Category Archives: Outrages

Linked In…not even safe

I searched my Linked In profile today for clues that would give someone the thought that I would possibly be interested in the porn industry, giving massages, meetings for sexual encounters, being hired as a secretary, or connecting with random people that have no bearing on my chosen profession.   I thought that I had perhaps accepted someone as a contact in the past that may have led to one of the above assumptions, however I do a fairly thorough job of scrutinizing people before connecting with anyone, and my search yielded no suspects.  So why or how am I getting requests to connect with people interested in those topics?    I searched my posts next.  Perhaps I had written something suggestive?   No, I didn’t find anything of that nature.    I looked at my picture. Could that be provoking a response?  I’m smiling.   Did that cause it?  Perhaps I should be frowning, but I thought I should look friendly in my LinkedIn picture- but not too friendly.  My picture does show a tiny hint of cleavage at the bottom, but certainly nothing that would look out of place in an office setting. I had cropped my picture so as to not show any cleavage; however that also cut my hair out of the picture, and I like my hair so I went with the uncropped picture.   So what could generate those assumptions about me?   The only answer left is that I am not a man.   I am not a man therefore I must be interested in being a porn star.  I am not a man therefore I must be available for sexual encounters with the self-proclaimed well-endowed suitors that proposition me.  I am not a man therefore I would be willing to serve as a man’s secretary with the promise of no office duties other than massaging his back once in a while, or other tasks as assigned.    I am not a man so therefore I must be interested in connecting with someone who has nothing to do with my industry or interests simply because the requestor presumes I should be honored to connect with such a handsome person.   I expect this treatment at a bar, or even walking down the street.    I don’t appreciate it or welcome it, but I’m under no illusions as to how society runs.   I do however hope that in a job networking site such as LinkedIn; that the majority of connection requests, or email messages that I receive are actually related to work.  Such has not been the case. It has not been the case by far.    As a man you are unlikely to be the recipient of such annoyances, so you cannot appreciate the cumulative effect it has on women.   It doesn’t break us because we are strong, and have been culturally conditioned to deal with it, but it is tiring.  Tiring.  That is the right word.   It is a heavy weight that we have to carry on a daily basis, and a weight it is.   It is a weight you do not have to carry.  But we do.  Every day.  We carry the weight that you as men cumulatively place on us with the words that you think are cute, or witty, but that are nothing more than one more brick placed in the weighted bag that all women must carry.   You fill it up.   And you don’t even realize it.   I wish you could.  I wish someone would look at you and only see a piece of meat to be exploited or used as a sexual object.   Oh great you say, you’d welcome that you smirk.  But you really wouldn’t.  Not over time.  Not every minute of the day.  And I wouldn’t actually wish that on you.  Because I am a human being.  I have feelings.  I have feelings for you and what you feel.   Maybe you should try to have those feelings for me?  Think of how your actions impact me.  As a woman, I think of how my actions impact everyone.  How will it make you feel?  Will it hurt you if I say that?   Will it diminish you?   So I don’t say those things.  It’s not weakness.  It’s respect.  I treat you with respect.   Try returning some of that respect.   Women are people too.    I know all men are not this way.  I’m not stereotyping you all in one group.   I’m simply talking to those of you who do treat women the way I describe.   You don’t have to be less a man to treat women with respect.  It’s not just about opening doors; that alone doesn’t make a gentleman.  What makes a gentleman is a man who will treat a woman as a fellow human being, equal both in the law and in society. So try to think about some of this the next time you leave your home.  Try to catch yourself just once during the day and prevent yourself from placing that brick in some woman’s weighted bag of society’s expectations.   Peace.  God bless

The Bathroom

The Bathroom

by jenni contrisciani


“That’s my blood” she thought.   It was a surprisingly cold and rational realization for someone dying.   She could hear people shouting around her but the voices though loud, sounded distorted like the way they do when you hear underwater.    She felt the cold of the tiled bathroom floor on the side of her face and saw her blood expand to conquer one small black and white checkered bathroom tile after another like an invading army expanding into new territory.   The light level changed as people moved about, either blocking or revealing the bright lights over the sinks.    “I was shot.”   The realization crept into her consciousness like a slow moving predator; then the panic started to rise.   “I was shot…am I going to die?”   She gasped for breath.  It wasn’t easy.   She choked and the gurgling sound that came out of her mouth scared her even more.   “Oh dear god, I am going to die.”  She struggled to move, but something was preventing her body from responding.   “No, not here; not in a dirty bathroom.  Don’t let me die.  Don’t let me die here.  Don’t let me die at all,” her mind screamed silently, her voice unable to make the words.   “Why?  Why me?”   Slowly the ability to think drained from her, as the oxygen rushed out of her system, no longer able to be delivered in sufficient quantities by her dwindling life giving blood.  Her vision faded, starting at the periphery and growing ever more clouded until it all was dark.  Her ears heard a final gasping breath, then, they too ceased to hear.   “What did I do to deserve this?  I don’t deserve to die.”   She was surrounded in darkness, then her mind closed as well and there was no more.

