Category: Life and Stuff


Twenty Years Later – Revisiting 9/11 and the day I made it home

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September 10, 2021

I was wondering if I should post my 9/11 story. I’ve posted it several times over the last 20 years, and figured, maybe I shouldn’t – not this year.

But then a couple of folks asked me to…so I feel maybe it’s still relevant, especially on THIS anniversary.

Twenty years

I still can remember everything, as if it happened yesterday. What I saw. The fear I felt. The subsequent anger I felt. And the smell that seemed to just stick to all of downtown New York City for years after the attacks.

A little over two years ago, I was lucky enough to be re-employed by the New York City Economic Development Corporation – the same company I worked for back on 9/11. I had left in 2004, and all but regretted having done so because no matter where I worked in the years after, nothing compared to the sense of purpose I felt being a part of EDC.

At the time of my return, the company was still located on William Street, just a couple of blocks down from the World Trade Center. Four months after my return, EDC moved to its new location – across the street and adjacent to the WTC – right next door to the park where I stood watching in horror on 9/11 as the top of the North Tower, already hit by the first plane, bled smoke into the blue sky, and right on the spot where I made my turn to head to the office as the second plane hit the South Tower.

Every day, I see those two locations, and marvel at the resiliency of the city I call “home.” It’s amazing what we have built there – and I’m amazed to be a part of the company that helped make that happen. People from all over the world come to visit the Freedom Tower and to stand by the memorials in the footprints of where the two buildings once stood. Companies, much to what the naysayers in the aftermath of that horrible day predicted, have come back to create workspaces in the buildings there. There is life again there, where once there was a gaping hole of smoke and debris. There is joy, even among the sadness of remembrance of all those we lost in the course of a day full of terror.

One thing I can say – New York City always bounces back. Those who keep calling it ‘dead’ must be tired of being so wrong so often.

For those who have asked, here’s my 9/11 story.

Back in 2001 I lived in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn and worked three blocks away from the World Trade Center. My train stop coming into Manhattan was across the street from the North Tower.

My plan to catch an earlier train than usual was thwarted by my more immediate desire to look good for our monthly board meeting. I remember running in my three-inch platform heels and cursing my vanity as I watched the train leave the station. I didn’t realize at that moment how lucky I was. You see the train I took back then left the station every twelve minutes. Had I made the train I ended up missing, I would have likely been walking up the stairs to street level as the first plane hit The North Tower. 

Instead, I caught the next train, which had me arriving in Manhattan shortly after the North Tower had been hit.

Of course, at the time, I didn’t know any of this. I just knew I was running late and I needed to get to the office before the Board Meeting started.

During the ride into the city, we were stuck between Brooklyn and Manhattan for a few minutes. I remember all the passengers, including myself, being annoyed – cursing the MTA – a favorite pastime of all passengers running late for work.

There was no announcement until we arrived at the first stop in Manhattan – Whitehall Street – and all they said was:

“Due to a Smoke condition, we will be bypassing the Courtland Street station.  For the Wall Street area, please use the Rector Street or City Hall Stations.”  Everyone looked irritated. It seemed back then that every week there was a “Smoke Condition” at the Courtland Street Station.

Usually, it meant a garbage can was on fire or some stupid kid was pulling some stupid prank effectively delaying the trains for what amounted to nothing, leaving harried employees irritated, and late for work – But not this time.

I got out at Rector Street because it was closer to where I worked than City Hall – annoyed that I would have to walk a few extra blocks in heels.

When I got out of the station, I could smell the smoke. I walked up to street level and saw smoke and fire coming from the North Tower and paper wafting down to the ground from the building as well. All I could think was, “oh no, not again.” I apparently said this out loud because a lady passing me by stopped to say, “oh no, it was just a freak accident – a small jet or something flew into the tower – it’s very weird – they think maybe the pilot had a heart attack.”

Now mind you, I was suspicious – Hey, I was there in 1993 too. But I decided to just go on to work so I started making my way in the direction of the WTC. Downtown can be a bit difficult to navigate because it’s not the nice little neat grid that the rest of Manhattan is, so I was trying to use the most familiar path I knew. I got to Zucchotti Park, which was full of people staring up at the Tower – some were crying. I looked up as well, but was mindful of the time, because again – I had a meeting.

I know I walked a little further and then, closer to the South Tower, I made a right to head towards my job, all the while hearing many folks talking in disbelief about the ‘freak accident.’ I walked three steps in the direction of  my building, placing my back to the burning Tower, when suddenly, I heard what I can only describe as very loud blasts – it sounded like something was blowing up.

I, along with countless people, started to run. 

At this point I remember thinking that maybe the plane that had flown into the North Tower exploded (later, I learned that, in fact that noise was the sound of the South Tower being hit). I was also, at that moment, thinking “don’t fall” for fear I’d be trampled.

Once I made it to my building on William Street, I could see my co-workers staring up in disbelief in the direction of  the North Tower. We had a very good view of that tower from the corner of our building. One of my friends, having noticed me, out of breath, and I’m sure disheveled, asked me if I was okay.  As I began to nod my head “yes,” I put a hand through my hair to push it out of my face and noticed there was glass in it. I, also at that moment, felt glass down my back. As one friend handed me her orange juice, another started to pick the glass out of my hair. I was a little freaked out at that moment, but not nearly as panicky as, should I ever have imagined myself in that situation, thought I’d be. I looked up towards the tower to see why folks had started gasping and noticed fairly large figures falling from the area above the smoke.  It took a while for it to register that those were people throwing themselves out of the tower.

I realized at that moment, that whatever the situation was, my parents needed to know that I was fine. No one’s cell phones were working, so I went upstairs to try the landlines. I managed to reach my father’s answering machine.  One of my friends had offered to let me come to her apartment in the Village but I declined her offer, saying: “No offense, but I’m getting off this Island even if I have to swim.” Another one of my co-workers was in her office crying and I looked in to see if she was okay. She said that the Pentagon had been hit too. Clearly these were no freak accidents.

And then we started hearing rumors of other planes.

I had decided I was going to cross the Brooklyn Bridge with three of my co-workers. We all agreed to meet in the lobby by the elevators. I got downstairs and met up with two of the three ladies I was going to walk home with. I told them I wanted to let the co-worker who had offered me to stay with her in The Village know I was going with them instead.  She and another co-worker were out in front of our building next to the revolving doors.  As I walked towards them, the building began to shake, and the lights began to flicker on and off.  We heard a huge rumble and lots of crashing noises. 

The folks milling outside ran into the building and we all ran towards the side door. I linked hands with the two women who had been waiting for me and we ran outside along with the crowd. I was the last in our human chain and looked behind me. I saw a huge cloud of smoke heading our way. I tried to yell to them that we’re better off inside the building. They didn’t hear me. I broke off the chain and ran back into the building. I found out later that another co-worker HAD heard me and followed me inside. She said that had she been caught up in that cloud of smoke she most likely wouldn’t have made it, as she was asthmatic.

Once the initial brunt of the cloud of smoke that once was The South Tower passed, all those inside the building walked out to the street. It was eerie. You couldn’t see or hear anyone. The smoke/dust was so thick that you could be right next to a person, and they would sound as if they were far away. I could vaguely hear crying and I swear I heard my own heart beating. For the first time, I was truly scared. I thought I was never getting home.  I tried to keep myself in check though, as I tried to make my way to the South Street Seaport.

I turned left on Pearl Street. The smoke/dust on that block seemed to have lifted a bit and I recognized a familiar face from work.  He took one look at me and said, “are you okay?” and suddenly I couldn’t control the tears anymore and whimpered, “I want to go home.”   He asked me where home was, and I said “Brooklyn.”  He was from Brooklyn too and told me that he was looking for another one of our co-workers and that once we found him, we’d all go home together.

The third person found us pretty quickly (they had told each other where to meet), and we headed for the Seaport. At that time I worked for the New York City Economic Development Corporation and we were working on moving the Fulton Fish market to the Bronx.  The guys I was walking with were working on that deal so the folks at the fish market let us go into their offices for a quick rest before we started out to the bridge.

The folks in that office were very nice to us and kept trying to clean off my bag, my skirt, my shoes – giving me wet paper towels to wipe off my dust covered face. All I wanted was a working phone line. I HAD to get in touch with one of my parents to let them know I was STILL okay.  While we were there, the news was on, and they were talking about rumors of other planes and were trying to confirm a plane crashing in Pennsylvania.

At that moment I felt a sudden urgency to just get going.  I wanted off the Island of Manhattan. We decided that since the Brooklyn Bridge is the most famous bridge in New York City, it would likely be the first target if they wanted to cut us off from the rest of the boroughs – we weren’t taking chances.  We walked to the Manhattan Bridge (which also goes into Brooklyn) instead.

