Vicious Queen: The Sad State of Affairs of USA Figureskating


Terry Gannon (I adore the look on his face here); Tara Lipinski, and Johnny Weir. (The first person to comment his name as Johnny Queer gets blocked from fake social media life and real life. We’re going to be better than that today.)

This post will be very, Get off my lawn. Cuz I get it. I’m old. I’m extremely traditional in what I’m looking for in Olympic commentary and review and I am most likely in the minority here. That’s okay. I can deal with that.


Years ago, my daughter and I were jonesing for a burger. It was a Saturday night so not the greatest time to head out on the town for a meal crowd wise, but we decided to go for it. We picked our favorite hamburger joint, Hamburger Mary’s in their old location in Bayview.

Now, we’d been to HM’s many times and in fact, before the gym went up here, it was our post lifting Saturday spot and we always had good luck with the food and service. Now, I will admit, we were the lucky ones. We did see others walk out when they had to sit for 15-20 minutes without even a glance by wait staff but we’d been spared that. One Saturday, Oz and his dad were tooling around town and decided to meet us there. Well, they took longer than expected and we were all finished by the time they got there. We said hello and goodbye and left them in the good hands of our waitress…we thought.

Turns out our waitress was done for the morning and headed home for a break before the night shift. So they got some guy who had just been dumped by his boyfriend and sobbing in the backroom the entire time they were trying to get a burger. After 30 minutes with just a glass of water sitting in front of them, they left. I felt bad.

HM is also known for their drag shows and drag Bingo. I hadn’t made it to either but one burger Saturday, one of the Drag Queens was tooling about (I think her name is Dear Ruthie or something like that) and I asked if she’d take a picture with Matt. She was very gracious and when Matt stood up, her eyes got wide and she commented on how BIGG he really is. It was a cute moment and a great picture. It’s over on the FB somewhere.

Because of our good luck and their tasty burgers, Zandra and I took on HM’s on a Saturday night. While there was a lot of people waiting, it turned out that they were big groups and none could fit in the open 4 top so Za and I were seated right away. SWEET!

Our waitress was busy but did her best and we had a nice meal. There was a group over in one corner who was a bit discontent with their waiter and getting louder by the minutes but we were finishing up and didn’t really pay attention, as much as that was possible. For some reason, their waiter came to OUR table and made a nasty comment while giving us our check and told us to get out of there. Uhhhh, what? WTF dude, we have nothing to do with you. Why you mad bro at us??

I had paid in cash so was waiting for our change from our waitress who had come back and was surprised to see our check at the table. I had told her that a very rude waiter told us to pay and get out. I’m guessing this isn’t the first time that this had happened because she looked sad and apologized profusely. Whatev, no worries, just get us our change please so we can get out of here.

I guess she had told the powers that be that crabby dude had overstepped at our table and I wasn’t happy about it because he quickly hot stepped over to us, grabbed my shoulder and squeezed for a few seconds and said something more nasty. Dude, you just put your hands on a customer who had nothing to do with you. Well, that was enough to get Zandra fumed and she instantly stood up and started barking at our waitress (who must have known this wasn’t going to go well because she was lurking behind our table) that this was completely unacceptable. The waitress apologized and I asked to speak to a Manager.

A manager came over and I asked to speak to him privately and we moved off into a corner. I started to tell him about this bizarre treatment when suddenly, crabby waiter man RAN over to us; brushed me back with his chest and got nose to nose with me screaming at me how I’m a complete homophobic bitch/cunt and fuck me and get out of his restaurant. I just looked at the manager and asked if he were seriously going to allow this and he said nothing.

We left. Obviously. And I torched them on Yelp and sent an email to their management group. But the hits just keep on coming. By Sunday afternoon, they had commented on my Yelp review that they watched “the video” provided by surveillance and actually it showed that I had become aggressive with the waiter and pushed him around. Of course, I couldn’t see such video because it belonged to them. Also, because they were lying.

Needless to say, it was quite distressing. I started to look back on the Yelp reviews and yup, our friend had made impacts such as this for years. There was complaint after complaint about him and how aggressive and mean he was. Uhhhhh, okay, why is he still there?

I asked that question to my Hawaiian clients who have been in the food biz for a combined 80 years and they had two answers: 1. Because he’s probably sleeping with one of the owners and B. HM’s is KNOWN for having vicious queen’s in their restaurants. Uhhhh, what? What’s a vicious queen?  That, they replied. Just what I experienced emboldened by the fact that they get away with it every day.