For Tiffany Sanders the day started with the loud and very annoying electronic scream of her alarm. Fumbling with a hand that emerged from under her covers like a drunk snake, she flailed in the general area of the alarm until she was rewarded with silence.    “Just fifteen more minutes,” she sighed to herself, to which she immediately answered “You don’t have fifteen minutes doof; you need to get to work on time and if you don’t want to look like shit you need time for your makeup.”   The first voice won out for about five minutes until with an effort she flung the covers off her and sat up in bed, just in time to stop the unwanted noise from the alarm again.   She looked at herself in the mirror that was directly across the room from her bed and smiled.   “I never get tired of waking up this way.”  As a transgender individual she was reassured by the confirmation of her image as a woman.   The person looking back at her had long brown hair, albeit in a bedhead mess currently, a feminine face, slender hairless arms and wore a pink Hello Kitty nightshirt.   Her hands moved to her breasts, lifting them up slightly and then letting them go, her smile widening at the resultant bounce.   “Damn, I love these things,” she said aloud, and used the moment to swing her legs out of bed and standup.   She allowed herself one more moment of relaxation, stretching like a lazy cat, and then walked down the short hall from her bedroom to her kitchen.    The coffee was preset from last night and she flipped it on, knowing that by the time she finished her shower, it would be ready.   She’s drink it while doing her makeup, sans lipstick, then brush her teeth and finish up the lipstick before heading out the door.   She’d been living as a woman now for over five years, and despite making significantly less money than when she was a man, she was still happy.  Whatever her lot in life, whatever happened; she’d be okay with it.  As long as she was able to live as the person that she knew she was from a very young age, she was satisfied.  She was just happy being able to simply be.   Before going out the door of her condo, she took a last look in the mirror by the door to check herself.   She always checked herself before going out.  It was something a genetic woman could choose to do, but for her it was a necessity.  Fortunately for her, she was only five foot seven inches tall, and her features were now decidedly feminine.  She wouldn’t say she was beautiful, more a Mary Anne than a Ginger Rogers, but she had that friendly girl-next-door look that people seemed to accept.   She’d had a lot of work done, all of it very painful.  There had been a nose job, liposuction, hormone therapy, years of laser hair reduction, and an incredibly strict diet.   What most genetic women took for granted, she appreciated greatly: it had been a long hard journey to get where she was.    Satisfied with the vision in the mirror, she smiled.  “Today is going to be a really great day.  I can feel it!”   With a bounce in her step she headed off to work.

Across town, Billy Hatfield woke up at about the same time and in a very similar manner, smacking his alarm into silence three times before waking up.   “Do you have work today dear?” his wife inquired with a yawn.    He hesitated for several seconds, deciding whether to lie or tell the truth.  Ultimately he decided he didn’t have enough energy to worry about lying.

“No, didn’t get called in today.”

“Okay hon, well I got an extra shift at the restaurant, so can you take Katie to the mall today, she wanted to meet up with her friends.”

Forcing down an argument, he grunted an affirmative, secretly disappointed that he wouldn’t have a day of relaxing at home.  Taking Katie to the mall meant hanging out there or making another trip to pick her up.  Given the gas mileage of his truck, and the lack of gas money meant that he’d have to just hang out at the mall, and that would mean he wouldn’t be able to stay home playing, Call of Duty.   On the other hand if he limited her mall time to a couple hours he’d still have about four hours of game time.    “She hangin’ out with those city girls again?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know dear, she didn’t say who she was meeting up with.”

“Better not be any boys, and I don’t care for her hangin’ out with those city girls either.  Those city girls are all buy this, buy that, and they spout all those liberal democrat ideas it seems.   Any black kids?”

“I don’t know, just ask her when she gets up.  You know she’s a freshman now and she needs to get out in the world.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like her hangin out with those nigga velociraptors with their saggy ass drawers and foul mouths.  It’s bad enough they are all over the mall.”

“Getting ready for work dear,” his wife announced from the bathroom.

He laid in bed, upset with life. Why didn’t he have a son?   He blamed his wife.   Just one girl.  Not that he didn’t like his girl, he loved her, he just wished he had a boy to play ball with.     At least he would get to go back to sleep until Katie woke up and got after him to go to the mall.    That was something.

Neep-neep-neep-neep.   “Shut uppppp!”  Leslie Monroe yelled, using her pillow to cover her head.    “Ohhhh just stop,” She moaned.   Her head hurt.  It really hurt.   She’d been out way too late last night with her girlfriends and had drank way too much.   Why did she do it?   She just couldn’t say no, and her friends were big drinkers.   “Can’t get back to bed now,” she fumed.  “Gotta get up and get some aspirin and coffee.”   She slid out of bed, literally and it was only with great effort that she was able to crawl back up her bed and right herself.   Stumbling into the kitchen, she ate twelve aspirin and downed it with a half-drunk can of Monster that was left over from yesterday.    “Ugh, I have to go to frickin work today too!”  She stomped her foot in frustration and headed into the shower.    She only took about five minutes, enough to run some shampoo through her short hair and rub the lathers in lieu of soap all over her body.   By the time she got dressed, she felt a bit better, and the pain in her head had subsided to a dull roar.   Quickly putting on her usual baseball cap, she headed out the door.   Hopefully work at Starbuck’s wouldn’t be too busy today.

“Daaaaaad, leeeeet’s goooo!” Katie pleaded.

“All right, all right, I’m coming.”    He tried to look on the bright side of taking his daughter to the mall, at least if he would be able to check out all the hot women and teenagers there, plus he really liked the food court.   Too bad they didn’t serve beer, that would be perfect.


“All right, don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m coming.”   He finished putting his summer carry rig on his belt, holding his Glock 17.  You never knew if some Muslim terrorist was going to try shooting up a mall afterall.    As he came around the corner he stopped in his tracks.   “Just what the hell are you wearing?”   His daughter was dressed in what he considered an all too revealing outfit; short denim skirt and a tank top that showed off what was beginning to be some cleavage.   “You ain’t wearin’ that to no mall,” he thundered.

“But dad…”                “But nothing, go put a top on that covers you up.”

“But dad, all the other girls wear this!”

“Well you ain’t.  Them other girls are sluts.”