As we got to the foot of the bridge on the Manhattan side, we saw a throng of people running in our direction.  We found out later that the North Tower had fallen as well.

The Twin Towers were gone.

As we crossed the bridge, I kept looking back at the smoke coming from the spot where the towers used to be in disbelief.  Again, my thoughts were spoken aloud and I said to one of the guys “Wow, not to get all biblical or anything, but this reminds me of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.”  My friend responded “well, we don’t want you to turn into a pillar of salt, so stop looking back. Let’s go home.”

When we got to the other side of the bridge, we all breathed a sigh of relief and just sat there on the grass watching as more people poured into Brooklyn.  The folks in Brooklyn were passing out water. I bumped into the lady me and my other two friends had been waiting for inside our building.  I was relieved she had made it out. She took one look at my feet and said, “go into the store behind me and get yourself a pair of flip flops NOW.”  So, I did.  My shoes had given me a couple of very large blisters at the bottom of my feet. I was in pain (and probably in shock), but relieved to be out of the city.

Bay Ridge was clear on the other side of Brooklyn, and it would have taken me all day to get home if I had walked.  Luckily a nice gentleman was picking up folks and driving them as far as his daughter’s school, which was about fifty blocks away from where I lived.  I took the ride.  Then I got myself a cab.

I had managed thus far to keep myself together but as I turned the corner of my house (the cab had to let me off about five blocks away because there was traffic backed up to the Verrazano bridge which had been closed because of the day’s events, so I walked/ran the last five blocks), I started shaking. 

Once I was inside, I just slid down to the floor and let it all out. My roommate at the time, came out of her bedroom and said, “Thank God you’re okay. We’ve all been trying to reach you. Call your sister. She’s in a panic.”  Luckily, outgoing calls from landlines were working, so I was able to call my sister and let her know I was fine. With the exception of the message I’d left on my father’s home phone (which I later found out he hadn’t heard, having not been able to leave his office for two days – he was the President of a Livery Cab company at the time, and they were trying to find the drivers that had been dispatched Downtown that morning), I still hadn’t reached either of my parents.

After taking the longest shower ever, I still felt as though I had glass in my hair and down my back, and no matter how many times I bathed, I could still smell the contents of the big ball of smoke I had walked through. It took days for me to feel physically normal again.

For the next few days, I slept in the living room with the TV on. By day two I had it on PBS because that was the only station NOT airing continuous images of the Twin Towers.  I had to take sleeping pills to be able to sleep.  Loud noises scared me. 

I’m a pretty tough person, but for the first week or so after 9/11, I wasn’t me at all.

I went back to work the following week.  We were working out of offices in downtown Brooklyn.  Like I said, I worked for the Economic Development Corporation, and we were clearly going to be busy for a very long time to come.  They told everyone to take their time, come back when we were ready.  But I had to be around people who understood how I felt.  No one in my personal life did because they hadn’t actually been there.

A week after that, we were back Downtown. I can’t describe to you the odor or the sights.  There were national guardsmen walking the streets asking for ID to prove you had a reason to be below Canal Street.  I took to wearing my Work ID around my neck.

I was lucky, really.  I truly feel like I was blessed that day. I have a sense that maybe my grandfather, who had passed a couple of months earlier, was watching over me on that day, making sure I got home alright. He was notoriously late for everything. Maybe he was the one who made me miss that train.

I was also lucky in that while I knew a few of the people who perished (three firefighters), all my family and close friends managed to escape physically unscathed. Because of this, I was able to concentrate on the folks who did lose those close to them and on the work we had ahead of us.

I kept the outfit I wore that day for about 15 years. I even wore it a few times, when I felt I needed a little extra luck – because I felt it was my lucky outfit – it was what I was wearing on the day I made it home when so many didn’t. I wore those shoes too, for years. I repaired them over and over again, until, sadly, I had to retire them permanently in the summer of 2008. But for the seven years after 9/11/01, every time I’d wear them, I’d remember how they got me across the bridge on the scariest day of my life.

It’s been twenty years and my heart still races and I still tear up when I think of the devastation of that day. I’m fine in my day-to-day life. But each year, on 9/11, I allow myself to dwell – to remember every detail. Because while we all must move on, if only to honor those whose lives were cut short, we can never forget.

I know that so much has happened in the years since the towers fell. There have been weddings and divorces, births and deaths. I met and married a wonderful man and then he passed away. I have moved. I suffered through being unemployed during the last recession. My heart found itself expanded in ways I never knew possible with the births of my nephew and then my niece. I found love again, with another wonderful man. I found myself, happily, back at my old job – helping New York City bounce back from yet another nightmare – a global pandemic.

Life, for me, has moved on.

And each day, I marvel at the resiliency of the town I call ‘home,’ and the human soul that can reimagine itself, heal itself despite the scars, and move on.

There are so many different stories folks who managed to escape that day, physically unscathed, will tell. I can pretty much guarantee each one will contain two elements:

– Gratitude at having been lucky enough to get out of there alive and unhurt.

– The need to  never forget the ones who weren’t as lucky as we were.

I don’t know if I will repost this story in another five, ten, fifteen, however many, years. But, I know I will never forget the day I came home.

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Death of a Friend(ship)

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August 27, 2020
I try not to get too personal on FaceBook, what with trolls and such.. Also, griping about my personal life is something I was taught a long time ago is just something one doesn’t do. But I have to speak up about this.
If you’re friends with me on FaceBook, or on Twitter, you would have noticed, that in as much as my political views skew left, I have been particularly vicious towards a conspiracy group called QAnon.
And yeah, they’re crazy. And yes, they love Trump. But that’s not the reason I actively, hate – yes, I said “hate” (another thing I was told was bad, but right now, I don’t care), everything about them.
And here’s why.
My now former childhood best friend.
I’ve known this person since I was 13.
She was 14 when we met, and didn’t know much about Jews or the Jewish way of life, or that there were as many different variations on practicing Judaism (or not practicing it all that much) as there are stars in the sky – Truly.
We grew up in one another’s homes. She was accepted as a member of the family – not just by my immediate family – but by my extended family as well. She used to call my grandmother “baptcha.” My sister, for the longest time, considered her a like a second older sister.
She used to ask me questions about rumors she’d heard about Jews, and their traditions. Having gone to Yeshiva, I considered myself quite the expert, and explained everything I could as best as I could.
We went through everything together. First loves, first heartbreaks, the ups and downs of HS, College and post college life. We were roommates for a couple of years. We used to joke about our weddings, who we’d marry, how our kids would grow up to be best friends like we were – all the stuff young girls and women talk about.
When I got married, she was a bridesmaid in my wedding. I flew her in from Texas (where she was living at the time) and bought her dress and paid for her hair and make-up because it was THAT important to me that she be a part of that day we both had dreamed of all our lives.
So, to find out that she joined this fucking cult killed me.
It broke my heart worse than any ex-boyfriend ever did.
You see, QAnon is drenched in Anti-Semetism. They believe in the Protocols of the Elders of Zion – A series of theories, that has long been debunked, but that has been used, in various different forms as the justification for Anti-Semetism in one way or another, for centuries.
Ultimately, the Protocols state that the Jews were said to have made plans to disrupt Christian civilization and create a world they rule along side the Freemasons. Liberalism and socialism were the means they would use to do this, along with financially sabotaging all the capitals of Europe.
The combined Anti-Semetic theories were published in Russia in 1903 and printed and distributed in America by Henry Ford to justify what he knew was going on in Germany during WWII.
QAnon also believes in “Blood Libel.” It’s an old, also debunked, conspiracy theory that claims that Jews use the blood of Christians, particularly Christian children, in religious rituals, especially in the preparation of Passover Mazoh.
To hear, that after 36 years of friendship, she was so quick to embrace a group that believes in this shit, and proudly supports their anonymous leader, how could I not react the way I did?
I tried to talk to her. I really did. I tried to explain how hurtful it was that she’d believe some anonymous stranger’s lies over the truths she witnessed her whole life – but to no avail.
We did get childish – each of us posting passive-aggressive remarks about one another on our personal FaceBook pages. I guess my post about people who join cults only do so because they can’t face their own failures in life, really got to her because she ‘unfollowed’ me.
Funny enough, within a week of her unfollowing me, five different mutual friends, along with my mother, asked me what the hell was wrong with her. I couldn’t answer with the whole truth – that this person they knew for over thirty years, didn’t just go over the edge mentally, but she took a swan dive over to the dark side.
I realized, that had we grown up together in Poland back in the 1930s, had been best friends, to the point of considering one another family, she would have likely been first in line to report me to the Gestapo when they came to our town.
I’ve never been the type of person to exclaim that someone was ‘dead to me,’ But I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Truly speaking, if you believe even an ounce of what QAnon is shitting out into the world, I have nothing left to say to you. People like those leading and following QAnon are no different than all those Germans who had no problem turning Jews in to be slaughtered.
And if you’re a Jew who entertains the other parts of QAnon’s narrative, you’re no better than those Jews who were okay with Hitler because ‘he couldn’t be serious’ about his plans for the population of the Jews.
So yes, for the first time in my life I can honestly say I “hate” something. I don’t know what exactly it is I hate, because the person that started this movement is anonymous. I hate them for taking away my best friend.. or maybe I should thank them for showing me who this person really is.
Because how much of a friend could she have been if she could follow anything this cult believes in, knowing they believe this about people like me?
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Everyone Has a Story to Tell… Guess what? #MeToo

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September 20, 2018

I don’t think I know any woman who doesn’t have at least one story of a guy trying to force himself on her.