Yuck. I don’t like vicious queen’s. Nope, they said, no one does.

It was my first experience (not my last) being called homophobic. What was worse, I was physically assaulted by a man who believes that he can do whatever he wants because he’s homosexual and if someone fights back, then THEY’LL be in the wrong for beating on a homosexual. I can tell you this, as a woman who rarely backs down, it was a very distressing situation. I should have called the police, turns out I wouldn’t have been the first.

Fast forward to 4 years ago. Actually, we’ll fast forward to about 45 years ago. That’s when I first remember loving figure skating. I loved everything about it. I loved flying around the ice; I loved watching it; I loved the smell of the warming house; I loved grabbing a shovel and being the first on the ice and having to push the snow off to the side into a big pile you could jump into. I loved the sounds of the hockey game going on next to the skating rink and I loved the tinny music blaring over the outdoor speaker.

I loved making pom poms for my skates and giving them to my friends. I loved skating with friends, and I loved skating alone. By the time I was 8 or 9, I could walk to the rink by myself (which I’m actually kind of surprised about because I had to cross a four lane super busy road but such is life growing up in the 70’s) and I’d spend hours there. One evening, it was too cold to skate and the warming house was closed. So I just laced up in the snow and did my thing. I don’t know how long I was out there but I DO remember my mom pulling up and screaming at me to get off the ice and into the car and do I want to freeze to death?!!!! I mean, no I didn’t. I just wanted to skate.

Of course, my favorite days were the Olympics.


Dorthy Hamill. I always loved how athletic she seemed.

A whole week with skating on TV. With commentators Dick Button and Peggy Flemming. Maybe even an appearance by Janet Lynn. They’d talk about the beauty of Sonja Henie in hushed, revered tones. You knew when Dick Button gave compliments, they were special. Cuz Dick was tough. I remember that. It’s probably why they sat Peggy Flemming next to him. To soften some of his criticism. Before that, Chris Schankle gave his calm play by play while Dick kept us abreast as to what was happening style wise. (Also, I miss the easy scoring of 5.8 or 6.0. The “new” scoring takes the audience out of the excitement. Again, GET OFF MY LAWN.)

But he was always succinct in his criticism. He always explained WHY a skater stumbled without stumbling. You understood what he said and could go back and watch the rerun of the skate and it made sense. He was never unkind, he was a technician. Still is actually. More on that in a minute.

Okay, back to four or so years ago in Sochi. I was instantly put off by the over the top pair of Tara and Johnny commentating. I dunno. They just seemed young and immature and wanted ALL the attention that belonged to the skaters. They were mean, but more importantly, they didn’t explain their criticisms. They said things like, “that was just horrible.” Okay, that’s not helpful. WHY was it horrible? Was the whole thing horrible or just the obvious fall? Basically, they took substance and threw it out the window and we were just supposed to be entertained by his lipstick and pearls and jabs at overweight skaters.

No thanks. See, the vicious queen from HM’s had the same qualities. You have to respect me and listen to me because I exist and if you don’t, you’re homophobic. Uh, no Johnny. I don’t like listening to you because you are mean and unhelpful and want to hog all the attention only because you ARE a vicious queen.  I chose not to watch.

So I don’t. Or at least I try not to. I did watch some of the US Nationals and I will say that both Johnny and Tara were far more subdued than past “performances.” One of my favorite Sochi ice moments was in studio when NBC gave Doc Emrick head mic with Tara and Johnny relegated to side chairs and clearly looked out of their element around real, respected commentators. Also, Tara looked as if she had been drinking hard for the past 12 days and didn’t even try to hide it anymore and Johnny just looked scared. I loved it. See, they KNOW that they are head queens in just one avenue of sport. But Doc can walk in and take over not because of his ego, but because of his skill. Well done, Doc, well done.

Any of my Olympic watching this year has been on NBCsn. Where the commentators explain the sport and what to look for. Where stupid interviews that begin with either, “What does it mean for you to be here…” or “Tell me how you’re feeling…” are non-existent.

OH, and to the little Johnny in training who, honestly, wow’d me with his program at Nationals but when announced to the Olympic team instantly started bashing politicians for being Anti-Gay but then when said politicians reached out to them to sit down and talk about accusations, quickly retreated to the “this is about the athletes” and then went on to joke about needing booze and Xanax from the judges to relax before his program…well, I’m just out. By the way, those are banned substances. So you know. So joking about taking banned substances on a live interview was super funny. You funny guy. Of course, if any weightlifter had publicly joked about needed booze and blow before they lifted AFTER they lifted, well, that may not be so adorably received.