“My friends are not sluts!”

“They are if they dress like that!”


“Hey, I ain’t gotta take you; you wanna go, you get them titties covered right now.”

“Arrrrrrr!  Fine!” Katie responded with a huff and a foot stomp, moving back into her room.

“And I don’t want you hanging out with any of them niggas or queers they got there, you hear me.  You don’t need to be associatin’ with no niggas or queers.”

“Daaad, I’ll be with my girlfriends!” was shouted back from the room, as scrambling noises emerged between shouts.

“You just watch yourself.”    Kids these days, all full of crazy notions like wantin to vote for that crazy Bernie Sanders commie, and Olympic athletes turning into chicks with dicks.  What did they call them, transpenistites or something?    He calmed down a bit when his daughter reappeared in jeans and a Taylor Swift t-shirt.   Taylor Swift wasn’t country anymore but at least it didn’t show his daughters boobs.   “Okay, get yourself into my truck.”

If she had to make another mocha frappucino she was going to vomit.  She would simply just vomit straight into the cup, blend it and throw in some expresso and serve it she swore.

“Leslie, we need another medium mocha-frappacino,” her manager called.

She gritted her teeth, “why don’t we just have a giant cauldron of that shit?”  She busied herself making her fiftieth medium mocha frappe of the day.     “Hey Carl, I gotta run to the bathroom.”

Knock yourself out Leslie, I see Tanya coming down B corridor.  We got it.”

“Thanks.”  Weird that you said thanks for being allowed to go to the bathroom, but as a minimum wage slave she was used to it.   She’d tried to work restaurants but apparently nobody thought she was pretty enough, definitely not enough to be a hostess with the mostest.  Truth was she didn’t have the mostest or even the thirdest or fourthest.   She untied her Starbucks apron and started walking to the restroom.

“You’re so welcome” Tiffany beamed pleasantly to her customer.  As a Charming Charlie’s Associate, she made a lot less than when she worked in the corporate world as a man.  Anyone who said that people confirmed their gender, or as the public understood it, changed their gender on a whim did not know anything about the trials of being transgender.    Aside from the daily sexism she experienced, the “hey baby’s” from men, unwanted attention in bars, condescension from her auto-mechanic, the over-priced clothing that didn’t come in anything resembling standard sizes, the undervalued wages, anyone who said being transgender was a choice was smoking something very illegal.   The smile from her customer made up for her quick association with her trials, and put her back in a good mood.     She was happy despite all the issues with being a woman.  She embraced them even if it meant extra work, simply because being a woman made her happy.  As a man she had dealt with depression and even thoughts of suicide.   Becoming her true self had been like a ray of sunshine spreading across a barren landscape that had never known the light of the sun.    She finished straightening up some racks of earrings and walked over to her manager.  “Hey Janette, I need to go to the ladies room.  You have everything covered for now?”

“Sure Tiff.   Not too many customers.   Thanks for checking.”

“Oh my gosh Kat, your dad is so weird!”

“I soooo know.   I hope he’s not embarrassing you guys too much.”

“Naw, he’s busy oogling the hot girls in the mall.”

“Ewwww, does your mom know?”

“I think so; she just chalks it up to being a man.”

“Guys are so gross.”

“Hey Chara, that’s not what you said when Jared Sevastopel had his tongue halfway down your throat last night.”


“Well its true!”

“Does your dad stick his tongue down your mom’s throat?”

“More like up her… ow!”

“Stop it; you guys are grossing me out.  They barely even hug anymore.”

“So Kat, you look so kewl in that t-shirt.”

“Stop it Stephie, you know her dad made her wear it.”

“I’d have worn something better underneath and taken it off if he’d a just dropped me off.”

“Yes but he didn’t.  He’s lurking over at the food court.”

“Hey Kat, why is your dad so like racist and all that.  Did you see the way he looked at me?”

“Ya, like what’s he got with Chara, oh wait….it’s coming to me…..she’s black!”

“Maybe I should tell him I’m a lesbian too.”

“Come on you guys, don’t!  I can’t help it he’s that way.  He was just…well born that way.”

“Not what Lady Gaga had in mind.”

“Totally.” “Ya, as in born racist.  And a perve.”  She indicated Katie’s dad turning his head as an attractive blonde with very well developed breasts walked by.

“Ewww, let’s do some more shopping.”

“Wait, I gotta pee.”

“Me too.”   The group headed over to the restroom.


“After you.”

“No, after you.”

“You first.” Tiffany smiled at the other girl with short cropped hair.    She was her height even with her heels on.  Not quite Briann of Tarth from Game of Thrones size, but husky nonetheless.   She didn’t note it in any negative way, just noted it.   “Hey you’re from Starbucks aren’t you?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”   Tiffany turned a bit so her Charming Charlie nametag was visible.  “Ohh okay.”  The two shared a knowing smile shared between fellow mall workers.

“I can get you a stack of five dollar off coupons for Charming Charlie’s if you want,” Tiffany offered.

“Thanks, but I don’t wear much jewelry.”

“Kewl. Hey, I’m Tiffany.”

“Leslie. See ya round the mall.  Business.”  She indicated a stall with a nod of her head and walked toward it.

Tiffany went over to the sink and began checking her makeup.   Maybe she was a little obsessed with it, but when you were once a man, you did your best to look as good of a woman as you could.   Just then a pack of four teenagers entered the bathroom giggling.    Teenagers made her a bit nervous.  Usually no one ever spotted that she was transgender, at least not until she talked, and she’d really been working on her voice.  However, teen girls seemed to have a sixth sense about these things and as they clustered around the sink checking their own makeup, which was done pretty awfully in Tiffany’s opinion, she fought the urge to flee, and stood her ground, concentrating on touching up her lipstick which was a frosty mauve.

