Domestic Violence Can't Be Beat! ...get it?

It happens over and over again, and although I have taken DV (domestic violence) 101, it still ceases to amaze me. It shouldn't, I know. But, when a lady hits a dude, my minds has a hard time wrapping around it. Overwhelmingly so, the numbers paint a bloody picture over the face of women being pummeld, smacked around and pushed by men. The stats for the reverse are just as staggering. In 2001, violence against men accounted for only 15% of the total. That 103, 220 total incidents reported for violence of women against men. Women ringing in at 588, 490 total incidents. (see Bureau of Justice Statistics Crime Data Brief, Intimate Partner Violence, 1993-2001, February 2003).

But, the numbers don't translate for me. A chick doesn't hit a dude? Right? I mean, what kind of half-man takes that shit? Yes, that is some of the rhetoric floating around this noggin. But those words only get tossed around in this salad brain of mine until I remind myself that I have seen it happen in my own home. My dad, a man of the thickest moral fiber, was run over by my mother time and again. It wasn't isolated violent Law and Order moments. It graded, built up, and slowly, my mom let it out bit by bit, night by night, taking the form of mean words or grunting. He said it was her hormones. Or, maybe it was the money. Or, maybe he didn't have dinner ready for her when she came home. So, yes, kids, I know its a reality. And yes, it still weirds me out.

And frankly, I am not interested in fighting this fight. I don't want to write letters to a legislator, or protest on a college campus, or join fucking women studies. I just want to say that it's weird. And it's scary. And sometimes I still can't believe it continues in my own family, even though I've seen it time and again. You'd think my learning curve would be better.

Things that irritate me...

1. Loud breathing. Do not sit behind me and breath. Widen your nostrils, open your throat. I don't want to hear you gargling, or sighing. You had a bad day? Fuck you, I don't care. I don't want to hear you breathing. And man in the computer lab with creme-colored pants, I don't even mind the fact that your package is bulging in your ugly pants. Why? Because I'd rather stare at your dick than hear you breath.

2. Red Delicious Apples. Misnomer. Red? Yes. Delicious? No.

3. Tweezers that don't have flush edges. I know, how often does that happen? But really, when you are trying to go after that tiny black hair on your chin, and you have to dig into your skin to get that bitch, it fucking ruins a morning.

4. A privately owned Federal Bank. Doesn't that seem sketchy to anyone? The Federal Reserve is "owned" by big private banks around the country. True, the term of ownership needs to be hashed out. The member/owner banks must invest 3% of their capital stock in the Federal Reserve Banks. They cannot sell that stock, an cannot trade it, and cannot use it as collateral in order to borrow more money. However the private banks DO receive 6% per year from the Federal Reserve Banks. Also, the private banks get to elect each Federal Reserve Banks Board of Directors. Can you say, "conflict of interest"? And now, since all these mondo banks are going belly-up, and the Federal Reserve is intimately tied to the belly-up banks? Connect the dots. Irritating. Very. http://federalreserve.gov/generalinfo/aqfrs.htm#8

5. Bushy pubes. Effing trim. Tame it. I don't need to see it at the gym. And no, don't talk to me with your pubes hanging out. If your towel is pushed up by your pubes when its wrapped aroud your waist, you have way too much pube.

6. The sound of cats licking themselves.Oh my GAWD! You have all fucking day to clean your cat-ass! Yes, I am going to throw my pillow at you at 3am, cat.