But such is the state of affairs. As long as you’re not intolerant (which I am), you can accuse and joke about anything and are untouchable by the compliant media who just want to talk about how good North Korean dictators actually are and really anything else that is Anti-American.

OH! One perk of the Olympics is the heat the American media keep getting into because they say such moronic statements like the Dutchies actually skate on frozen canals to work or the Koreans really respect the Japanese in spite of brutal occupation. See, this is our snowflake media who are used to saying whatever they want in America and as long as it’s Anti-American or Anti-Trump, they are never called out on fact checking. But when exposed to the world, well, not so much. Then other countries have something to say about it. Hey Dutchies, welcome to our world.

So the vicious queens have ruined hamburgers and figure skating for me. Oh well, I’ve enjoyed luge and curling and biathlon and cross-country sprint races. Last night NBC had the audacity to barge their way into NBCsn for pairs figure skating so I had to listen to moments of the dud duo for seconds while I searched for the remote to turn the channel.

And oh, by the way? Dick Button is still teaching…

Get ready for the live events tonight. If you’re watching the ladies or the ice dancing, try to watch their feet instead of their fannies. It’s the edging that counts!

He threw this out there on his FB page on Saturday. Also, Scott Hamilton and some blonde have great preview commentary on NBCsn. But I guess great commentary isn’t what NBC is looking for.



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Why We Should Love the Russians

I grew up during the Cold War (I added a link to that term for any Millennials who may be reading. I once trained a woman who had no idea what it meant to defect to America. I now assume nothing.) What this meant was that I was trained to fear the Russians. Politics; sports; punishment…didn’t matter what, fear the Russians.

But then Reagan, Gorbachev, and Glasnost appeared and many of us got to watch the fall of Communism and imagined Breshnev turning in his glass casket and the ghost of Lenin was finally snuffed out like Sandra Dee stepping on a ciggy. Suddenly there were food shortages and chaos in “The former Communist state of fill in the blank.” Not awesome and we went from fearing the Russians to feeling sorry for them.

Well, Putin changed all that and we’ve gone back to a, “Russia bad, America good” Rocky IV mentality. While that’s all well and good, we really are missing out on a lot of good shit over there in Commieville. Here are just a few reasons why you just gotta love those Ruskies…


Mink with Silver Fox trim. I want this coat so hard.

Fur A.F.

Last Sunday, instead of watching the Viking game (in the pit of my stomach I knew this wasn’t going to end well for our purple boys and I.Just.Can’t. watch them lose when just the week before I was screaming in joy with the rest of our new friends in an Atlanta hotel bar. I wanted that moment to be our last memory together. Heh) I watched the European figure skating Championships held in Moscow. With every scan of the sold out arena, I quickly noticed the multitude of fur coats. WHAT? Someone stands up to the PETA thugs? Figures it would be the Russians. Kudos. Now, you could say that those Russian winters are fur necessary but really, if you’ve ever visited Minnesota anywhere from October to April, you know that our winters are totally fur worthy.

I’d always wanted a mink coat. Ya know how some little girls in the 70’s cut out and taped pictures of Scott Baio and Leif Garret up on their walls, I cut out and taped pictures of fur coats. Totally serious. Fur coats were a mysterious luxury that I could only dream about in the quiet of my room. A woman wearing a fur coat didn’t have my problems. She was up on a pedestal where she remained untouched by others’ fuckedupedness and ruled the world in her fur coat. I wanted to be that woman.


A long fur coat meant that you could meet your husband at the airport in nothing but sexy undies and your fur. Someone make sure Matt see’s this please to increase my chances of a fur coat.

But then I guess we started feeling sorry for those cute little ferret type minks and we couldn’t wear fur anymore. JHMFC, I can’t say fag OR wear fur, what fun is life? But those Russians? Fuck the world, they’re wearing their fur. And if they can, I can. Fur is back on the dream list. Years ago, Matt’s mom offered me his Grandma’s fur coat. I so wanted to take it but short and stocky me didn’t fit into tall and graceful grammy’s coat (at 90 she’s still taller than me. That gives a hint as to how tall she was back in the day.)

When I was in my early 20’s, I mustered enough courage to walk into Dayton’s Oval Room and try on a few mink coats under the watchful eye of no less than three employees who, of course, knew I couldn’t afford to even be in there but let me have my fun anyway. Thank’s Oval Room employees, you let a young woman live out a fantasy, if only for a few moments.

Score one for the Russians, Fur A.F.