“Oh my gosh I love your eyeliner,” one of the girls said to her out of their previously self-contained chatter.

Tiffany swallowed, trying to pitch her voice as high as she naturally could, and smiled, “Why thank you so much.   I’d trade it for being as pretty as any one of you four though.”

“What do you mean?” Chara asked, “You’re beautiful.” Tiffany blushed.

“Ya, you are way cute for an older woman.” Stephie chimed in, then corrected herself, “I mean for a middle-aged woman…. Oh shit, you know what I mean.”

Tiffany had to release a laugh, the uncomfort on the younger girl’s face was starting to get so pronounced. “I am old, compared to you four.   Enjoy it while you can girls.”

“I think that what you are doing is great by the way.”

Tiffany cringed, uh-oh, they’d made her.   At least they seemed friendly.  “Um…thank you.”

“I mean like you were born that way right, like gay people are born that way. I think it’s uncool that people discriminate against you.  You must be pretty brave.”

Again Tiffany fought back a cringe and smiled back, “Thank you. Hey can I ask how you could tell?”

The girls giggled.   “Oh my gosh, it’s because you are so well dressed and made up, no girls around here are that good!  Well, that plus your voice.”

“But it’s not bad!” Kimber chimed in.  “I mean we just had a section in diversity class about transgender people at school.”

“Yeah, we’ve been on the lookout for one!” Katie added.  “We were kinda expecting… well someone bigger and manlier.”

“We come in all sizes.” Tiffany replied, “Now, if you girls would excuse me…”

After she entered the stall the girls all put their heads together and whispered, “Oh my gosh, a real trans person. That was so cool.”

“Yeah she was so pretty, I’m kinda jealous, did you see her legs?”

“Oh my gosh, did you people talk like this the first time you saw me?” Chara asked rolling her eyes.

“No of course not silly, it’s not like you’re the first black person we’ve seen!”

“You three are over the top. I’m going to get some food.” Chara announced.   She walked out of the bathroom and headed to the food court.  It was kinda kewl she had seen a trans person, but it wasn’t right to have outed her.   She still hadn’t come out to her friends that she actually was gay.   That wasn’t their business… not yet.  Being black in a mostly all white school was enough of a burden.   She caught Katie’s dad eyeing her.   He had a look of obvious disapproval on his face, like he was looking at a big black mud stain on an all-white shag carpet.   What an ass she thought to herself.    He didn’t drop the look as she walked past, as if he wanted her to see it and feel it, to know he considered her dirt.    She was almost to the point of letting it go, when she stopped and looked back at him.

“What are you looking at?” She demanded as he didn’t look away nor drop his obvious sneer.

“I ain’t lookin at nothing. Nothin at all.  What’s your problem.”   He emphasized the “your.”

“Me, I ain’t got no problem. You got the problem.  Why you looking at me all hatin’ an’ such?”

“I don’t like my daughter hangin out with your kind,” He spat.

“Hangin’ out with my kind? My kind?   Katie hangs out with my kind, democrats, boys, and even has gay friends.  What you gonna do about that.  Hell, she even hangin’ out with a transgender person in the bathroom right now you dumb ass bigot!”   She turned and stormed away toward the taco stand, consciously avoiding the Popeye’s Fried Chicken.

“Who the hell does she think she is?” Billy fumed to himself.  “Goddamn uppity niggas.  And what had she said?  His daughter was in the bathroom with a what?  A trans-whatever person, weren’t they those sexual deviant perverts he’d been hearing about in the news and reading about on the internet.   His daughter, hanging out with black people, and now in the bathroom with her pants down around her ankles with a perverted man in there with her… this was too much.  “Hell no,” he swore to himself.  “No perve is gonna be looking at my girl’s undies.”   He stood up and headed over to the women’s room.   Anger flared and kindled as he fumed both about how the uppity nigga had talked to him and that a man was in the bathroom with his little girl, plus being let go from his job, and the world all going to hell what with his childhood sports hero turning into a woman, and a woman running for president.  All that was wrong, just wrong and now it had come home to him and he wasn’t going to have it.     By the time he had gotten to the door of the women’s room he had worked himself up into a proper rage.

Katie had finished up her business quickly in the stall, and was washing her hands with Stephie “Hey Katie, maybe we should ask that trans girl about her eye makeup when she gets done? I mean you do look like a raccoon with yours.”

“A racooon, oh you bitch!” Katie laughed back, flicking some water at her friend in retaliation.    In response Stephie vigorously shook her hands at Katie sending a shower of water at her, to which she squeeled loudly in response.

“Girls, please!” Leslie said sternly at the sink next to them, getting hit with collateral water spray.

Outside the restroom Billy heard a scream. Katie’s scream.  His daughter was being molested by that pervert in there!   He kicked the door open and stormed in to the screams of both Katie and Stephie and the surprised and quickly angry look from Leslie.     “What the hell is…”  he eyed Leslie in her ball cap, short hair and masculine clothes.  This must be the pervert that was attacking his daughter.  His hand went to his gun and pulled it from its holster.   “Get away from my daughter you goddam pervert!” he yelled.     Leslie was too shocked to speak, or move.   She stared at the gun pointed in her direction.  “I said get the hell away from my daughter!”