It’s sad, isn’t it?

I thought about posting my own personal experiences many times over the past year or so, as I watched the #metoo movement gain steam. I didn’t.  I simply couldn’t bring myself to write it all down. I’ve moved on with my life and these events are a part of my past, and I’m pretty happy with my present, and looking forward to a happy future. I simply didn’t want to rehash, what to me, is ancient history.

But something about Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s account of what happened to her at the hands of Brett Kavanaugh back when they were in High School really struck a chord in me. And so, I’ve decided to talk about some of my experiences.

My first story takes place at McDonalds, at the Staten Island Mall, where I briefly worked while trying to save up some money for a trip I was taking to New Orleans to visit, my, at the time, boyfriend.

I was a senior in HS.

A friend of mine from school was some kind of supervisor, or Jr. Manager. While I often hung out with him in group settings, I never gave him any indication that I might be interested in him. And because I know the most important question is usually “what were you wearing?” – I was wearing a McDonald’s uniform. Very alluring outfit, I know.

In any case, one night, as I was taking out the garbage after closing, he followed me out to the bin area behind the store. We chatted for a minute. The next thing I knew, he was pinning me up against a wall and his tongue was down my throat, his hands felt like they were everywhere.

I tried to shove him off. I said “no.”

Finally, I bit his tongue.

Needless to say, he was pretty angry. He told me he was going to make sure I never got any shifts again.

I ran out of there shaking. I clocked out, went home, and tried to figure out how I was going to explain losing my job to my mom.
Luckily, a few days later, I ended up with the chicken pox.

No one to this day, other than, my best friend, who picked me up from work at night, and to whom I told the entire story, in spurts, my heart in my throat, more afraid of losing my job than of what that guy did, knows the real reason I quit.

The next incident happened later the same year.

It was late spring, about a month before graduation. I had nothing to do for two hours while I waited for my sister to get out of school, so agreed to go and hang out with some friends at another friend’s house.

I knew the guy. We’d hung out many times before.

When we got to his house, no one else was there. I asked him where everyone else was and he told me they were on their way. He gave me some soda and grabbed some Mac and Cheese, offering some to me. I declined.

We were sitting on the floor with our backs up against the couch when he leaned in to kiss me. I won’t lie – I was surprised, and briefly, kissed him back.

He took this as an invitation and pinned me down on the floor and started to kiss and grope me, begging me to just let him ‘stick it in, just a little’.

That’s when I realized he’d unzipped his pants.

I remember kneeing him in his groin area and pushing him off of me.

I remember him calling me a ‘bitch.’

I remember frantically trying to find my school bag, which he put somewhere to the side.

I remember running to the door, apologizing to HIM and saying something about having to pick up my sister.

And I remember him, his anger subsiding his I ran out the door actually pleading, “but it’s only like 2, come on, I’m sorry. I thought you were cool with it. We don’t have to have sex, maybe you can just give me a hand job…”

Again, the only person I immediately told, was my best friend. She was shocked because she didn’t think he was that type of guy. We over-analyzed the entire thing. In the end, I totally blamed myself. I was ashamed. I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything I’d done to lead him on. But, I figured I went there alone with him – So it was on me, right?

The next incident happened between my sophomore and junior years of college.

I was drunk.

He was drunk.

He was the boyfriend of an old HS friend, with whom I’d lost touch.

I was out with some friends at a Staten Island bar we frequented one night when I bumped into him.

We chatted a bit and drank a lot.

Then, we went outside to smoke a cigarette.

I won’t go into detail about what happened next, because the details aren’t really necessary for anyone reading this to get the gist of what happened. Suffice it to say it wasn’t pretty, or fun, or ‘rough horseplay.’

I blamed myself for years.

Even though, I said ‘no’ a million times.

Even though at some point I considered just letting him do what he wanted to do just to get him to leave me alone.

The only thing that prevented me from being truly violated was the fact that I threw up.

He got grossed out. And I didn’t get raped.

It could have been worse.

Most women, particularly those in my generation and the generations before me, were taught that if a man violated you, you were somehow to blame.

If a guy tries to kiss you, well, you should be flattered.

If he tries to have sex with you and you deny him, then you are a prude or a tease.

And, if he penetrates you, well, you’re a slut who was asking for it and are only saying something now because you regret having spread your legs.

That’s what we were told. That’s why we never spoke up. Any discussion with a trusted friend would be in hushed tones, questioning what we ourselves did wrong to have this happen to us.

Did I encourage any of these guys?

Why was I there?
What was I wearing?
Was I flirting?
Am I remembering this the right way?

It took me a long time to realize, I didn’t do anything wrong. The only thing anyone can accuse me of is trying to live my life while female.

I imagine what would have happened if I’d gone to the manager at the McDonald’s back in 1989 and told him what had happened. The culture back then wasn’t one where women could speak up. Anita Hill hadn’t yet had her hearing. No one that I knew had even heard the term “sexual harassment.”

I imagine what would have happened if I’d told anyone other than my best friend about that second guy (I don’t believe I told anyone). Who would believe me? What would they say about me? I was a bubbly, flirty, happy classmate who had more guy friends than girlfriends. They’d never believe that I wasn’t just a tease. They’d blame me and tell me I was wrong for giving the poor guy blue balls and then kicking him in the nuts.

I imagine what would have happened if I had told anyone about the third guy. He was an attractive young guy with a bright future and a hot girlfriend. I was a chubby college girl with frizzy hair and braces who wore ripped denim Bermuda shorts, and a crocheted vest over a loose tee-shirt. They’d tell me I should have been flattered that his beer goggles made me look good. And then told me if I felt attacked, then maybe I shouldn’t have gotten drunk.

What I’m saying is, I felt I couldn’t tell anyone. That’s what most women felt back then. It’s how most girls and women still feel today. More women are coming out with their stories now and the pushback from the old school “boys will be boys” crowd, both men and women, is, as expected, revolting.

With women speaking up more, we, as adults, need to teach boys and girls, starting at a very young age that ‘no means no.’ Girls, in particular, need to know that they have a place to go to tell people who will hear them out, and believe them, without asking them ‘what were you wearing,’ or, ‘what did you do to make him think you were interested in him.’

My motivation in telling this story is simple. Most people see me and they still see the bubbly, happy, although maybe a bit more jaded, person, I was back in HS. I’m not crippled by fear. I have a wonderful man in my life and we are happy. The fact is, most women who’ve had these kind of encounters in their lives are just like me. We went through it, compartmentalized it, and moved on.

But, by not speaking up or speaking out, we are doing a disservice to the girls and women growing up now, waking up to watch a woman who is speaking out about a sexual assault at the hands of a man who will be in a position to affect their lives for many years to come, being eviscerated by the same people who made us think that what happened to us was our fault.

It’s time to end this cycle of victim blaming and shaming. I don’t care if it happened 30 years ago, or 30 days ago. We need to leave the world a better, safer, place for the girls and young women we love who are watching this disgusting spectacle and wondering if they too will have to live their lives hiding in shame and fear, or will they have allies as they grow into womanhood in a world still dominated by men.

We need to tell our stories. We need to listen to their stories.

It’s way past time.

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Changing the Narrative – #MeToo

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October 18, 2017

“It’s your fault. Why did you wear that dress?”

Those were the words the Rebbetsin spoke to me as I sat in her office after a boy had ripped open my snap-button denim dress because I wasn’t done sharpening my pencil quick enough for him.

I was nine years old.

After the incident, which happened in front of the whole classroom, I was sent to the office of the Rabbi’s wife . As a girl, being sent to the “Rebbetsin” was the equivalent of being sent to the Principle’s office.  The boy who ripped open my dress wasn’t sent anywhere. In fact, he wasn’t reprimanded at all.