If you can name a strength sport, chances are high that not only has Misha done it, he’s done it at it’s top level. Also, power belly x a gazillion.

If you close your eyes and imagine the ultimate strength athlete in terms of raw talent; work ethic; camaraderie; charm; a joyful spirit; comfortable ego; a showman, and a zest for life, you would conjure Misha. It may be a different face, but it will be him nontheless.  He is one of Matt’s favorites among the Champions League days and he has quite a few stories that make you like someone you’ll probably never get a chance to spend time with (as a mortal anyway;)

Many Russian athletes just seem to have fun. I like that. They don’t put on some silly show for their eight or nine Instagram followers, they just show themselves. Usually pranking each other in some way with lots of deep laughter afterward, they remind us to always have fun. But when they are working or training, they go hard. That gets lost on many around these parts. There is always fun to be had, but goofing off while attempting a lift or a truck pull or a stone load is given the respect it deserves. It’s why I only watch a few weightlifter video’s. A) I learn from them but mostly, 2. these people just work gawdsawful hard and it shows all over their face. The fun will come but during the lifts? Business. They’re there to get better. To be better.

And then it’s time for fun.

World's Strongest Man 2010 - Sun City, South Africa

WSM 2010 Powerbelly twinsies. Scrumptious.

There is a video of Misha singing with other’s the Israeli national anthem in the gym while he plays his accordion. One of the greatest moments of this video is when a young woman walks out behind him with her coat (not a fur coat but she’s pretty young so maybe she’s still saving for hers) and hat on. At that moment, Misha playing his accordion and singing is so everyday in her life that she feels comfortable walking out during it. I love that. Lucky girl. If you have 10 minutes to four hours to waste, hang out on the Youtube and watch Misha videos. The beauty of them is that you never know what will be next. Strongman? Weightlifting? Shooting guns? Throwing his daughter in the snow? Singing with his shirt off?

Time well spent IMO. I can’t think of an American counterpart to Misha. One who can display charm as well as strength that spans his success. Also,


Tatiana Kashirina

Tatiana Kashirina is unarguably one of (if not THE) strongest women in the world. She approaches a 193kg clean and jerk with a methodical determination that shows no fear. I cannot imagine that kind of lifting. And don’t even think of being so stupid as to bring up drugs. Because drugs don’t get you a 193kg clean and jerk folks. If they did, this would be happening a lot more often. And it doesn’t…so shut up.

I miss seeing her on the platform. Her quiet confidence. Her strength.

I’m not saying Americans don’t have strength, obviously. What I AM saying is that if you admire strength, you’re going to have to include the Russians in that admiration because if you whimsically dismiss them to drugs, you are a stupid person who doesn’t understand how the strength world works. Don’t be a stupid person.

The National Anthem

Now, look, I love our National Anthem (I don’t know if I’m supposed to capitalize that or not so I will and then I won’t and one of them will be correct.) The flavor of the day protests against it at NFL Games were complete and utter bullshit. But we all knew that, right? That these slacktivist actions of few were an attempt to stay in the news cuz lawds know you’re playing wasn’t doing it.

Anyways. Moving on.

Growing up as the Russians won medal after medal at every Olympics meant that I would hear the national anthem no less than four bazillion times in two weeks time. I think it’s kind of funny now, looking back, how often my dad would stomp off in disgust saying that these athletes were robots and the gold medals didn’t mean anything to them. I mean, I dunno. They looked happy. I was just happy I got to hear their National anthem (see what I did there?) again. It’s loud, and majestic, and usually sung by men’s choirs and I don’t care who you are; when Rocky stood so small and bright in the boxing ring among all the uniformed spectators and politicians during the anthem, wasn’t that a moment?

In general, I really enjoy how European men like to sing folk songs. I think it’s awesome. A love for music and usually country unashamedly sung loudly…usually with alcohol. To me, this is very manly. Even without alcohol. We have a polka joint down the road here in Milwaukee, I’d really like to go. But they keep getting held up so I dunno, not. The owner did shoot a dude who was trying to rob him once though, that was cool. I’d just kind of like to go somewhere that gun shots aren’t the norm.

I’m picky that way.


But that National Anthem gets me every time. No, it’s not as great as ours. But when they play it, people stand. Every people. And you can joke that if they don’t they get shot. See, another reason why you should love the Russians.

I kid. Kinda.



The cellar where the Romanovs were executed.

Yes, America has a revolution. All the cool countries do. And I’m incredibly proud of ours, especially after learning so much more of it these last few years. Many died, still do in efforts to keep our country free. I am proud of that.