Tiffany had just finished pulling her panties up and was smoothing her skirt down when she heard yelling outside her stall.   “I said get the hell away from my daughter!”  “Oh my gosh there must be some rapist in the women’s room, her mind screamed. Someone was in trouble.  Another woman was in trouble.  She’d better help.  It was her duty to help.   She unlatched the door lock and swung the door open quickly, stepping out of the stall.   The door slammed into the wall next to it with a loud bang.  Billy had his gun trained on the pervert that was just about ready to molest his daughter.   He was about ready to tell her to move away again when he heard a loud bang.  His head jerked in the direction of the sound and startled, he pulled the trigger.   A deafening gunshot rang through the enclosed bathroom.

“That’s my blood” she thought.   It was a surprisingly cold and rational realization for someone dying.   She could hear people shouting around her but the voices though loud, sounded distorted like the way they do when you hear underwater.    She felt the cold of the tiled bathroom floor on the side of her face and saw her blood expand to conquer one small black and white checkered bathroom tile after another like an invading army expanding into new territory.   The light level changed as people moved about, either blocking or revealing the bright lights over the sinks.    “I was shot.”   The realization crept into her consciousness like a slow moving predator; then the panic started to rise.   “I was shot…am I going to die?” She gasped for breath.  It wasn’t easy.   She choked and the gurgling sound that came out of her mouth scared her even more.   “Oh dear god, I am going to die.”  She struggled to move, but something was preventing her body from responding.   “No, not here; not in a dirty bathroom.  Don’t let me die.  Don’t let me die here.  Don’t let me die at all,” her mind screamed silently, her voice unable to make the words.   “Why?  Why me?”   Slowly the ability to think drained from her, as the oxygen rushed out of her system, no longer able to be delivered in sufficient quantities by her dwindling life giving blood.  Her vision faded, starting at the periphery and growing ever more clouded until it all was dark.  Her ears heard a final gasping breath, then, they too ceased to hear.   “What did I do to deserve this?  I don’t deserve to die.”   She was surrounded in darkness, then her mind closed as well and there was no more.

Billy stared in shock at the figure laying on the floor, blood rapidly spreading from her prone body.  “Katieeeeeeeeeeeee!” he screamed, his voice full of anguish and grief.     Everyone stared at each other in shock as Billy sank to his knees.   “Nooooooooooo, oh dear God nooooooooooo!”   Stephie fainted, hitting her head on the side of the sink counter and fell to the floor.    Kimber screamed and ran out of the bathroom crying.   Leslie, frozen, recovered and kicked the gun that had dropped from Billy’s hand across the bathroom and under a stall door.     Tiffany moved rapidly to the prone body, looking back and forth between the people left in the room.   “What happened?”

Leslie responded, her voice several octaves higher than normal, “He thought I was a transgender pervert attacking his daughter… he had his gun on me and when you opened the door….”

“Oh no…” Tiffany said quietly.   Shaking her head, she announced “We have to help her.  Quick!”

She knelt by Katie’s body as Chara ran into the bathroom, eyes wide.

“What the fuck?!”

“Get him out of here, he shot his daughter by mistake.”   Tiffany’s and Chara’s eyes met, “He thought I was attacking her.”

Billy looked up, stammering, “N-n-no. he…” he pointed a quavering finger at Leslie.

“You fucking idiot, she’s a genetic woman.  She’s the trans woman.”


“Get that idiot out of here,” Leslie yelled, and call the police.

“We’ll take care of your daughter, I was a medic in the 82nd airborne,” Tiffany assured him, checking Katie’s pulse.   “Call 9-1-1, get an ambulance here asap,” she ordered as Leslie pulled out her cellphone and started dialing.    “Tell them one female teen victim, one gunshot to the chest.  Thready and faint pulse.”    Looking over at Stephie’s prone form, “You better check her as well once you’re done with 9-1-1.       By now other people had entered the bathroom, and several men dragged Billy out.    Tiffany gently moved Katie so she could see her wound.   It was in the area of the right lung several inches from her centerline.   Her lung would be filling with blood and her primary need was now oxygen.   She started mouth-to-mouth.   “Tell me if she loses her pulse.”   She repeated the breaths for several reps when Chara announced, “I don’t feel it!”    Tiffany also checked.

“You’re right.  Here switch to breathing, I’ll start chest compressions.”   She started pumping on Katie’s chest.    Two security guards entered the bathroom, one carrying an AED.

“Pulse?” one asked.


“Here get out of the way.”  They moved in.   Tiffany watched them to make sure they knew what they were doing.  They seemed to, placing the paddles in the proper locations.   “Charging……clear!”

They pressed the shock button and Katie’s body jolted.   Tiffany immediately checked for a pulse.    With great relief she nodded in the affirmative.   Just then Katie started shaking and a gush of blood flowed from her mouth.

“Her chest cavity is filling with blood; we need to release it so she can breathe.  Does anyone have a penknife???”

“What are you a doctor?” one of the security guards asked.

“Combat medic, do you have a penknife?”

“How’s this?”

“It’ll do. I need a straw from the food court.”  Within a half a minute someone handed her a big red Slurpy straw.   She pulled the straw out of its wrapper, and wiped the blade on a clean part of her skirt, which was not already stained with Katie’s blood.   Counting up from the floating ribs, she placed the knife on Katie’s bare skin and holding her breath, eased it in.   It was never easy, watching a blade go in another human being.   She inserted the straw and withdrew the knife and as she released her grip on the straw a huge surge of blood shot out, but trickled to a slow dribble and Katie took her first tortured breath since being shot.

“Out of the way!”   Two EMTs rushed into the bathroom, surveying the situation.

“She’s got a weak pulse, shallow breathing and I put in a chest tube.”

“You a doctor?”

“Ex-combat medic.”