It was my fault. I wore the dress.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. Not only was it always going to be my fault, but that turning to those in charge would do nothing. No one was going to help me.

  • A boy ripped your dress? Well, maybe you should have worn a different dress.
  • Your manager at McDonalds pushed you up against a wall and stuck his tongue in your mouth? Please, we all saw how chummy you two were, you clearly wanted it.
  • A co-worker keeps telling you that you have ‘child bearing hips’ and he would love to put a baby in you? You should be flattered because he’s hot.

In the wake of the Harvey Weinstein revelation, women have been sharing their #MeToo stories. They have been heartbreaking to read, yet not shocking. Most of us have dealt with some form of harassment. And while there are many people out there chiding men for their bad behavior, the folks who were most cruel to me after I tried to speak up, were women.

It was the Rabbi’s wife who told me that I shouldn’t have worn the dress.

And it was a female co-worker at my old job at McDonalds, back in my senior year of High School, who told me that our manager had every right to shove me up against the wall, near the garbage dump, and stick his tongue down my throat because I was always smiling at him and laughing at his jokes – Of course he thought I wanted it.

It was an older, female, co-worker who told me I should be flattered by the married guy who kept telling me he wanted to put a baby in me and my “child bearing hips.”

Just the other day, while discussing the Weinstein situation, a female coworker told me that while what he did was horrifying, she blames the victims for everything that happened not only to them, but to the women this guy raped and harassed after them because they should have spoken up sooner.

Another woman blamed the victims saying that if they dressed like ‘skanks’ they deserve what they got.

Why are women (mostly older ones) so cruel to other women who were harassed, and who now are speaking out about it?

Donna Karan came to Weinstein’s defense, talking about what a difficult position HE was in and that, we should, instead, look at how these women present themselves.

Mayim Bialik (yes, “Blossom” or, “Amy Farrah Fowler,” if you prefer), in an OpEd she wrote for the New York Times, said that women who ‘dress modestly’ are less likely to encounter sexual harassment. Essentially, proving, that even women who think they are feminists, still don’t get the point.

How are women supposed to report instances, if the first question we often hear is “are you sure?” Followed quickly with “what were you wearing?”

And how are women supposed to feel safe to report instances of harassment, when more often than not, the people asking these questions, and casting doubts, are other women?

And should women start donning birkas? Maybe we should all dress Frum? Would that help? And why is the onus on us? And why do we ourselves put the onus on us?

And if men are so weak that they can’t control themselves at the sight of a woman’s natural hair, or her elbows, or her knees, then how the hell are we, who are clearly so powerful that a glimpse of our smiles can make a man lose all sense of right and wrong, not the ones in control of the narrative?

Oh that’s right, because we really are our own worst enemies.

Women are vicious to one another. We are catty. We are the worst at victim shaming, slut shaming and judging.  We have allowed our cultural norms, which were set by men a long time ago, to force us to be in constant competition with one another. We watch shows like “The Bachelor” and “The Real Housewives” for the soul purpose to watch women be evil to one another.

If this #metoo movement has shown me anything, it’s that this has happened to EVERY woman I know. Every. Single. One.

Imagine if we all decided ‘enough is enough’ and actually stood by one another? No more slut-shaming, no more cattiness, no more excuse making, no more jealousy because of another’s looks, luck, man… Stop feeding into this notion that women need to be bitches to one another – it’s how men like Weinstein, Trump, Ailes, O’Reilly, etc, managed to get away with their shit for as long as they have.

Change the narrative.

Stop making it about “what did you wear?” And ask the real question, “What did he do?”

Stop teaching girls that we need to hide, or that our lot in life is to be submissive, or that we in any way, shape, or form, are to blame when men are the ones who can’t seem to control their ‘urges.’

Teach boys from an early age that women aren’t ‘less than’ and that ‘no means no’ and that if they see another boy/man disrespecting a woman, that he should stand up for the girl.

There are men who want to be our allies in all of this. I commend them. I’ve read their responses to the #MeToo movement, calling for men to do better.  I am heartened by their words and genuine horror at what they are witnessing in the revelations coming from the women in their lives.

But before we can accept their help, we really need to start to help ourselves.

And to that I must say #MeToo.

 

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Nasty Woman-splaining for clueless hombres.. I can’t believe this is still a thing..

Filed under: Life and Stuff, politics — 1 Comment
October 21, 2016

 

“I think it’s terrible if you go with what Hillary is saying… in the ninth month you can take the baby and rip the baby out of the womb of the mother just prior to the birth of the baby. Now, you can say that that’s okay, and Hillary can say that that’s okay, but it’s not okay with me. Because based on what she’s saying and based on where she’s going and where she’s been, you can take the baby and rip the baby out of the womb in the ninth month, on the final day. And that’s not acceptable.” – Donald Trump , Las Vegas NV, 10/19/2016
Ever find yourself ‘woman-splaining’ women’s issues to a guy? You know, like, how no matter how evolved they are, they can’t understand fully how it FEELS to be a woman? There’s no ‘put yourself in my shoes’ examples that can fit. You can be sympathetic, but you really just don’t know how it feels.. No more than a woman can understand a man’s need to scratch his groin area every few minutes.. It’s gross.. Dude, stop.. No, seriously, get that shit checked out already k?
But the one thing men REALLY seem to not understand, is a woman’s reproductive system. I mean, they know the basics and many actually have evolved enough to care to read about all the stages a woman goes through from conception to birth, and stick by through every step of the process. But what’s become glaringly obvious, is that most men, even those who have had, say,  not just one kid, but 5, with 3 different women, still don’t have a clue.

Nothing can be more obvious than Trump’s ridiculous, insulting and glaringly ignorant remarks about “Late Term Abortions,” (please see above), and the largely clueless male response to the topic.

** An aside to the men who didn’t see anything wrong with Trump’s ‘opinion’ about Late Term abortions: Fuck you for not doing some research before saying stupid shit.  Kudos to the women in your life for not gagging you until you learn something.**
So for the past 36 hours or so, in addition to not being able to get Janet Jackson’s “Nasty Boys” out of my head, I’ve also found myself explaining why Trump’s answer is further proof that neither he, nor any man who doesn’t have a medical degree specializing in women’s health, should have any business trying to discuss, let alone pass legislation, on a woman’s right to do what she feels necessary for her own well-being.. I can go off on a rant about a woman’s right to choose, but I’ll just stick to Trump’s incredibly stupid remarks on late term abortions, which had me screaming at my TV.
Facts:
  • “Late-term” is after the 20th week of pregnancy. (24 weeks in some states) 
  •  Legally, unless either the health of the mother is in danger, or the fetus is not viable,  abortion after the 20th or 24th week of pregnancy is illegal in most states of the  union. What I’m saying is, you really can’t just walk in at week 25 and have an  abortion without a serious medical reason for it, let alone at week 36.
Reality check:  No woman carries a baby nearly to term and then arbitrarily says “nah, ya know what doc, rip it out of me, I don’t want it.”
Most women, who have carried a baby beyond the point of legal abortion,  WANT the baby. These women more than likely have had their baby showers, painted the baby’s room and picked out names. Making this decision is most likely the WORST thing that can happen to a woman who wants a child (probably only next to being told she can’t have any).
I’m not saying there aren’t women who get cold feet later in their pregnancies and think “holy shit, what am I doing having a kid?” That’s normal. And in extreme cases those women should, and often do, seek out medical assistance for their psyche – not an abortion.
Just to be clear – those of you who still think that Hillary Clinton approves “ripping a baby out of the mother even on the due date” – she doesn’t.
The fact that Donald Trump is an idiot about this topic, still holds true, however.
An all out ban on late term abortions, which is what Trump, and his frienemy, Paul Ryan, are hoping to make happen, is dangerous to women. I have no illusion that Trump or Ryan particularly care about women. Trump cares about Trump, and Ryan is just an asshole who advocates for rapist’s rights, but I digress.
The ban that the conservatives are looking to enact would have NO exclusions – none. That means that women carrying a fetus who may be suffering in utero, or who has no brain function, or who won’t survive outside the uterus for more than a few painful breaths, will be forced to endure the pregnancy and give birth to a baby who will live its short life in pain. Or, a woman who’s life is in danger because the baby she is carrying, who won’t survive outside of her womb, is killing her from the inside. It’s rare, but it happens.(Statistically speaking, 1% of abortions performed in the USA are performed after the 21st week of pregnancy. 1% folks, just saying).
To put a finer point on it, what Conservatives are saying is that they want every woman to carry every child to term, even if she’s carrying a brain-dead fetus who will never live outside her body, and who may actually end up killing her if she carries it to term. Right to life, my ass! What the FUCK?!  Anyone who can agree with that is an asshole. Yeah, I’m saying it. Fuck you. Unfriend me. Thanks. Life’s better already
** Oh and just an aside – If a woman has carried a baby to term the result is usually some form of birth, not abortion.  Even when doctors are fairly certain that a fetus isn’t viable, at 8-9 months they will still  either try to remove the child via c-section, or if the mother can handle it, vaginal birth – unless, the only way to ensure the mother’s health, again, is to abort the already not viable fetus. In any case the only ‘ripping’ that is usually being done, is in the mother’s sensitive areas because, well, baby-heads are kinda big.  But you know, Trump’s not the best at speaking coherently.  And anyway, Trump might enjoy grabbing a woman by the ‘pussy’ but he clearly knows nothing about vagina’s beyond what he thinks he can do with them. **
I can’t stress this enough – A woman who makes the decision to have a late term pregnancy terminated does so, in most cases, because she was told the baby she was carrying was not going to survive out of the womb. In rarer cases, the decision is made because of a danger to the mother. Again, most women who choose to go forward with a pregnancy beyond the 20 week mark, are playing for keeps. So, even in the case where the doctor tells a woman HER life is in danger, she, along with her doctor, will usually choose an option that will keep the baby inside her for as long as possible to at least TRY to have a healthy premature birth – not a late term abortion.  
 