But Russia murdered an entire family in the middle of the night and then lied about it for 80 years and was then drowned into communism. I wonder when the Bush like Billboards went up along the roads of Russia with a picture of Tsar Nicholas that said, Miss Me Yet? Probably not ever but still, missed opportunity there.

Matt has had amazing visits to Russia. That’s cool and it’s definitely on my bucket list. He got to tour one of the Romanov palaces and even sent me a post card which only took about 6 months to get here. True story. His rep even took him to an Army museum and insisted on buying Oscar a true Russian Tank helmet. Yup. Oz has a true Russian Tank helmet in his collection thanks to the generosity of a Russian.

Score one for the Russians.




Now, really, I don’t want to see a world power leader shirtless while fishing but COME ON! Fucking Putin…fishing with his shirt off!

My fellow Americans, I’m pleased to tell you today that I’ve signed legislation that will outlaw Russia forever. We begin bombing in five minutes.

President Reagan

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Be a Horse in a Dog’s World


It only took about 24 takes to get this picture. Clearly Taszer had a blast. Dazzle? Not so much.

It’s been three and a half years since we had to put down our old boy, Preacher. At the time, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get another boy again. Preacher was it. He was the Walrus. He was The Man. He was on duty from the moment we met him until the horrible day we had to say goodbye. While Dazzle was our sweet and silly little girl that came to give him some pep in his step, Preacher was our forever dog.

And then almost a year later, after a visit to Minnesota which included spending time with our Kuvasz breeder family I got a text saying that a boy named Taszer (they spelled it “Tazer”, I added the sz for the full Hungarian feel;) had fallen in love with Zandra and told her that she needed to take him home. Home being my house at the time as she was getting on her feet after stumbling a bit. Hmmmmmm, am I ready for another boy? Will he be as perfect as Preacher?

Well, no. He wasn’t. Of course. But I tell ya what, he was many things that Preacher wasn’t and most important of all-he loved his new girl and loved us. So eventually, he came home. Home being MY home. Now, Taszer was already 5 years old so some of the house noises and goings on were a bit foreign to him. He wasn’t afraid of the vacuum until Dazzle talked him into it. He wouldn’t eat cheese treats until Dazzle called him a moron enough times that he’d finally take it as a treat. To his last days, he’d still carefully take the first bite back to his bed and munch it and then run back to the kitchen for more. Which was usually gone because Dazzle was all, “move your feet lose your cheese, dude.”

Around his first Christmas here, Zandra and I were having an argument and I yelled at her. Afterwards, Za went to work and I had a session out in the gym. When I came back to the house, Taszer had literally shit and pee’d all over my floors. From the kitchen to the living room to the back room. All. Over. And as my head nearly exploded, he just sat and looked at me with a “Do not ever yell at my girl again” face. In which case, I calmly looked at him and said, “If you ever do anything like this again you are fucking gone. Got it? Fucking. Gone.” I’m pretty sure he gave a slight nod and walked away feeling as if he had won that round. Tell ya what, Working Dogs are no joke. Of course Zandra thought it was hilarious and probably gave him treats for sticking up for her.

One of the more endearing attributes of Taszer is that he thought he was a horse. Now, I’m not just saying this. See, the breeder’s live out in the country and for a long time have had horses living on the other side of their fence. My theory is that Taszer saw them run and said to himself, ya-that’s me. That’s what I look like when I run.


Secretariat. One evening the Disney ‘Secretariat’ movie was on the television and during the middle of it, Matt motioned for me to look at Taszer who’s bed was always right next to my chair. Sure as shit, he was watching intently and I’m quite sure recognized the horses as his brethren.

There was nothing “Dog” about Taszer’s run. He would trot; cantor; chuff when annoyed or tried to intimidate you; his little doggy feet would sound like thunder when he got a good gallop on in the back yard which was pretty impressive because our back yard isn’t very big at all. Basically, Taszer lived his life believing he was a horse. When we’d pass other dogs when out walking he wouldn’t give them the time of day. He wasn’t rude about it, he just didn’t believe he needed to associate with them. He was very sweet with Dazzle but maybe she looked enough like him to know that while she wasn’t a big, beautiful creature like him, she was okay.


Taszer always had smiles for his girl.

When Zandra moved back to Minnesota we kept Taszer here to make sure she could find a place and get situated. Then a funny thing happened: Taszer became MY boy. Pre-Christmas shitting was forgotten and I came to rely on his majestic attitude and overall silliness. Taszer never got enough pets. If you were sitting on a chair and had your hand available, he’d come up underneath it with his head and keep bothering you until you started petting him. The wood floors were always a bit of a challenge for him and at times when he was slipping about he would just look at me and say, “Would you just get horse stall mats like all the other horses have, Mom?”