“Well you saved her life, lucky you were here. Let’s get her on the gurney, come on, let’s move!”   They hauled her out.     Tiffany didn’t move from her kneeling position in the pool of red blood.   The lower part of her body was covered in it.

“You saved his daughter.” Chara said quietly.

“She did.” Leslie affirmed.

The three looked at each other.   “He wanted to shoot me,” Tiffany said quietly, a tear starting to stream down her cheek, “And he might have killed his daughter instead.  All because…all because…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You can’t help it that some people are just ignorant.”

Tiffany didn’t move, as the tears started to flow more freely now. “Why?                “It’s always been that way,” Chara answered.  “If it ain’t you, it would be something else.  There’s just too much hate to be kept bottled up.”

“It’s not right.”

“No…it isn’t. But it’s the way it is.”


“Maybe someday.”

The three looked at each other.   “Let’s get you cleaned up girl.”

She choked back a tear, “Thanks. Thanks you two.”



Crusaders = ISIS ?


At a recent prayer breakfast President Obama compared the actions of the Crusaders to ISIS.   He is correct except in one very important point… the last crusade ended in 1272.    Now I wasn’t around in the 1200’s but word has it pretty much the entire world was engaged in savage butchery.   The norm in those days was to sack a city, burn it, loot it, pillage it, put the men to the sword, rape the women, and then sell them and the children into slavery.    in the old testament the Jews slaughtered half the land of Canaan, torching cities and killing the inhabitants: every man, woman, and child (according to them because Yaweh told them to.)   Basically the world was starkly gruesome and without pity in those days.     Jump to today.  Western powers do their best to avoid civilian casualties.  A population is aghast at “torture” such as waterboarding.    We use super expensive Smart weapons to make sure we don’t kill the wrong people.  Sometimes we let the bad people go if they are too close to good people.   So while comparing the deeds in the Crusades to the deeds of ISIS today will show similar actions (sans videotaping of prisoners being put to death) at least a big chunk of the world sees those types of actions as repugnant, hence the comparison fails on a temporal basis.     That public opinion acknowledged, no one will deny that civilians get killed in modern fighting, but at least the goal of the military campaign is not specifically targeted against civilians.  War prisoners are sent to prison camps, not executed in a stylized barbaric fashion.   One may however argue that lethal injection or hanging isn’t all that great a way to execute a prisoner, citing the execution of prisoners in the US, or the beheading of criminals in Saudi Arabia.    Hmmm seems that perhaps the comparison might hold after all…  perhaps attempting to draw any moral argument is fallacious from the beginning, at least from an arguable philosophical sense.  Perhaps the only right… is indeed might.  The victors write the history books after all.

Honestly I’d Rather not see Brian Williams anymore

Jeff Koterba cartoon for February 6, 2015"Brian Williams Chinook NBC"News is about trust, and for it to be viewed as honest you need an honest news anchor.  In the way that Walter Cronkite and Edward R. Murrow formed a trusted building block of our faith in the American news media, we need this kind of trust to hold the fabric of our society together.   The news used to form our national shared value system.  We’d all listen to the same broadcasts on a few networks and we’d trust the distinguished men who somberly delivered the news, and just the news.  Unfortunately most news has degenerated into a fragmented cacophony of sound bites that scream banally to a far right wing camp (Fox) and an ultra left wing cabal (MSNBC.)   CNN is at least attempting a middle course, yet many of its reporters still show a bias.    The major networks, NBC, ABC and CBS have all had their cases of obvious bias from CBS’s Dan Rather out and out lying about George W. Bush’s service record in an attempt to influence a Presidential election, to NBC’s Andrea Mitchell who is so blatantly fawnish on Obama one wonders if she has a picture of him next to her nightstand.  Maybe she and Chris Matthews (MSNBC) could form a threesome with her Obama picture and they’d both get Matthews professed tingle up their legs.   Now add Brian William’s war hero fantasy into the mix and we wonder if NBC stands for Neurotic Brain Condition.   Have we reached the point where there is no trusted news sources anymore?   I believe so.  It seems all media outlets are bought and sold, and we have been willing accomplices by watching only those news shows that pander to our preconceived political beliefs.     In Russia there was/is a saying “Pravda nyet Izvestia, Izvestia nyet Pravda.”   Translated that is a play off of the two main Soviet era news sources Pravda (truth) and Izvestia (news), wherein Russians believed there was no truth in news and no news in truth.   Have we come to that here in America?    Apparently so.  Although Brian Williams lie doesn’t matter in the big scheme of things, it is yet another symptom of the fact that in American media Izvestia nyet Pravda, Pravda nyet Izvestia.  How did we ever sink so low?

I am NOT Charlie


I deplore the violent attack on Charlie Hebdo perpetrated by Islamic extremists in Paris, but I am not Charlie Hebdo.   While supporting their right to free speech, I can’t agree with them in their negative depiction of a religious figure revered by a billion people.  It’s not in good taste in the same way displaying a cross in a bottle of urine or Mary, the mother of Jesus covered by feces in a New York gallery isn’t in good taste.   Yes, these organizations have the right to display just about anything, but it doesn’t mean we should like it.   We can at the same time support the right of free speech and pass judgment on what is good or bad.   That judgment doesn’t preclude it being shown.    So I won’t buy the latest issue of Charlie Hebdo with Mohammed on it, nor will I go see something that is derogatory to my religion.  Nor will I patronize businesses that act contrary to my core political beliefs, such as non-discrimination against people based on their race, religion, and sexual or gender preference.   That is my right.  So I am not Charlie.    That doesn’t make me an extremist, apologist, or a supporter of terrorism.   It makes me someone with a principled opinion.

