Yesterday's decision by the California Supreme Court is certainly good news for same-sex couples. California's state ban on same-sex marriages was lifted on Thursday, eliciting a joyous response from people all over the state.
As awesome as the news is, I'm on the edge of the edge, waiting for someone to teeter the tenuous balance of the playground see-saw into the favor of extreme conservatives, overturning the ban yet again. It happened in 2000; I'm hoping California has the guts to stand behind its court's decision even should an amendment to the state's constitution to reinstate the ban appear on the ballot this fall.
Luckily, Mr. Scwharzenegger said he won't fight the court's decision.
"Also, as I have said in the past, I will not support an amendment to the constitution that would overturn this state Supreme Court ruling." Via Mercury News
It's not wrong to celebrate -- yes, do! But remember:
This decision is already under threat, because opponents of same-sex marriage weeks ago submitted more than 1 million signatures in support of an effort to place a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage on the ballot in California this fall. Should that measure make it onto the ballot and be approved by the voters, the court’s decision today would be overturned and the victory fleeting. From Feminist Law Professors
At least one of the groups opposing same-sex marriage is considering asking the Supreme Court to stay its ruling until after Election Day in November, so California voters have a chance to decide whether to amend the state's constitution to ban same-sex marriage and make Thursday's ruling moot. State officials are still verifying petition signatures submitted to put this amendment on the ballot. From Mercury News
...Regardless of how or why we got here, we can't consider this ruling anything less than a victory. It is great news. However, this isn't a total victory yet... Religious and conservative groups are still working on stopping same-sex unions.
...celebrate, propose to your loved ones, plan your trip to Cali... but remember that we're far from done.From my friends at Evilslutopia.com
WARNING: YOUTUBE VIDEO IS LONG AND HEARTWRENCHING Finding no help or answers, a 16-year-old girl from Florida turned to YouTube to find sympathetic ears. According to Jezebel, the 23-year-old who allegedly raped her was not prosecuted because the girl was a month shy of turning 16, the legal age of consent, and it turned into a case of "he said/she said."
CNN's Ashley Fantz reports that with 5 percent of Florida cases never even reaching a prosecutor's office, many women who've survived sexual assault turn to other sources to find someone to hear their story, like Facebook, Myspace, or even, as we see here, YouTube.
"What you hear from every rape crisis center from Pensacola to Key West is that there are hardly ever any prosecutions," she said. "Most sexual violence is acquaintance rape, and unfortunately, a lot of juries still think that if a victim had a relationship with their attacker, then they cannot be raped by that person." (Emphasis mine.)
The question is quickly becoming, are they finding the help they need? Luckily, Crystal's plea may lead her to better support than she received in the past, but check out the responses to her posting - not exactly what she was hoping for:
Good acting and good story, go somewhere else for attention.
if anything she should be liable for court and municipal costs related to her bullshit claim
Another woman, Stacy, 25, was raped by an acquaintance and soon found herself in a similar situation. She reported it to the university authorities, but instead of treating the accusation with the gravity it deserved, they allowed her attacker to continue going to class (which she shared). Not finding the help she needed, she started looking elsewhere.
She began instant messaging in chat rooms but quickly realized that many people who initially seemed sympathetic were only pretending.
"The next thing you know, they are making it seem like they are turned on. They were asking me for details of my rape. It was very disturbing," she said. "I had to block several people. After that, I thought the worst of the world. I thought everyone was a perpetrator, and I trusted no one." Via CNN
Should the take-away message here be “trust only thyself”?No, of course not.If you have been sexually assaulted, here’re a couple of things you can do:
*Report the incident; if you’re not comfortable, confide in someone you trust and ask them to help you.
*Check out the National Sexual Assault Online Hotline; they’ve got people trained to listen to you and hear your story, as well as the resources to help you.You can also call them at 1.800.656.HOPE (1.800.656.4673).It’s anonymous, so you don’t have to share your identity if you don’t want to.
*If you decide to tell your story through online forums (Myspace, YouTube, LiveJournal, etc.), carefully consider how much information you want to give out.It’s a serious concern that a lot of women are giving out too much information about themselves, which can be really dangerous:
Advocates worry that victims are divulging too much information. CNN found several Facebook and MySpace profiles on which young people say they have been raped. The postings include their names, photographs and hometowns. Via CNN
*Along those lines, also think about the future when posting:
Because anything posted on the Web is available forever through an Internet search, a rape survivor must consider how they would feel if that information were dredged up in the future, counselors said. By making themselves -- or their IP address -- available, victims open themselves to unreliable and unprofessional advice and the harsh judgment of their peers.
Perhaps worst of all, they could give their perpetrator a chance to find them again or gain more satisfaction.Via CNN
Always, always protect yourselves.
If your loved one is the victim of sexual assault, here’s what you can do to help:
Listen. Be there. Don’t be judgmental.
Be patient. Remember, it will take your friend some time to deal with the crime.
Help to empower your friend or family member. Sexual assault is a crime that takes away an individual’s power, it is important not to compound this experience by putting pressure on your friend or family member to do things that he or she is not ready to do yet.