He was family, not just Zandra’s dog. Ours. Mine. Dazzle’s. Family.

We “joked” with the breeder’s after bringing Taszer home that he would keep Dazzle young and when Dazzle finally passed on we would get another little girl to keep Taszer young and the cycle would just continue through the years. Taszer turned 8 this fall and Dazzle 10 but both of them were in great health and I felt comfortable that saying goodbye was a long ways off.


This picture was taken in mid-October. Right after Taszer’s 8th birthday. He and Dazzle were on a field trip to my son’s house for the weekend and Zac’s girlfriend’s dog kept trying to snuggle up to Taszer. She finally won and there ya go. Adorbs.

But then he wasn’t. Taszer had a very fast and devastating brain tumor that took him in under two months. It was horrible. Two days after Christmas, Matt already on a plane for a quick work trip and the kids packing up to head back to Minnesota and I knew Taszer had taken a turn for the worse. I told Oz and Zandra to say goodbye and then, even though my house was trashed from a week of Christmas fun, I laid on the floor by his side and didn’t move. I tried to force some water into his mouth and just cried. No. Way. It’s only been two years. You’re only 8. We have more years we’re supposed to spend together. This cannot be our ending. Even though I knew it was.

Our vet was supportive and we made an appointment for the next morning to say goodbye unless his condition improved. But we all knew it wouldn’t. I talked to the breeder’s and let them know what was happening and they were supportive and loving. I had a plan in the event he went into distress during the night and slept right by his  side on the floor to make sure he was comfortable. We watched the Hobbit movies, something that will always remind me of him. I didn’t want to even close my eyes knowing that 9 a.m. the next day is looming.

Taszer had a relatively comfortable night but around 5a.m. he started to visibly be, “not awesome.” I knew this was the right thing to do but seeing him jump into the car for his last time and especially out of the car at the vets absolutely shattered me. How can this dog who seems to healthy getting out of the car be dying today? One look at him by the Doctor when she came in the room and said, “Yes, it’s time” gave me very little comfort. I know it’s the right thing to do, but still so very difficult.

I’m thankful for our time together but still so sad that it wasn’t long enough. I’m sad that I lost a family dog to disease rather than old age. I’m sad that Dazzle doesn’t have her buddy. I’m just so sad. OH! Here’s a fun Taszer story; while digging isn’t a huge problem with our Big White Dog’s, Taszer had dug a hole so deep in our back yard corner that prior to a cold spell before Christmas, he was in the hole so far that for a minute I couldn’t see him. When I started to call for him, he butt up’d and happily strolled to the door. Filthy, which was fun because he’d just had a bath, and satisfied. I’d joke with our neighbor that some day our dog is going to find the dead body he’d buried in our yard and he’d laugh…I think. I’ll always believe Taszer’s one regret in life was that he never found that dead body. Now we have a hole about four feet deep in our yard. I dunno, plant a tree? Big boy, I miss you so much.

But here is Taszer’s legacy: be a horse in a dog’s world. Be bigger and better than everyone around you even if those around you are already big and good. Strut your shit because you are a magnificent beast, errrr, person. Don’t get distracted by those little dogs, errr, problems that are insignificant in the long run. Be a horse in a dog’s world.

As I opened the back of the car to let him out at the vets, I snuggled deep into his fur and said, “You are the greatest horse I have ever loved. You are irreplaceable. You will never be forgotten.”

If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans 

James Herriot

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Mixed Messenges


I read somewhere that 2017 was designated, The Year of the Woman. First off, uhhhhh, okay. Pandering to trends is the new normal however disgusting it may be but I suppose it sells newspapers and lawds know the papers are having a hard time these days. (By the way, I still love my hometown paper the StarTrib out of Minneapolis/St. Paul. While it definitely has a political slant to it, the slant is as narrow as it probably can be in this day and age and it’s able to discuss a multitude of subjects without bashing political rivals. I had a chance to read a Sunday’s version of The Globe out of Boston and that is one amazing newspaper. The Spotlight section spoke out against the dismal outlook for the mentally ill in Boston and the rest of the paper was so incredibly well written that I lost time and thought I was back in 1980 when print was reliable. The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel is crap. Utter and complete crap. It’s good for lighting the charcoal chimney, not much else. Sloppy and misleading writing; lack of fact checking without even a look in the rear view mirror as to whether or not “sources” are trustworthy, and outright lies fill 8 pages of a waste of the 15 minutes it may take someone to read it. Crap. Pretty representative of local papers around the country.)