“Wait,” you say, “what about the father’s decision?”  (Can you tell, I’ve spoken to ALOT of guys on this topic?). Here’s my take – If the father  is involved (not all are – just saying), then absolutely he should be in on the decision making process. But the ultimate choice goes to the person carrying the baby (which is, I believe, the only reason men are so determined to regain control of the issue – they hate that women have ALL the control in this case – but that’s a discussion for another time).
If say, the father  actually wants to go through with a late term abortion, and the mother decides to see if she can carry longer to ensure a baby’s survival, guess what daddy, her decision trumps (punny, I know) yours. If the opposite is true, guess what, again, it’s ultimately up to her. In this situation, the job of the father (or partner) is to be supportive. Don’t like it? Tough shit.
Until men can carry babies (and pigs fly, and hell freezes over, and Trump stops being a misogynistic pile of festering feces), the person that has the ultimate say on what can and can’t be done with HER body, is the woman. Doctors can advise, give options, and perform whatever procedures necessary. Fathers (or partners) can be a sounding board, shoulder to cry on, person who holds her hand while she goes through with whatever choice she made.
But the ultimate decision is up to the woman. Not men, not men in government, not men standing at a pulpit, not even the man sharing her bed – just her.
Now about that whole “Nasty Woman” thing….
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Dear Jon, Enjoy a Lifetime of Zen (Please don’t stay away too long though, k?)

Filed under: Life and Stuff — Leave a comment
August 5, 2015

 

It’s Something Unpredictable

But in the end is right

I hope you had the time of your life

-Green Day “Good Riddance”

(seriously, I know, it’s cliché, but appropriate…)

Last night marked the last time I would see Denis Leary as a guest on “The Daily Show With Jon Stewart.” Amidst the laughter and familiar banter between these two long-time friends, I was suddenly gripped by a very melancholy feeling. This was it. This was ALMOST it. Shit. This is it. I’d been dreading this since February… And here it was. The end of “The Daily Show” as I knew it.

Like millions of other viewers, I had grown accustomed to watching “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart,” for my daily dose of ‘news made easy to digest.’  And while the show itself is not going away, its’ host of 16 years will be. Like him or not; agree with him or not; Jon Stewart’s departure from the show he brought out of semi-obscurity and turned into ‘must see’ TV, will be the marking of the end of an Era. And while some (FOX News, Rupert Murdoch, RNC) will rejoice at his departure, many of us will certainly feel the void he will leave behind.

When Jon Stewart took over “The Daily Show” in 1999 from Craig Kilborn, he’d already had two talk shows under his belt (I was fortunate enough to have seen a live taping of his MTV show way way way back in the day).  He had been passed up a few times as a potential host for late shows on NBC and CBS. Everyone who had ever seen him do his schtick knew he was funny. I don’t think anyone expected him to turn, essentially, a ½ hour fake news show into a social phenomenon.

Throughout 16 years of rants, political opining, and social commentary intermingled with comedy, Jon Stewart stressed to anyone who questioned him, that he was simply a comedian, and his show was, essentially a “fake” news show. What it really was, was satire in the purist form. What Jon Stewart did with the Daily show was create a space wherein he could look at the days’ news and educate a populous that needed, essentially, “a little sugar to make the medicine go down.”

The fact is, comedian though he may be, he also knows how to deliver the news to a generation of people who simply cannot deal with the bullshit on CNN, MSNBC and FOX. We needed someone who can point at the ridiculousness of the daily news feed and those who ‘reported’ on it all and say “yeah, you’re right, they are TOTALLY Fucked up! No wonder you don’t give a shit anymore.. Here’s a way for you to hear what’s going on without the extraneous bullshit… and yeah, maybe laugh a little..” It was, I believe, largely due to his delivery of the news that an entire generation of people, less likely to become politically active, registered to vote and took part in the political process. Regardless of the outcome of the elections (two for Bush, two for Obama – he didn’t always get his candidate), he got the 20-Somethings involved in a way they hadn’t been before.

And it wasn’t just the 20-Somethings – He filled a niche that was needed in this country. One where those of us, fed up with hearing a whole lot of bullshit could hear our frustrations voiced on television in a way no one anywhere else could express themselves.  He seemed to speak for those for those of us who, while we may lean socially towards the left, really just wanted to scream at both sides of our political landscape for their extreme game of tug of war with our lives.

The writers of that show clearly were under the direction of a person who wanted to make sure that even his most banal jokes were somehow based in well researched facts – Something that supposed “fair and balanced” news channels rarely seem to do. If Jon Stewart named statistics – they were real. If he referenced history – it was real. And on the rare occasion his facts were erroneous, he apologized.

Despite purporting he was just a comedian satirizing the news, and making it palatable for those of us who simply couldn’t watch the train wreck our government, and our ‘real’ news media, had become, Jon Stewart was named the Most Trusted Newscaster in America in a 2009 Time Magazine Poll.

Politicians that have come on the show, including, and maybe especially, the President himself, have admitted that his interviews were the toughest.  They never knew what he was going to ask, or, what tangent he will go on in an effort to make them accountable for their actions. No, he wasn’t a serious Newsman, just a comedian. .. Or maybe he was just a guy who was asking all the questions the rest of us really wanted answered, as opposed to promoting the agenda of whatever the owners of a specific news channel wanted promoted.

The very evidence of his influence on the political and social landscape could be seen numerous times. He is credited with helping Vets gain better access to medical care, when after a searing segment on the inadequacies in the 40 mile rule in the “The Choice Program,” the Department of Veterans Affairs changed the rules making access to medical care easier for our country’s bravest. When a bill to help 9/11 first responders who came down with chronic diseases such as emphysema and lung cancer after breathing in the toxic air at Ground Zero, was blocked by Senate Republicans, an issue all but ignored by main stream media, Stewart decided to bring the issue to light. Three days after Jon Stewart dedicated an entire episode to the issue where he first lampooned the Senators blocking the bill, and then brought on a panel of first responders to discuss the issue, the bill was passed. Jon Stewart has also been credited with the termination of CNN’s “Crossfire,” the down fall of Glenn Beck, and the firing of Rick Sanchez. Not bad for a guy who is ‘just a comedian.’

Jon Stewart is also credited for helping launch the careers of Steve Carell, Stephen Colbert, John Oliver, Larry Wilmore,  Kristen Schaal,  Olivia Munn, Ed Helms, Samantha Bee and Jason Jones (who are going to be launching their own show on TBS), Aasif Mandvi and of course, Jon’s successor, Trevor Noah.

Oh Trevor Noah.. What big shoes that man will have to fill. Not only is he replacing a man many of us turned to in the hopes of making sense out of the nonsensical, he is replacing a man even many politicians seemed to turn to to plead their cases. It sounds crazy that a comedian from Jersey who started his career, essentially trying to be the David Letterman of MTV, ended up being an essential stop on any campaign trail.

And while I have no doubt Trevor Noah will, much in the way Jon Stewart did, carve out his own path and gain his own following (hopefully, many Stewart fans will stick around as well), it is indeed going to be different. He is coming at this from a different angle. He has a different sense of humor. Even if he agrees with everything Jon Stewart has ever said, his take will be different and will more than likely take some getting used to. I am willing to try. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss Jon Stewart’s perspective, which seems to so clearly reflect everything so many of us loyal viewers have thought but never saw reflected on any other channel.

