I am trying to figure out your hideous online application process, and I gotta tell you I am stumped.

Now I am not a

A poster sized print of this is my wedding prezzie for Ruth & Bernard.

What is this? you are probably asking yourself.

It turns out that we live in at the nexus of yuppy hell, where seemingly unimportant things inspire both ire and gross revenge plans from neighbors.

That blue bag is a bag of dog shit hung on the car because it was parked slightly over the sidewalk (in our own driveway).

Peeps- I am used to the ghetto. I know what things will and won’t get you hurt in an environment of the urban poor. Calling someone’s mom a dirty name will get you hurt, parking badly will be ignored. These things make sense to me. I am having a very difficult time figuring out why someone would be soooooo pissed about having to take a half step to the side that they would need to leave animal excrement on the offending vehicle.

This post popped up in my reader from Feminist Philosophers about borderline personality disorder. At the very end of the post, the author mentions a book , Janet Wirth-Cauchon’s Women and Borderline Personality Disorder, and how Wirth-Cauchon thinks borderline personality disorder is the “new female malady”.

Being fairly familiar with BPD (Hi Mom- stop stalking me on the internet- it’s creepy and gross) and sadly familiar with domestic violence, I don’t think BDP is a particularly female problem. I think that men with BDP are seen as love sick, John Cusak with a boombox type romantics instead of potentially violent stalkers with a mental illness (an illness that is patriarchy approved, mind you). Now granted, I’m not a psychologist but I’ve spent enough time on a couch sorting through this shit to have a pretty good idea of what I’m talking about.

Life with my mom was excruciating. There was never enough I could do to prove that I loved her and was a good daughter. The more I sacrificed of myself, the more needy she became. And when my attention was focused elsewhere for even a minute, her rage was earthshaking. For people with BPD, you can never love them enough to make it ok. If they feel that you are “slipping away” then there are suicide threats, eating disorders, drug abuse, lies, manipulations, or some crisis is created where you have to come pay attention to them right now. Having friends or boyfriends or even other family members that love you is not ok. For my mom, there is only a limited amount of love in the world and any love that goes to someone else is love (re/ attention) that is not going to her. Loved ones of people with BDP can find themselves very isolated.

And this isn’t very different from domestic abuse patterns. If you listen to any DV victim, the same themes of needy partners and isolation come up. Unfounded jealousy, “crazy making” manipulations, violent episodes of rage for no rational reason are all pretty standard for both BDP and DV.

It makes sense to me, that after growing up in a house where love was this obsessive, needy, devouring beast that I ended up with the Kid’s dad when I did. It was familiar, unhealthy but familiar. At the end of my relationship with the Kid’s dad and at various points in my relationship with my mom I did what I could to become a blank slate around them. I tried to erase whatever it was about me that made them hurt. It was a futile exercise, because there wasn’t ever enough I could do to make it right and the more I tried to blank out the more I resented them, which made them more volatile, which made me more resentful, etc. But the thing that saved me from continuing both of those relationships was the same, the Kid. I could tolerate a whole lot of shit being thrown my way, but when that shit started heading towards the Kid the logical part of my brain, or perhaps what one shrink called my “survivor’s heart” kicked in and said enough.

Since the Kid’s dad, I have never been in another romantic relationship that was even slightly abusive. Sure, I’ve dated my fair share of jerks (and I’ve been a jerk a few times myself) but they weren’t abusive.

All of this is just a long way of saying that I don’t think BDP is a female malady. I think it may be a female manifestation of domestic abuse. But what does it say about female agency that men who act this way are criminals (as long as you have a police force, district attorney and judicial system with domestic violence training) while women who act this way are diseased? I think that is an interesting question, and one I don’t have a good answer for.

This post is just pissing me off. Actually, Andrew Leonard’s take on it is fine, but the whole basis of the idea that there are scads of people out there voting against their own best interest either by being poor and white and voting Republican or being rich and white and voting for higher taxes is a sham.

People DO vote in their own self interest. For the reasons Andrew stated

I personally would be inclined to argue that pro-fiscal stimulus rich liberals are following John Maynard Keynes when they willingly accept higher taxes to pay for government spending because they understand that this makes economic sense of the whole country. If all the workers are laid off, who is going to buy the products or services that allow rich people to get rich? Supporting an active government effort to shorten a recession seems like pure self interest to me, whether you are rich or poor.

I think that’s a pretty good take on why rich people in urban areas vote for higher taxes.

