The legs. I think that men’s legs are unappreciated, both within the entertainment industry, and in general. I mean, sure, footballers have great legs, but it’s not like we’re supposed to notice, right? We’re always supposed to go for the chests.

Well, screw that. I’m a leg-woman. Always have been. And, on a related note, can I just say – THANK YOU, Hugh, for not waxing your chest. Waxed chests? Me no likey. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a naturally hairless chest (heloooo Orlando Bloom), but I just don’t see the point of waxing *sexy* hair off. It just fills me with sadness, that’s all. Others might disagree, but you can’t really argue about taste, now, can you?

Anyway, here comes the heavy stuff:

Famous Twisty, of Famous “I Blame the Patriarchy” Blog, is once again dispensing her wisdom on poor, clueless fembots in thrall to the almighty Cock. The latest? Don’t have babies, girls. Just hold yer horses until the Glorious Feminist Revolution rolls into town. Then we will have, like, “collectives” (oh how that word grates on my post-Soviet ear), and no nuclear families, and we will all live on Twisty’s ranch in happy harmony, complete with free wireless and duffle coats for all. Or something.

You know what? Fuck that. Continue reading “Feminist Mommy Wars: Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss”

These songs are for my beautiful Anna

And if you also appreciate the immortal genius (and immensely underrated sexytime appeal) of Vladimir Vysotsky, you’ll enjoy it as well.

Stay strong, Anna. I love you, honeycakes.

And, just because sometimes it helps, here’s a fun one from Vysotsky as well. This one’s about a ‘funny farm,’ as people like to put it. Particularly about institutionalized people who are obsessed with the Bermuda Triangle. So it’s very familiar. To me. The video is spliced from two performances, both hilarious.