I don’t know what the future holds for Jon Stewart, (other than the sanctuary farm he and his wife have purchased), but I hope after some rest and relaxation he recharges and comes back on the scene. It really won’t be the same without him.  Especially with the current election cycle! Seriously, I would’ve loved to have seen his post-Republican Debate commentary. With Trump, Christie, Huckabee and the rest of the clown posse on the panel, it will be a gold mine of humor that practically writes itself. Alas, it is not meant to be as his last day on air coincides with the first debate (coincidence? Maybe – but the only people who will benefit from Jon Stewarts absence will be FOX News and the RNC, sadly).

Either way, I genuinely do wish Jon Stewart all the best and hope he enjoys his (seriously) early retirement.

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I Love New York City.. But..

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July 28, 2015

Get me out of New York City, Son. New York is Killing Me.

– Ray LaMontagne “New York City’s Killing Me”

I’ve been hearing about people fleeing New York City for greener (read: less expensive) pastures for a while now. Recently, this exodus has affected me, as many of my friends have decided they actually, and rightfully so, wanted more financial security rather than suffer through living paycheck to paycheck in a city they love. I honestly, don’t blame them.  Over-developing, or ‘progress,’ as some would call it, has killed this city’s culture, while making it virtually impossible for anyone who doesn’t make a six figure salary to live here. (Anyone who ever loved to spend time on the Lower East Side, knows exactly what I’m talking about)

It’s depressing because I love New York. I am, to the core, a New Yorker, born and bred. Raised in Brooklyn, then Staten Island. My family lives here. I know the streets. I know the history. I lived through some of the best, and horribly worst, times this city has ever seen along with so many other New Yorkers. It’s a part of me.

I. LOVE. NEW YORK.
But I’m not sure how much longer I can live here.

I’m past the age where living in a cramped apartment, arguing with a roommate over who drank the last of the milk is remotely feasible. I am not married. I live alone in an amazingly huge (and thankfully rent-stabilized, despite my landlord’s efforts to make it otherwise) apartment on Staten Island, with a view of the city. A view that is about to be blocked by some ‘progress’ that hardly anyone I know actually wants.

Staten Island was the last bastion of affordable New York City living after Williamsburg, Greenpoint and Bed-Stuy were taken over by developers, who, in the name of ‘progress’ killed the culture of these neighborhoods and turned them into luxury apartment, hipster enclaves that no one who isn’t wealthy, or willing to share a closet-sized dwelling with four people, can afford.

And now that there are no more neighborhoods to kill in the other four boroughs, developers have set their sights on Staten Island’s North Shore.

This sucks. I am tired of hearing how wonderful it will be for the neighborhood. I like my neighborhood just the way it is. It has always been deceptively on the seedy side – which was the beauty of it all as it kept all the assholes (hipster, yuppies, developers, etc) away.   I remember, my mother, upon her drive up to see what would become my current dwelling, seven years ago, nearly had a fit thinking I was insane for wanting to live in what she thought was a ‘bad’ neighborhood. That was until she turned the corner to the cul-de-sac on which my building resides, and saw the beautiful tree-lined block, with the huge, old houses across the street. Once she saw the size of the apartment, the view, the pool, and was told that heat and hot water were included in the rent, she helped me turn that place into the home I still live in today.

I’ve had some pretty rough times over the past few years. Financially, my life has been a roller coaster of crazy. But because I’m paying for my place for about half of what a shoe-box sized studio in Manhattan would cost, I have managed to somehow survive.

We hear politicians talk about ‘affordable’ housing – and yes, there are some very nice apartments, even in my neighborhood, slated for those who earn less than a certain amount per family member (I’m really not sure how they figure out the formula for these apartments but, okay). I don’t fit into that category, I earn too much, apparently.

I’m happy that those who have been struggling with inadequate housing, food, and salary for so long are finally being helped.  But what about the rest of us?  What about those of us who used to be able to afford decent housing and a decent life in The City, but no longer can do so because we earn too much money to live in affordable housing, but too little to live anywhere else within the five boroughs.

To be clear, I’m not saying that I in any way should be accepted into the affordable housing program. There are people in way worse circumstances than I am, and I believe they need, and should have, the assistance they are receiving.  What I am saying is, while I commend the efforts of the Governor and the Mayor to improve the lives of those who have fallen on hard times, (while simultaneously basking in all the extra money brought in by the developers and the consumers of their luxury housing options), I think they have forgotten that segment of the population that has been teetering on the edge for quite some time now. It is those of us in the middle that are running away from the city to pursue a livable life. You know, one where not nearly half our salary is going into the pockets of some greedy landlord or developer as housing costs rise, and salaries remain stagnant.

I’m not against progress, per-se. I realize that the neighborhood needs to be revamped. But does it have to go all “Williamsburg” on us? I couldn’t afford to live anywhere in Brooklyn now if I earned double my current salary and I am afraid that in a few years, I won’t be able to afford to live on Staten Island either.  I don’t want to leave the city. I really don’t. But I’m starting to fear that I may have no choice.

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Ageism, Wrote a Post About It. Wanna read it? Here it goes….

Filed under: Life and Stuff — Leave a comment
July 17, 2015

One day last September, I walked into a beautifully furnished reception area of a mid-town office. I was sent there by a recruiter for an interview. I walked up to the impossibly young receptionist and let her know who I was there to meet with. She directed me to the waiting area, which was directly in front of a conference room filled with even more impossibly young employees.  Ten minutes later, I was greeted by another young lady who informed me that the person with whom I was to meet would have to reschedule.  Apparently he was called into a last minute meeting and would not be able to meet with me that day – apologies all around – they would be in touch. Of course, I never heard from them again. So what could possibly have been the reason for their lack of follow through? Clearly my resume spoke to my qualifications. I was dressed in a suit. My hair was done. I was wearing make-up – something I apply lightly yet effectively. I have been told I pass for younger than my actual age. But,  that age is over 40, and the kids at that awesome new start up couldn’t have been over the age of 30. This may be sheer speculation, but I’m guessing they took one look at me, at the time 42, and decided to pass.

Their loss.

A couple of weeks later, while in the middle of an early autumn heat wave, I was sweating along in my car, running a few errands, when I received a call from a recruiter.  She had seen my resume and was floored by my experience. She quickly interviewed me over the phone and exclaimed that she MUST do a video chat with me THAT DAY because I sounded like an amazing candidate for the role she had available. I explained to her that I was in my car, running errands, and would be home within the hour (thus giving me time to get home from Brooklyn, and make myself presentable). She told me she wanted a more immediate conversation, as their office (which was in Connecticut, hence the need for a video chat and not an in-person interview, as would be the norm), was about to close,  and never mind the make-up and hair, she just wanted to face-time me along with her co-manager on the account.

I acquiesced to the interview and was immediately at ease. Sure the ladies on the other end were wearing make-up – their hair perfectly coifed in matronly fashion – but they were older. Judging by the sheer amount of eye-make up and poorly hidden wrinkles, I’d say A LOT older, than myself. Being that they were of a certain age, the wouldn’t judge me for being in my 40’s when they were so clearly pushing the 60, right? Wrong.

We had a lovely conversation which ended with them promising to forward my resume to their client.  Afterwards, I hung up, but they didn’t. While we were no longer seeing each other on the screen, I could hear every word they said. I wish I had thought to press “record.” I may have easily been able to sue if a court could have heard what they said.

There are some things in life I know I will forget. But what I heard from the other end was so heartbreaking to me, I actually remember every word.

Recruiter #1:      OMG She looks way older than her resume would make you believe

Recruiter #2:      Yeah, she definitely started her career earlier than the year 2000 (right, because 2000 was when I became an Executive Assistant – neither my time as a pension processor nor  as a make-up counter person at the Body Shop are relevant to my current job search).

Recruiter #1:      Yeah, but she’s not THAT old. She could’ve at least TRIED to put on some make up though. I mean seriously, who at that age doesn’t wear make-up when they leave the house? (Someone who doesn’t want to get your wrinkles, granny).

Recruiter #2:      It’s really too bad because she was perfect on paper, and the way she interviews, she’s very well-spoken, but she’s just too old.

Recruiter #1:      So sad, really.  She would’ve probably gotten the job if she were ten years younger. So, we agree, we’re not sending her resume to them (I’m assuming, them = the client).

Recruiter #2:     No, she can’t represent us to them. She’s too old. 

Me:        Excuse me ladies, I thought you should know, I can hear everything you’ve said. Despite my advanced age, I do know how to use an iPhone. Kindly hang up on your end. Thanks.