Why poor white men in rural areas vote Republican is pretty easy to explain too. The Democratic party doesn’t offer them anything. Sure it’s supposed to be the party of the liberal working class, yet the Dems have failed to offer anything to the working class, black or white. What they have done is put in place affirmative action (much needed, but not perfect) which puts more competitive stress on poor white men for jobs. The few qualities that have made their lives tolerable over the course of American history (being white and male) by giving them advantages over the non-white and non-male are being taken away, without any good solutions to replace them. In their eyes, at least the Republicans want to let them keep their unfair advantages, even if they don’t offer any eal kind of improvement either.

Until we on the left figure out that we have to make things better for everyone at the bottom (black, white, brown, male, female, etc) then there will be a large section of the population that resents any efforts we make to improve things for people on a group basis. We need more jobs for everyone, not JUST more access to jobs for some. We need better wages for everyone, not just more lenient immigration policies for people willing to work for a fraction of fair wages.

Those poor white men ain’t stupid, they are holding on to their only advantage. It is our failure as progressives that we haven’t come up with a plan that shows them a better way for everyone.

Or perhaps a better title is “what do we do about Iran?”

And the answer is pretty simple.

Nothing. We don’t interfere in their recount process. We don’t channel any kind of support (publicly or privately) to any of the candidates. We stay the fuck out of it. We don’t make any comments about what we will or won’t do regarding the nuclear situation depending on who ends up in charge. We don’t send weapons or money to the revolutionaries. We back off. Way off.

Except for the media. Don’t send soldiers or guns. Send cameras and laptops.

We (Americans) have a history of interfering in other people’s elections and/or revolutions. And we have a history of backing atrocious people (Trujillo in the DR, Pinochet in Chile, Saddam Hussein, and the Shaw of Iran whose ousting has led to Iran’s extended trip into theocracy, to name just a few). We are bad at trying to set up “democracy” in other countries. They always fail because democracy through tyranny is still tyranny.

I think it’s entirely plausible that the protests and riots are proof that the election was fixed. They are risking their lives in Iran to make their votes count. But change has to come from inside, and so does revolution. The minute we pick a candidate, that candidate looses all legitimacy in the eyes of the Iranian people. They have to be willing to fight for it themselves, and as we’ve seen in Iraq, without that kind of public groundswell you end up with a violent quagmire.

One of the things that DV victims who escape learn is that you need to ask for help/ warn people in authority that you have this crazy person trying to do damage to you and your loved ones. You have to tell bosses so that exes aren’t allowed to stalk you at work (which can be problematic because they can fire you rather than run the risk of having a crazy person shoot up their job site) and you have to talk to your kid’s school.

Getting the kid a safe preschool, back when all this shit started, was a frightening. I ended up picking a school with a locked door/ buzzer/ video camera system for letting parents in. It’s a little freaky, cause as a parent you want to be able to drop in on a school anytime to make sure your kid is safe, and the getting through that much security eliminates surprise visits. But eliminating surprise visits from violent exes is a good thing.

This time around, I am not finding the school to be nearly as helpful as they should be. His counselor, who claimed to have a “well developed bulls hit meter” when we first talked about her supervising the Kid’s meeting with his dad, has apparently had NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO domestic violence training. When I sent an email to ask about safety at the Kid’s graduation, she told me that Kid’s dad “seems like a nice family guy who would never hurt anyone”. I then had to explain that they ALWAYS look like “nice family guys”. That’s their shtick. No one would sleep with them if they started out as violent asshats. Kid’s dad is absolutely the kind of guy that friends and neighbors will describe as “such a nice guy, I could never imagine him doing that” to tv reporters when they find our dead bodies in his basement.

That’s generally the kind of treatment DV victims get from people who are untrained. People who have been trained, like the judge who gave me full custody, and the social worker who did the family studies that recommended full custody and supervised visits, didn’t fall for his bullshit. But Kid’s counselor has no idea how to deal with shit other than try to discount my fear. There is a concrete history of physical abuse. Kid’s dad was arrested and made a deal with the prosecutor for probation for stalking me. He has a criminal record for this shit. But still I am dealing with a dimwit who thinks nice family guys don’t do this stuff.

Except that’s exactly who does this stuff.

So the saga of domestic violence continues.

I tried to give the Kid’s dad the benefit of the doubt. We were young, it’s been 13 years, perhaps he really has changed.

(I know I know I know)

But………..