Anyway. Not the point of today but thanks for letting me get that in.

Women are mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore! Oh wait, time for a selfie…


If ever I came upon this in a globo-gym, I would ask the stupid woman if she were auditioning for Playboy and then tell her she’s doing it wrong because they really just want to see how her Vag photographs. Silly girl.

Millions of women marched on Washington and around the country, sporting their Labia hats (even though they called them Vag hats. Ummmm, maybe before you costume up you could just google anatomy that shit) which was sure to garner respect from all those evil men (or I guess just one really in the Oval Office and no, I don’t mean Clinton. He’s the cool one) I guess. I mean, when I want respect I try to behave in a way that I would find respectful. I don’t ‘tit’s out’ in public unless me and the hubs are getting nasty in an empty elevator or something (this doesn’t happen mostly, I just want to see if he’s read the whole article.) But woman find this empowering so the media will jump on it and we’re all supposed to just be amazed at how empowered we are.

Ashley Judd stood up and denounced the evil that was entering Washington. All the while KNOWING there was a sexual predator in her neck of the woods and 20 years after her run in with him, finally decided to speak out. What a huge piece of shit.



But hey, we won’t talk about the hypocrisy today of every single woman in every single business who chose to shut up and put up/out for the sake of their careers. I mean, feminists unite around the “we make up our own rules according to how this is going for us” pole and wrap those ribbons! You go girl!

Oh wait, I haven’t selfied in a few minutes here, hold on…


Grlfriend needs to work that sideboob angle a bit better or invest in better bolt-on’s and also, if you’re going to wear a trucker hat shouldn’t it at least wear your sponsors trucker hat? You don’t have a sponsor? Dude, bolt-on’s and side boob. Get on it.

The lady-bits landscape is so confusing these days. You have millions of women screaming “RESPECT ME YOU PUSSY GRABBER!” and you have millions of women saying, “HERE’S A PICTURE OF MY BODY INCLUDING MY TITS AND ALMOST PUSSY, YOU MUST RESPECT ME!!!” Well, geez. Which one is it?

Here’s a few fun facts of sexual assault/harassment:

  1. As a woman, you choose what you’ll accept in daily life. So when a man pats you on the ass in the office with an obligatory, “good job babe” and you don’t scream from the fucking rooftop,YOU SLIMY MOTHERFUCKER. WE’LL BE HEADED TO HUMAN RESOURCES FOR THAT PAT ON MY ASS AND IF YOU EVER TOUCH ME INAPPROPRIATELY AGAIN I WILL NOT ONLY SUE YOUR ASS AND THAT OF THIS COMPANY, I WILL WAIT FOR YOU IN A DARK PARKING LOT WITH A MILLION OTHER LADIES WHO LIKE TO MARCH AND WE WILL PAT YOUR ASS UNTIL IT IS A BLOODY PULP! GOT IT? See, unfortunately, you are responsible for what you’ll put up with. And for those who interject, “ya butt Jules they just really liked their job and wanted to climb the corporate ladder”, okay. Then that’s your choice. You choose. Job promotion or integrity. See, the feminists have lied to you all this time. You actually CAN’T have it all. Choices will need to be made. I know, it’s not fair. I honestly know this. My world is in the gym world. Sexual harassment and various forms of sexual assault are a common occurrence. What we accept, we live with. We don’t get to come back 20 years later and scream at one man for perceived harassment while we’ve been complacent and handed excuses to another man who made sure you’ve made lots of money. I mean, I guess you can but you’re a hypocrite and in my world, a huge piece of shit. You’ve demeaned those who have been raped/molested/assaulted and didn’t have a voice in the matter. This isn’t some kitchy fucking hashtag Facebook campaign, this is real life and thriving despite sexual abuse is real empowerment. And hey, I even got to keep my shirt on.

This photo was taken at the 3rd Annual “Slutwalk” protest to highlight misconceptions about sexual assault and rape. Ummm, okay. How about if women in clothes just start standing up for themselves on a daily basis? I guess that’s not “likes” worthy.