After a bit of scrambling, they finally figured out how to hang up. In case you are wondering, the name of the recruiting company is Merrit Staffing. I have avoided all of their postings, many for which I am not only qualified, but more than likely over-qualified, ever since. Sad, really, I could have been a great placement of theirs.

Recently, while on a temp assignment, at a company I won’t name, I watched as they criticized candidate after candidate vying for the role, admittedly I’d hoped they would have given me (although I realized early on, that wasn’t going to happen – even though everyone genuinely praised me, my work and my work ethic during my time there, I knew what my boss was looking for, and I certainly wasn’t it). All the candidates were pre-screened by the in-house recruiter. All qualified for the position. I knew who they were going to hire before even they did. I knew by her age, her perkiness, and her dress. No matter that her resume had her jumping from job to job every two years. No matter that she herself admitted she grew bored easily. She would be the perfect candidate. She’d fit right in with the group (of course, important – Honestly, I’m a social butterfly, but I can’t fake enthusiasm when certain things are just not that interesting to me – a fatal flaw, I’m afraid).  And she IS qualified for the position, of that I have no doubt. So, I have zero bitterness towards the hiring of this person. She got the job because she was their ideal candidate.

It is the treatment of those they rejected that killed me. There was a harsh rejection of one person in particular, that struck me as vile and made me lose a whole lot of respect for my former employer. She was an older lady. Extremely experienced and by all accounts very qualified for the position. She was wearing a wig. She was also wearing a lot of make- up. But she was well dressed, polite, friendly and well spoken. After she left, some of the comments coming out of the mouths of those who thought I couldn’t hear them, or that no one else in the office who had a conscience could hear them, were disgusting. Seriously, I had wanted so badly to work for them at one point. After that, I actually started looking for a job elsewhere.

Apparently ageism is everywhere. Even among those older than you (the above mentioned employer is my age – his co-interviewer is 11 years older than I am). People wonder why it has been so difficult for me to find a job.. well, my mom would say it’s my weight. But then again, my mother still thinks I’m in my 20s.. soo… But it’s not. I find a lot of very unhappy people in their mid 40’s to upper 50s who stay in jobs they hate because they know they won’t get hired anywhere else. It’s sad. Companies want the experience, and in the steadily improving economy, are even willing to pay for the experience. But they don’t want the age that comes along with the experience. This is not something I can understand. I’m nowhere near retirement age. I have a good 20-30 employable years left in me. And yet, all I can seem to find are temporary assignments, where despite all my hard work, all the accolades said work receives, I am still not given a permanent job. There is no way to sugar coat it. I can lose weight. But I can’t turn back time and become a 30 year old again. I’ve been heavy all my life. Heavier than I am right now, even, and have still managed to get a job. So yeah, it’s not my weight mom. I love you, but that is not the source of all that is currently wrong in life.

I’m just, apparently, old?

There really is no point to this post. I have no brilliant insights or advice or even anger to throw at you. It’s just me venting out frustrations that I can’t even add any humor to because it’s sad. And it’s scary. I’m a single, (widowed, something I don’t admit to readily to interviewers because that word makes me seem even older, I think).  I live alone. I live in New York City (yes, Staten Island IS a part of NYC!). I’m way too young for even ‘early’ retirement. Not to mention, any retirement savings I had, I went through after my husband passed away. Anything I managed to save after that, I went through the last time I was unemployed back in 2010. I have no clue what to do. I want to work. I am REALLY good at my job. Even the frat boy who didn’t hire me after I busted my ass working for him as a temp for 7 months told me that he would happily be a reference for me – I may not have been right for him, but he’d happily shove my old ass onto someone else, I guess.

So, anyone out there looking to hire a 43 year-old, chubby but super friendly and highly qualified Executive Assistant?   Just asking. Hey, I’ll even throw on some make-up!

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The Perils and Pitfalls of Online Dating – Honesty is the Best Policy.. Gentlemen, This One’s For You

Filed under: Life and Stuff — Leave a comment
July 9, 2015

Back in November of 2013, tired of trying to meet men the ‘old fashioned’ way, and even more exhausted of hearing my friends urging me to try any number of on-line dating sites on which their ‘sister’s friends roommate from college’ met the man of her dreams, I made the decision to try, once again, to dip my toes in the perilous pool of on-line dating.

Largely influencing this decision was having seen first hand, a good friend of mine, marry a man she herself had met on one of the many sites out there. She and I had shared our dating woes on many occasions and seeing her so happily say “I do,” to a genuinely wonderful man made me hopeful.

Having forayed once before, albeit briefly and half-heartedly, I decided this time I was going all in. I joined every site I could think of. I chose an opportune time, a month before holiday season, when even the paid sites were giving out nearly free (and in some cases, completely free), deals. I set up my profile, chose my photos and off I went.

The following observations are made from a feminine point of view, with the purist of intentions, directed at the men out there seeking to meet women on these sites. Admittedly, when I first started looking, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, so was contacted by men looking for a variety of different types of ‘relationships.’ That being said, regardless of what I, or they, were looking for, I started being somewhat critical (and yes, skeptical), of what these guys were putting out there via their online profiles.

After a few conversations with some of my female friends who were going through the same process, I’ve come to the conclusion that some guys just need help.

Now, before I go any further, please understand, the ‘advice’ I’m about to give is solely from my own observations. I can’t speak for other women. Although, like I said, many friends with whom I’ve had this discussion seem to agree with me. Additionally, I’m sure the male perspective on what they’ve witnessed coming from the female side might be similar (I’m sure there are any number of women out there whose photo’s and info have left you guys in stitches). But this advice is for the guys…

Please understand, this is coming from a good place.  I am well aware that the female profiles you’re looking at can be just as bad if not worse. However, if you’re not getting the kind of attention you want, or, if you’re not getting any attention at all, here are some potential reasons, and, maybe some solutions. I’m not guaranteeing success, but, it might help.

Photos:

Online dating is akin to online shopping. Women love to shop. But we’re not buying anything that looks sketchy or doesn’t match the product description. I’m not saying we’re all shallow and want an Adonis. But, most of us do want something real.. and sane.. and at least recent..

Let me clarify:

Your picture

 Female reaction
Eyes bulging – like Charles Manson Psycho
Mug shot ala Nick Nolte Alcoholic Psycho
Grainy picture from ten years ago What the hell’s he trying to hide ? And who the hell does he think he’s fooling?
Current picture does not match up with the age you’ve given Does he think we’re all morons? If that’s him now, he’s lived a ROUGH life.. I mean that shot makes him look AT LEAST 10 years older…
Shot of your six-pack abs, but you’re listed as looking for a “serious” relationship Same reaction YOU have to the half naked picture of some chick in her bikini, doing the kissy-duck face thing… If that’s the reaction you want, just say you’re looking for a hook-up and be done with it. No woman’s going to object to looking at your abs…. but really, again, don’t bullshit us.
Pictures of you hanging with your super hot girl ‘friends.’ Awww… poor baby is in the friend zone… pity party table for one – Next
Pictures of you with your mom Mama’s boy.. no thanks.. Next
Pictures of you at the gym Oh for fucks sake, what’s he trying to prove?
Pictures of you with your dog, your cat, your infant niece or nephew… Trying too hard to up the cute factor..

Here’s the deal. All of the above is crap. Just be you.  It should be enough for anyone who would be interested in you.  Pick pictures of who you are now.  Granted, if you are a psycho, alcoholic, mama’s boy with an inferiority complex, may the force be with you, my friend.

My advice would be to ask that really hot girl who has permanently put you in the “friend” zone to help you choose pictures that would make you attractive to other women. Chances are she knows all your best qualities and wants you to find someone who will want to be with you – if only so she could stop feeling so guilty for not wanting to be with you herself.

Your Profile – Honesty is the best policy

Look, I know guys like to think they have a general clue as to what a woman may or may not be looking for. But honestly, unless you’re going to consistently follow through, please don’t over indulge on the platitudes.

The point of your profile is to tell us who you are, not who you think we want to hear you are. You may be the best guy ever to walk the face of the planet. You may shit rainbows and fart roses. Hell, you may be a unicorn in man’s clothing. Awesome. But writing all that down in flowery prose hoping to get our panties all up in a bunch lining up to meet you is a bit disingenuous.  Also, most women – I’m not talking girls still living in a fantasy land where prince charming will rescue them and they all live happily ever after – realize, that there is no fantasy land, and that even after the prince rescues the princess, they still have to deal with one another’s crap.

When I first decided to re-enter the world of online dating, I was inundated with a few messages from guys spewing the hearts and flowers, one even told me I wouldn’t need to get pedicures any more because he’d kiss all my callouses away (umm yuk).