After the Kid saw his dad (in the presence of the school shrink) I got some pretty belligerent emails demanding that I let him see the Kid again. It was vintage abuser shit. So I said no. The first time I was pretty pissed and not very polite about it, but I have always been consistent in saying that if he wants access to the Kid he has to prove he’s no longer a threat. Part of proving that is by paying child support, because economic abuse has always been part of his abusive bag of tricks.

I told the Kid what was going on and that I told his dad no. Kid understands. I told him he’s allowed to be mad at me if he needs to. He says “meh- it would be nice to see him but your reasons are perfectly logical”. Then the Kid told me that his dad has been harassing the school shrink to get her to let him see Nate without my knowledge. Would have been nice if the shrink had talked to me about that instead of talking to the Kid, but whatever. Now I have NOOOOOOOOOOo doubts that I made the right call by saying no.

His dad could have done a couple of things. He could go to court and try to get a judge to grant him visitation. But the last time that happened the judge told him that he would have to pay the cost of having the visits supervised by a social worker ( a minimum of $40 an hour. He only used that option twice in the span of a year) as well as take monthly drug tests and under go anger management counseling. He would also have to risk a judge issuing a bench warrant for his massive failure to pay child support. Rather than taking either risk and showing that he is willing to do the hard work to be in the Kid’s life, he is once again trying to dodge the system. The Kid isn’t a person to him, but a wayward piece of property that he must get back under his thumb.

Now it gets tricky. I could go and get the protection order reinstated, but I would have to disclose where I work and where we live to do so. So far I don’t think he knows either of those things. He only knows where Kid goes to school, and school is out next week. I am bit worried about the Kid’s graduation, as it’s a public event and it’s totally like his dad to show up and cause damage there. If I had a protection order, then both the school and the police would have the legal means of stopping him, but then he would have our address and our home would no longer be safe. Without the protection order, I have to wait until he does something violent or threatening before the police will step in, but there is only one place and time that he would have the chance.

This is the kind of risk taking mental gymnastics that you have to go through when dealing with an abuser. You weigh your options, which are never quite fair or easy. The Kid deserves to have a dad, but not at the cost of our safety. He deserves to go to his graduation in peace, but I am scared shitless.

This is why the shack in the desert seems so tempting right now.

slowly. Like an old house. At least my world is.

It certainly doesn’t start with the Kid’s dad, but he has a shit ton to do with it. Right now, I feel just like my 21 year old self. Terrified most of the time. Jumping at shadows and panicky over everything. I have less than a month to figure out how we’re going to live on no money and where we’re going to live when our lease is up. 21 year old me had the same problem when the Kid’s dad left us 6 months behind on bills.

And now I feel the same urge to run. Run as far away as I can. Get away from him, get away from the constant fear. Get to a place where I’m not terrified by every red haired person or car doors slamming or baseball caps. (it makes sense in my head, really). Get somewhere where I can breathe and relax and not worry all the time. What’s really funny is, I’m not a worrier. I’m not normally one of those people who wastes energy on what horrible things might happen. But now, I freak out if the Kid is 10 minutes late getting home from school. I can’t be around people (even ones that I love and adore like Ruth and CJ) for long because it interrupts my brain’s campaign of Constant Vigilance! when I try to be social.

I dream of running away to wide a open desert. Of a little shack on hill where I can see anyone coming for miles and miles. I want to be in a place where the biggest things I have to fear are scorpions and rattlesnakes and sunburn, instead of violence and poverty and homelessness and hunger.

I ran away from all this before. And we did alright for a long time. But damn if 13 years of reality and a busted economy don’t make a girl a wee bit more pessimistic at 34 than at 21.

PETA now stands for People who are Ethically Tantamount to Asswipes

That is all

Or more inappropriate conversations with the Kid

Last night, coming home on the insanely hot bus. Kid gets the window seat and then proceeds to do the dudely spread leg sitting position that pisses off female mass transit riders world wide.

I asked, repeatedly and nicely, for him to scoot over so that I’m not falling in the aisle. It works for a minute, then he forgets.

I’m hot, I’m cranky, I’ve lost my patience.

“Okay kid, either you sit nice and share the seat or I get the window side”.

That doesn’t work.

So I broke it down and told him the truth.

“The only people who get to sit like that are guys with watermelon sized private parts. Guys who sit like that and aren’t packing a watermelon just piss off women. We all know that sitting all spread eagle is a cover up for tiny bits”.

That worked.