More fun facts…

2. Rape is not political. It is personal. Let me say that again. RAPE IS NOT POLITICAL. It is not partisan. It does not matter if you were raped by a Republican or Democrat or Independent or Tea Party’r or Green Party’r. It does not matter if the rape was committed by a Christian, or  Jew, or Muslim, or White guy/girl, or Black guy/girl, or a State Farm Furry. Rape is rape. If you are joining the media and the local mob asking for one person’s head because they have accusations from unnamed sources and not another who has openly admitted to sexual assault, you are a huge piece of shit. A woman was wronged, that is the only thing that matters. Allowing the media to herd you into the local sheep pen to ensure that outrage is selective is incredibly unseemly. Be seemly.

3. If a woman has allowed herself to be a pawn in another man’s game to get ahead, own it. Look, we all play the game even a little bit to move forward in life, work, and maybe even sport. We have all made mistakes walking through life and most of us are afforded to right wrongs and grow and deal with things differently. That’s cool. Just own it. Most of us also understand that you can’t turn back the clock and we’ll just have to live with those mistakes; support others where we can, and move on. Moving on isn’t hypocritical, being selective is. As my favorite Deadwood character says, “Declare or shut the fuck up.” Succinct.

4. Don’t publicly question if another woman has truly been sexually assaulted. It actually serves no purpose and here’s the rub, you don’t fucking know. So shut up. Along the time of the trendy hashtag Facebook campaign, a lot of people (some I know and adore, others just idiots) thought they were giving an opposite point of view by questioning whether so many woman were truly impacted. Geez, knock it off. First off, who cares? Second off, maybe that was the point after all. Highlighting how common sexual impropriety occurs and that tons of women you know have been negatively affected. Look friends, just because you have a Facebook account doesn’t mean you HAVE to comment on shit. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve learned this the hard way. I didn’t come out of those instances looking good and I can tell you that those interactions will stick with me long after happy little joy joy posts will.

5. Along those lines, know this, not everyone has the ability to handle such news that you have been sexually assaulted. This is deep stuff, or it should be. It’s not trendy. It’s not cute. It hurts people for a very long time. Some are not able to move past it. I hate that for them. I am so very sorry so many can’t move past it. I’m not special because I have, I’m just lucky. I have an incredibly support system and I was put on this planet with enough spit and vinegar to avoid societal games that other Peterson’s like to play. But there are many people I know who cannot deal with the fact that I was raped and molested by my brother, many who know and love him, and there is nothing I can do about that. I can’t love them less because it’s not up to me how people process deep shit. I’ve had to process deep shit since I was very little so I’ve had more time to practice. Lucky me. Heh. Years ago, I hit my husband with some very deep shit and saw the shock in his face and the “holy shit I have no idea what to say” written all over his face. That’s ok. He just hugged me and said, “I’ve got your back” which was the exact perfect thing to say. But again, I’m lucky.

And now I’ll get to the point of this post, wait, first another selfie…


This one is particularly disturbing to me. A) she still has baby fat which would indicate she’s pretty young. 2. holding your shirt up with your mouth? Come. On!

As I’ve eluded to up there, women send mixed messages. That needs to stop. You can march in your Labia hats all you want but until women, and women you know, stop sending mixed messages, this shit continues. Do you have a friend who partially clothed social media selfies all the time? Do you say anything to her about it? Most likely yes, and most likely no. But this is a problem. This is a big problem. We want men to want to GET into our pants but then bitch when men JUST want to get into our pants. Mixed message. We shove our tits out in Social Media and then scream that we refuse to be treated as just a pair of tits. Confusing.

See, we want it all. Feminists told us we can have it all. So we do. Sorry. Mommy said you were a special snowflake genius destined for greatness, she lied too. Sorry. And here’s the rub, it’s your fault. YOU. You women out there who watch friends and colleagues whore themselves all over the place in real world and social media and say nothing. Oh sure, you’ll march. That’s easy. Selective activism. Cool. But stepping up to a co-worker and saying, “You know what Sugar, while it’s true I would love to have your bangin’ body and perfectly squeezable shaped titties, you showing them all over the office affects every women trying to garner respect through professionalism and a job well done. Can you just cover them here and then after work we’ll happy hour and you can pop’em back out and drink free all night. Cool?”

When you see a woman coming out of, oh let’s just say, Matt Lauer’s office and her clothes are disheveled and she’s crying, did you just put your head down knowing full well what went on and say nothing? Or did you scream from the rooftop, OH HELL NO MATT LAUER YOU HUGE PIECE OF SHIT! YOU RAPING AND ASSAULTING WOMEN AT THE OFFICE IS FUCKING UNACCEPTABLE AND YOU ARE FUCKING DONE!

Nope. No one did that either. Acceptance by silence. Mixed messages.

Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on.

Henry Rollins

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