More on Girls and Uzis

In crafting my response to the news story of the 9 year old girl that shot and killed her shooting instructor, I Googled girl and uzi and this is a sampling of the images that showed up on Google.   Can anyone explain to me the link between sex and a cheap military weapon manufactured for the defense of Israeli  citizens?  Not getting it……     girl-with-uzi hot-girl-with-uzi l_uzi_girl3

Children and Uzis

This is an indictment of how far the mental IQ of our collective society has gone. First, I find these types of venues to be sad in and of themselves, catering to pot-bellied wanna-be special force armchair warriors. If you want to play with guns, join the military and become properly trained, and oh by the way, risk your life defending our freedom. My hat is off to the real warriors that go through intensive training to learn their tradecraft and put their lives on the line. Second, shooting military weapons full auto is a pure indulgence catering to the testosterone challenged please look at me I’m a manly man crowd. Until the zombie apocalypse happens, these weapons will not be used in any self-defense situation. One may fantasize about it, but unless there is a complete breakdown of society, 99.999% of self-defense situations will involve the use of a handgun or a home defense shotgun. Someone please look up the number of US self-defense situations involving an uzi. (Not counting Israel here where there might actually be a real military threat) Third, there are height restrictions on amusement park rides for crying out loud, what does a 70 lb girl do with a full auto weapon…kill her instructor apparently. I question the sanity of parents that indulge a 9 year olds uzi bucket list and am pretty sure the idea was planted by her parents. The poor girl probably was showered with blood and brain matter and will be messed up for quite awhile. Congratulations, parent of the year! Finally, just let me say that yes I am pro 2nd amendment, and support the right of the population to keep and bear arms. Unfortunately every population will have its fair share of idiots who measure their manhood by the caliber they carry and the number of weapons they own. Remember, you only have two hands and can only use two pistols or one long gun effectively at once. I can even understand a winter and a summer carry gun, but fifty guns …please! And for those of you who are going to ding me as some liberal anti-2nd amendment nutjob by writing this, just remember that this incident will be used by anti-gun activists for the next 10 years, so congratulate the idiot parents and gun range owner for providing your opponents with THAT ammunition. Peace.

Being Brown and Black

bwThe shooting of an unarmed black man named Brown is an ironic and tragic twist on words as well as a societal metaphor. Public polling shows widely divergent views on the situation dependent on whether you are white or black.   For many in the white community, we watch the nightly news and we don’t understand why “the blacks” are thinking and acting the way they are.   Let me, as a white girl who has engaged in frank racial discussions with many very close black friends, try to explain in “white-speak” to my fellow white people how the black viewpoint can be so different.   As a society we have come a long way, but if you don’t have true black friends, you may not hear a heartfelt opinion. You certainly won’t be able to have a back and forth discussion that leads to true understanding. Working with a black co-worker doesn’t qualify, you need to have someone you can go out with after work and have a beer (or vodka cocktail) with, and commiserate with on all the things going on in each other’s lives.   In today’s racially charged society you need to be pretty close to someone to give an honest opinion on race and still feel safe.

As white people we see the case as an isolated incident.   We observe the facts and details of the shooting.   We think we should wait for all the information to emerge before we jump to conclusions one way or another.   We see black people interviewed on CNN jumping to the conclusion that the white officer is guilty of premeditated, racially based homicide and the entire Ferguson police force as complicit in his act.   We note that Michael Brown had just stolen from a store and had strong armed an immigrant businessman in the process.   We don’t understand how this fact could be seen as completely separate and irrelevant by blacks. We key in on the eyewitness who stated that Brown charged the officer.   We note that all of the bullet wounds were to his front.   We can sit back and wait for a prosecutor to determine if the police officer was guilty of not.   We don’t understand why people are rioting and marching.   After all we didn’t riot when O.J. was found not guilty. We contrast that to the actions of the black community when the police were found not guilty in the Rodney King case and Los Angeles burned.      

For the black community it’s not just about Michael Brown and this one police officer. It is about the current plight of the entire black community.  It’s a large number of separate and disparate issues all rolled up into one explosive example.   It’s about the larger picture.   The symbolism of the shooting allows ignoring the strong arm robbery component because that is one small detail in the current plight of black America today. It’s hard to draw a picture using statistics. The statistics are bleak in and of themselves as you examine black poverty, education, literacy, unemployment, abortion, and crime rates.   I’m not offering explanations of why the black community is in the condition it is in, or how to fix it, that is far too extensive of a discussion for an article. Let me take a specific example and ask you to become the man I write about in your mind for a day.  Assume that you are a young black man who has done everything right. You graduated from high school staying away from gangs and crime, you managed to find a way to pay for college and you were able to land a nice white collar job.   Now you walk down the street and the elderly woman crosses to the other side. You’re in an elevator and the pretty woman next to you slowly clutches her purse tighter hoping you won’t notice, and hoping you won’t mug her. You’re in a store and the salesclerk follows you around waiting for you to shoplift and trying not to be too obvious.   Business clients eye you wondering if you are a token hire, or if you had special treatment in college and if you are really smart.   You worry about being pulled over for DWB, (that’s Driving While Black by the way.)   You worry about what you say and how you say it at work, you “code-switch” so much sometimes you forget how to talk to your high school buddies.   At the company picnic you forego the barbecue ribs and watermelon because there is no way in hell you are going to let them catch you eating that! You go for the bland quiche and some salad instead.   You look at that cool hoodie in the storefront window and wonder, will this get me more likely to be shot?     You note how you are steered to the vehicle with the biggest, shiniest hubcaps in the car showroom.   You cringe every time you hear a crime being committed, thinking: oh please don’t be one of us. When they interview black people on TV about the crime, you cringe as they invariably find the most ignorant trifling blathering idiot they can find.   You notice the waitress keeping an eye on you throughout the end of your meal, expecting you to bolt for the door before paying. You hear how the conversation about President Obama’s latest policy dies down as you near the water cooler.   Then you go home after all that and tell your son how he can be whatever he wants to be if he studies hard and stays out of trouble. Then you tell him how to behave so he doesn’t get shot by the police.  