Encourage your friend to report the rape to law enforcement (call 911 in most areas). If your friend has questions about the criminal justice process, talking with someone on the National Sexual Assault Hotline, 1-800-656-HOPE, can help.
If your friend is willing to seek medical attention or report the assault, offer to accompany him or her wherever s/he needs to go (hospital, police station, campus security, etc.)
Encourage him or her to contact one of the hotlines, but realize that only your friend can make the decision to get help. (From RAINN)
Good morning. May I introduce you to the latest flaw in my make-up? I'm a klutz. Somewhere between the decision to find sleep and actually finding sleep at around 11 last night, I gouged the hell out of my forehead. Imagine the dismay on Sir's face when I showed it to him; it's a right goodly owie. Woke up this morning still drunk, scrunched my face up in my usual [adorable] morning face scrunch, and noticed that part of my forehead did not move. Reached up to feel my forehead like it was simply an annexed foreign part, and noticed further still that it was crunchy to the touch and my first thought was, did I chop a pimple off my face with an ax? Ran to the sink in my bedroom, flipped the light on and stared, panicked.
Sir doesn't have a clue how I did it; he was drunker than I was. I'm totally PSYCHED that my skin all around it ("IT" is this giant dance of words trying not to call it what it is: an inexplicable fucking deep gash in my forehead - ohhh, that's why...too many words) looks gorgeous. Look at my skin. Isn't that some nice skin?
This picture is typical of my marriage: yes, I am a spaz, and yes, he does often look at me wondering where do I get off? But however spaz-tastic I've been during the day or how irritated he is with me, at night we sit down on our sofa, usually with Ari the Doglet curled up in a dogbun at our feet, and I listen to him. He tells me many things--the state of the world, the state of his mind, the state of me, the state of the smell of the dog, about the trips he took with his mother and the stress and horror of his job. I listen, because when in the presence of a storyteller with amazing capability for lyrical twists and turns, you don't speak. You listen, to hear where you're going this time, this trip, this story.
In one such evening, listening to him talk, he stood up mid-speech and disappeared into his room to rummage for an essay, and instead brought me something else. When we were getting married, he wrote his vows to me. We went another way with our vows, but he never told me about having done this, until last night.
I read one sentence and began to cry. It doesn't belong out where uncaring, disinterested eyes might fall upon it, but I can share a little:
I want you to be proud and vocal and to state your positions like a warrior goddess. What you want matters deeply to me. I pray that you have me hear you ... Today we are united before all that is and will be but I beg you to let your individualism flourish. I commit all my resources toward a union wherein the absolute You may thrive in singular grace and dignity. Today, You and I are We but also You and I.
How lucky am I to have someone committed to helping me become a warrior goddess??
It was the sixth of May when Chiquita found out the awful, awful truth. Awakening to the sort of cold morning where one wears her husband's prAna shorts and gloves, she knew something was very, very wrong. Her beloved dog had poo'ed her cage! Sighing wretchedly, Chiquita checked the doglet's paws to ascertain the safety of the floors surrounding the cage and determined it acceptable to walk the dog to the bathroom for a washing. Sadly, after cleaning the doglet, found it was necessary to move the rugs from the bathroom. Miss Ari the Doglet retched the contents of her stomach: poo, poo, and some undigested dog chow.
The Reception Temperature in San Diego is pretty chilly. Don't be misled; San Diego literally is somewhere between 60 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit most of the time - I don't mean how warm it is. When it comes to how well I'm settling in and making a life for myself, well, let's just say that San Diego isn't helping. Most of the time, the above picture demonstrates quite well how I feel: lackluster. Sure, I look smart, but also shy, and apparently that doesn't go over well when competing against 500 other applicants for every single available position; when qualifications have leveled the playing field, personality becomes the litmus test for every job. Unfortunately, I haven't yet figured out how to turn my peculiar version of friendliness into something less awkward than announcing in an interview that I wanted to work in a chiropractor's office because I want to study the human anatomy when really, I just want a job. And really, who are these people to make a receptionist job out to be the end-all and be-all of all jobs and only select those people who're dying to make minimum wage when they can get a perfectly capable and friendly college graduate instead?
I digress. It makes me feel like this inside:
Today, however, being a Saturday, I took it as a Sabbath day and nixed any applications I could be putting out. For some reason, I felt unreasonably attractive. Could be the glow; maybe San Diego's rubbing off on me despite my bitter grudge.
I love raspberries. The scent, the texture, the taste, has always reminded me of being a small child when squishing the berries was a simple delight. My grandmother pulling up a stool beside the stove, stirring a large pot of homemade raspberry Jell-O, the scent wafting to my nostrils; it spoke of her love for a little girl whose rapt adoration was treasured like a little token. My mother bringing me fresh raspberries in a bright orange Tupperware bowl after having spent an entire day searching for them to satisfy a deathly sick little girl's request...it was as if I knew the raspberries were the key to holding onto life. Every evening the aroma of a flower delicately scented with tinges of raspberry floats around my apartment. Living in San Diego has been difficult with unsuccessful job searches, law school rejections and money problems, but just the same, I can't help but stop to smell the flowers.
