When my whole world is going to hell in a handbasket and I don’t know what my next move should be, I call JC.  Oddly enough, this generally relates to my love life.  If I don’t know if I’m making a good choice, and when I find myself hesitating, he’s the guy I call.  He’s also the guy I call when I want to choose new weaponry, but that’s neither here nor there.  When I introduced him to Dozer, he said… this is a good one, Shan, but you are not an old lady.  Don’t fall into that…. And he’s right.  Dozer is a good man, and I am not an old lady.  I’m also nobody’s bitch.

You can call me a bitch… I’ll own it.  I spent the last twenty years coating myself with a light veneer of classy behavior, but I know where I come from.  Miss Shannon can make a quilt, frost pretty cupcakes and clean your house like nobody’s business.  I will cook you dinner and even plate your food.  I enjoy the kitchen and you’re probably going to make a mess anyway.  While this is traditionally ‘women’s work’ it doesn’t lessen me, because it’s work I enjoy.  When Dozer called me his bitch, (in public, no less)…well, fact is, I was fairly ready to fuck up his day… I ended up just beating him with his own hat.

When you call a woman your bitch, you’re saying she’s less than you.  You place yourself in a position of ownership and her in one of servitude.  If I liked being treated that way, I’d still be married.  In defense of Dozer, he erroneously thinks he’s funny and that he’s somehow paying me a compliment.  He forgets that I walked through the bowels of hell to get where I am, he has no idea what an insult it is to imply ownership of my person.  Miss Shannon has a college degree, runs a successful business, and has thus far raised two tiny humans to adulthood without breeding a serial killer.  It’s also looking pretty good for the boy children, although the little one is still in his violent urchin stage, so I’ll get back to you in a few years.  So yes, darlin’, I ride bitch.  Gladly and with pleasure… but I am not now, nor will I ever be your bitch.

My friend Amy, and I are planning to take a motorcycle safety course in May.  I’m pretty stoked about it and I look forward to being licensed.  Like every other part of my life, I’ve got two hands and I can do it myself.  Amy is the perfect person to do this with, because she’s my friend most likely to tell me to woman up.  You’ve got this, sister.  Sometimes, it’s what I need to hear.  I also need the impetus to put my money where my mouth is… Though I freely admit that it’s tiresome to always have to prove yourself.  I am woman, hear me roar…. Just once, I wish I wasn’t still roaring over the same stupid bullshit I was bitching about in high school.

Couple little details about Amy… she’s an amazing woman.  All by herself, she has more grit, more heart and more plain sense than any three women need.  She’s gorgeous and funny and always, always has your back.  Amy is someone I am glad to have in my life.  Thank you for being my friend.

In the immortal words of Virginia Slims, we’ve come a long way, baby.  And we have.  Yet, here I am, forty years old, and I have to have a conversation with the man I love about why he can’t publicly denigrate me and why what he is saying is, in fact, denigrating.  And Dozer is one of the good ones.  I’ve had enough bad ones to know for certain… I always say…once a beater, always a beater.  Once a cheater, always a cheater…. I’m not wrong and I know this from bitter experience.  People don’t change who they fundamentally are, I really can’t speak to whether it’s even possible.  As ever, Miss Shannon can only really tell you what NOT to do.  In this instance, the thing to not do is to accept and tolerate.  This is a hill worth dying on.  I fought hard for my me… It was the fight of my life, and while I’ll censor myself and sometimes shrink myself to fit into this particular borg…. The Whore of Babylon finds she cannot give this part of herself away.  Miss Shannon has never really liked a precipice.

Game Over

This site went down earlier in the week and ate my last post.  I’m not going to bother to repost it because my give a damn’s just busted.  Suffice it to say that I like my home, my things and my lifestyle.  Like it or lump it… I have arrived in my comfort zone and I like it here.  I’m going to hunker on down and enjoy the fact that I can refinish furniture in my kitchen and nobody gets a vote but me.  Probably there’s excellent reason for that, but I’m going to relish my ability to do what I like.  This is especially relevant to me at present because I am dealing with several wretched human beings whose primary function in life seems to be the extraction of joy from all forms of life in their vicinities.  I feel as if I’ve somehow stumbled upon a nest of incubi… without any of the positives associated with that sort of demise.   Since my Incubus and succubus have arrived to me via their DV survivors, I’m not really going to focus on that because I don’t have the heart for it right now.


I’ve been shying away from politics lately because I feel frustrated and it’s causing me to have angry disagreements with people I love.  The thing about the whole political arena is that I don’t really think that there’s just one right answer to anything.  I’m especially fond of the whole snowflake moniker because it just epitomizes the ever-widening schism in our country.  We are on our way to major internal conflict… and I don’t think we’ve even begun yet.  If these groups of people – ALL of them- could get off their high horses for a nanosecond, it might be possible to make some progress.   For example, how dare women march for equality?  They aren’t under sharia law (because that’s our yardstick) so they should just be grateful.  The fact that you think I should be grateful for basic and not entirely equal equality tells me that you don’t understand equality.  It’s a god given human right… but it’s not an amendment to the constitution.

There is a profound lack of empathy in our country.  We live in one of the richest countries on the planet and a congressman just suggested children should be forced to sweep floors if they receive a free lunch.  At least half the nation begrudges healthcare, food assistance and people even mistakenly believe that Social Security is a welfare check for the elderly.  I completely understand that our social welfare system needs reform.  Yes, nothing is really free.  Yes, kids need to develop a work ethic.  Do you really need your pound of flesh from a first grader?  There is something inordinately wrong with this… why not bring back the workhouse?  In 1977, Hubert Humphrey said, “the moral test of government is how that government treats those who are in the dawn of life, the children; those who are in the twilight of life, the elderly; those who are in the shadows of life; the sick, the needy and the handicapped.”  I tend to agree with the fellow and that is liberalism at its finest.

It is very difficult to pass a spelling test when you haven’t eaten since free lunch, yesterday.  Clearly, academics are not a vital concern to anyone in any sort of position of actual power, but maybe We, The People ought to concern ourselves with this just a wee bit.  Maybe it’s my wretched liberal leanings… because wanting equal opportunity for all people is apparently a bad thing.  You think little kids need to learn a work ethic?  Maybe volunteer for Junior Achievement, which is a fun program that teaches kids about being entrepreneurs.  Maybe consider actual reform in education so kids in schools in high crime and poverty areas have access to a decent education.  Those are things that help in real, tangible ways.  One major lesson I have learned in life is that in order for a child to escape the poverty of their parents, they must first know that is a possible thing.  You want people off welfare?  Take some time and teach a kid something.  It’ll help.


I still believe in the basic decency of most Americans and that is a completely bipartisan statement.  We all want America to be the best she can be… We just have to change how we think about how you get to that place.  You don’t get there by spewing hatred and being rigid.  You don’t get there by shaming children for being poor and you don’t get there by not caring what happens to other types of people.  Here’s a bit more reality based thought for you:  I am totally aware that nothing I write here makes any positive change in the world.  It occurs to me that my spirit is well and truly crushed. I’ll rally, because if it’s not fine, it’s not the end, but there it is.  I have six months to decide whether it’s worth renewing this mess I call a blog… It’s not looking good.