So yes, the constant state of “being black” in America can be stressful and certainly adds baggage to the collective psyche of black people in America. Combined with the economic and social plight of black America, a dispassionate observer should be able to see how nerves are raw and tempers short.   I’m not condoning looting or bad behavior, I’m just trying to give my fellow ‘white folks,” a hint of a glimpse into what your black neighbor, or coworker might be feeling.   Try putting yourself in another’s shoes, try that different perspective. Think about how you would feel if you were a black man, or woman.   Only when we can see each other through the other’s eyes will we have real hope for change and improvement.   There is a long way to go toward racial understanding and equality in America, and it is the responsibility of both black and white to make that happen, to address these issues, and to find solutions.   God bless.  

Another MALAYSIAN Disaster



I don’t think the Ukrainian separatists knew Malaysian flight 17 was a commercial flight.  It’s clear from the tapes that they thought it was a Ukrainian military transport.    Planes get shot down in war zones.  That’s a fact of war.  It’s dirty, it’s nasty, people die.  I guess that’s kinda the point in war, isn’t it?   Prior to Malaysian Flight 17 getting shot down, four different planes had been hit and blown out of the sky in the preceding few days.   Everyone knew it was dangerous airspace.   British Airways and Air France both detoured their flights around the war zone, however Malaysian Airlines decided to fly their plane straight through the war zone.  Why?  Well it saved a bit of fuel and a few minutes of flight time.   I’m not condoning war or violence, but war sometimes happens.   When it does, innocent people die.  But the victims of Malaysian flight 17 didn’t have to die.  Had Malaysian Airlines followed the same safety protocols as the British and French, those people wouldn’t have died.  To me, that’s even more criminal than the unavoidable random innocents getting killed in an ugly war.   The flight 17 deaths could have been prevented.  I hope that after all the geopolitical posturing is done, that Malaysian Airlines faces some consequences for their actions.   Thought you were saving a few thousand dollars in jet fuel; well you lost an entire multi-million dollar jetliner, millions in lawsuits and attorney fees, and cost nearly 300 people their lives.   Go take that to the bank Malaysian Airlines.


Big Game Murderess…

So by now most of us have seen the picture of Kendall Jones radiantly smiling next to the African Lion she’s just slaughtered.   Many are asking that Facebook take down her posts as offensive.  I disagree, she has a right to post them there.  It’s her right of free speech to do so and I resist those who would ask her to take them down.  

Of course, the lion had a right to live as well; a right that Kendall Jones took away.   Apparently Kendall has been on quite the killing spree having posted pictures of scores of beautiful animals that she has killed.   She states all is done legally, and it may be true.  She states that what she does supports conservation, and she probably believes that in some way killing beautiful animals just this side of the endangered species list, somehow helps them.  She has to, only the most profoundly honest serial killers own up to the fact that they kill because they simply like it, instead of making up some elaborate psychological story to mentally and emotionally justify their horrid actions.   I don’t begrudge hunters who stalk deer, these people usually take them home and eat them.  There are plenty of deer, and humans need to eat.  Personally I’m a vegetarian, but I don’t begrudge someone a good steak, humans are designed to be omnivores, and eating meat serves a valid biological purpose.  People need protein and especially poor people sometimes rely on a deer to feed a family throughout the winter.   However, the practice of killing “Big Game” animals is reprehensible.  Making sport out of killing is simply wrong.  What purpose does a stuffed head serve someone other than as a trophy of a kill, …just like a serial killer takes by the way.   The claim that she sometimes feeds the carcasses to villager sis a cop out and anciliary to her actions rather than the true purpose. 

 I would also not agree to the definition of “Big Game” hunting as sport.  What heroic action do you do to take a life?  You pull your finger a half inch and blam, the Lion is dead.   I saw video of her using a bench mounted 50 caliber rifle to kill animals.  That’s not sport, it’s slaughter.  It’s the sick tingle of satisfaction a serial killer gets when he snuffs out a life.   If you want sport, go out into the brush with a simple non-compound recurve bow and try to take down that lion before he mauls you to death.  At least then there would be some “sport.”   

Now onto the fact that there have been a ton of male hunters who have been doing this for a very long time, but it’s only since a  cute and perky Texas cheerleader  posts pictures that the media get up in arms.   Sexism?  Definitely!  Does it make her actions right because the attention arises out of sexism?  No,it does not.  It’s still wrong.   Maybe she has done these animals a service… maybe the negative attention she has garnered for “Big Game” hunting will ultimately help stop this practice.. but probably not.  As long as people can make money this will go on.  There will always be those people who enjoy killing for pleasure, making themselves feel better through the killing of another, and stroking their own very fragile egos by overcoming powerful beasts through the “manly” pull of their finger.   We are all shocked when we see videos of ISIS fighters in Iraq shooting men, women and children, and beheading prisoners.   The only difference is they kill people instead of animals, and what difference is that truly?     Why is it “better” to kill an innocent animal for fun, as opposed to killing people for a political reason?  It’s all killing, killing to satisfy that sick serial killer urge.   Face it Kendra, you’re a stone cold murderer at your very heart.  Admit that fact to yourself when you put on your mascara tomorrow morning.