What I’m saying is – keep it simple, stupid.

Try to avoid condescending phrases like “I’ll treat you like a princess.” And for crying out loud, PLEASE stop reiterating what a “great guy” you are.  Most women believe in actions and not words. You really want to get our attention? Admit you’re flawed. No woman can realistically expect perfection, knowing full well how imperfect she herself is. Don’t make yourself out to be the guy you think all women dream of, because judging by what I’ve been reading, most guys have no clue. Having to dig through all the bullshit to figure out what part of your fantasy world really is you is hard. And, if you are really that perfect? That’s just intimidating. Tell us about who you really are, what you really want and what you really like. That kind of honesty might get us to respond. Figuring out what a great guy you are will shortly follow.

The first guy that really got a response from me, had, in his profile (and I’m paraphrasing here), “I’m not a creeper. Just a guy. Not sure how all this works, but thought I’d give it a shot.”

After all the lengthy, almost Shakespeare-meets-Keats type of prose I was reading, I found HIS profile refreshing (it also helped that his pictures were actually him, recent, and clearly not posing for effect…). The outright honesty blew me away.

So guys, please understand, most real women stopped believing in Prince Charming a long, long time ago. What we’re looking for is a real man. We don’t want platitudes. We don’t need promises. We just want you.

First Contact:

Okay,  your profile is complete… You’ve answered a bunch of benign questions regarding your preferences in romance, music, sports, food, etc and the website directs you to a few profiles of women they believe you’d match up well with. Here’s what you should, and shouldn’t do:

DO:

READ THE PROFILES! Seriously, you can find out a lot by reading one paragraph. For instance, what she’s looking for.. you know.. if she’s looking for a serious relationship, and you aren’t – move on. If she’s looking for a hook-up and you want to meet the future mother of your children – move the hell on.

Additionally, reading her profile will clue you in to some of her interests. This knowledge would be of infinite assistance in getting her to actually converse with you should you decide to make contact.  That guy I mentioned before, yeah, his first message read: “So, a music snob, how so?” This prompted a response from me way more enthusiastically than the typical “Hey there,” or my FAVORITE first text, “Hey princess, what’s up?” Seriously? Do I FUCKING LOOK LIKE A GIRL WHO WANTS TO BE ADDRESSED AS “PRINCESS”?!!

Anyway, so yeah, read the profiles.

DON’T:

Glance at the pictures and write any versions of the following:

“Yo baby what’s up”

“Hey princess, what’s up”

“Hey sexy, wanna (insert sexual act of your choice)”

In all honesty, I’ve often wondered if any version of the above ever works and what kind of women respond to that kind of ish.

I met my current boyfriend on one of the sites. He started with a very, almost shy, “hello,” and not much else. It was direct, not condescending, or insulting, or vulgar. The fact that his profile had normal pictures along with a brief but interesting bio, sparked my interest enough to get a responding “hello.” Once we started chatting, we never stopped. He had obviously read my profile and asked me questions; I did the same; and once we met in person.. well.. that’s a different story, but suffice it to say, one year later and we’re still together, so clearly, I’m coming from a place of SOME knowledge here.

What I’m trying to say is, again, no need to be an exceptional wordsmith here, a simple “hello,” will often do the trick. Of course, if you are trying to separate yourself from the hundreds of other guys in the herd, you can always reference the lady’s profile in your first message. Believe me, that IS refreshing (PS: “Hello, you’re very pretty.” – Doesn’t count as referencing the profile.. ).

Listen, I get it. It’s a crowded field out there. It’s tempting to try the most outrageous tactics in an effort to get noticed. But it probably won’t – at least not in the way you’d like. Truly, most women (and I’m sure men) are expecting there to be some deceptive tactics involved in most on-line dating profiles. In my estimation, most folks do this to get a foot in the door. I can understand that. The problem is that when the truth comes out, as it inevitably does, you wind up shooting yourself in that proverbial foot.

So just be you. Truly. That alone would be shocking enough to get the attention you’re looking for. Try it. What have you got to lose?

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Love is Love

Filed under: Life and Stuff, politics — Leave a comment
June 29, 2015

On Friday, June 26th, 2015, the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that the Constitution guarantees same-sex couples wishing to marry the same rights as heterosexual couples in all 50 states. Thus, giving basic civil rights to live and die with the person one loves, and all the legal benefits that come along with such a union to a group of people who should have had those rights all along. While the majority of the country rejoiced in this step forward to making all Americans truly equal, there were some who saw this as the end of the world… because.. Honestly, I can’t tell you why, but some of the things that I read in my news feed had me simultaneously laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the things people will convince themselves to believe (“What about straight pride” – Really? OMG), while shaking my head in disbelief at the “God’s going to punish us for this,” crew.

Okay, so, let’s start with an easy one – God. Yep – easy as reading the bible – you know, that book ya’ll seem to think is all we need to live by? Remember Noah? Remember the promise God made to Noah after that huge storm? For all of you who believe that the Bible is the sole truth and that science and climate change and all that other stuff is just plain old malarkey perpetrated by us disbelievers (PS: I’m actually a believer, just not in the bible as historical text), here’s what God promised:

Genesis 8:21 “The LORD said, “I will never again curse the ground on account of man, for the intent of man’s heart is evil from his youth; and I will never again destroy every living thing, as I have done.”

So, hurricanes, storms, tornados, etc , have nothing to do with us sinning against God’s will, rather, us sinning against the planet, but I digress… My point is, God’s not sending a hurricane to drown out all us sinners who believe in the sanctity of love.

Then there are those who believe that this will destroy the institution of marriage. It won’t. Marriage was around long before religion took it on as an institution. It was around long before religion. Actually, if you really want to go by the bible for the history of marriage, marriage was pretty much no more than a financial (read: legal), institution from all the way back to Adam and Eve. Oh, also, for those who are running around screaming that the SCOTUS decision will lead to polygamy – well, just an FYI: most marriages in the bible were polygamous… So, you might want to rethink that argument.

To this day, regardless of where you are married, or who officiates, or if there even is someone officiating, in order for your marriage to be recognized legally, you must first obtain a marriage certificate from the courts. Put it this way, you can be married by the Pope, if you don’t have a legal certificate; you and your spouse have no legal marital rights. The SCOTUS decision, simply put, stated that all couples, regardless of sexual orientation, or gender, have equal rights under the law.

Please explain to me how that, in any way, diminishes YOUR heterosexual marriage?

And then there’s my favorite piece of idiocy – “Straight Pride.”

As a straight woman, I have to say, I have NEVER felt any prejudice for being straight. No one has ever beaten me up, made me feel like less than a human or teased me because, as a female of the species, I liked the males of the species. I never had to hide who I was because society always accepted me for who I am. When my husband and I got married, no one tried to prevent us from getting a certificate of marriage. When he fell ill, no one questioned the validity of my right, as his spouse, to make decisions on his behalf, or my rights, as his spouse to what benefits he may have left behind when he passed. Life as a straight person is easy in this country, when it comes to legality of your existence, and your rights. Straight people, straight white people in particular, haven’t had to fight for anything. It’s just accepted that you will get a marriage certificate if you want to get married. And if you get divorced, well, that’s over 50% of the population, so, no biggie, you can just get married again.

So, how can anyone claim that same sex marriage will ruin the institution of marriage? Haven’t straight folks done that already? How many people do you know who have been married and divorced multiple times? Please, explain to me how two people who love one another, obtaining the legal rights of marriage, has any bearing on the validity of your second or third go at ‘true love?’ And to those folks married for 20+ years, congrats – you, might actually deserve a parade of your own. One, in which, I hope all couples who have managed to stay together for that long can take part.

I understand that people have their own very much ingrained beliefs, and I can respect that. What I cannot respect is anyone trying to force those beliefs on anyone else. This country is made up of so many different people, why would anyone want to withhold basic human rights from two consenting adults who want to spend their lives together – for better or for worse? It makes no sense. They’re not doing anything wrong, not in the eyes of anyone who isn’t a homophobic bigot, anyway. So what’s the problem? How is anyone else’s relationship affecting yours?

Here’s a little advice. Forget other couples and their relationship statuses, and worry about your own. If you think that someone else’s marriage is affecting yours? You clearly have marital issues. If you REALLY believe that you deserve a pat on the back for being in a heterosexual marriage, then clearly you need some more attention from your significant other – again, check your own marriage.

If your issue is based on religion, again, I respect that, but the decision made on June 26th has nothing to do with religion, and everything to do with the law.

All that SCOTUS did was reiterate a legal fact that is written on the facades of many a courthouse, including the Supreme Court; “everyone is equal under the law.” And there is nothing wrong with that.

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