What a Flagger Does for a Living, and Dies for
I wrote this one years ago (which is why the style is immature even for me), but I still bring it out every spring when the roads open up and the construction season begins. Spring and summer mean a lot of traffic and frustrated people. I thought I’d share it now. (Mom’s retired now, but still)
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My mother is a Traffic Control Person, also known as a flagger. You know, one of those people in the orange or yellow vest who stop you at construction sites.
Many people hate to see a flagger with a stop or slow sign in their hand step in front of their vehicle. After all, you don’t want to be 2 minutes late to get wherever you are going. Its such a pain in the butt to have to wait a few minutes, or to slow down when travelling through a construction zone. Many people tell my Mother that her job could be replaced by a bucket of sand, just stick the sign in that; who needs some person telling them how to drive?
The purpose of my Mother’s job is very clear to her, even if you may not understand it. Her job… Continue reading
Z
You speak of freedom of religion. You say “this is their Tradition and they have a right to it.” And this is true.
You speak in generalized platitudes about religious tolerance, of freedom. You say nothing of the pain caused to the individual. My “beef” with Z. Budapest and Dianic Wicca is not one of generalized platitudes. It is personal.
I have arrived at an open Dianic ritual and was pulled aside and asked to leave. Because I arrived in combat boots and a biker jacket (I came on a motorcycle) and my energy was too masculine.
I have been at a women’s ritual where a Dianic Wiccan informed me that I was buying into the patriarchies’ objectification of women for wearing a pretty, strappy dress with full hair and make up done. She said I offended her and the Goddess by being tarted up.
I have been told disdainfully that I cannot be a woman of substance, as I am young, thin and pretty.
I have been told that I am selfish and unnatural for being a woman in her thirties who is not a mother, and who has no strong, desperate… Continue reading
Skinny Girl
I used to be skinny. Downright thin as a rail. NO, I wasn’t anorexic or bulimic, though I was constantly accused of such. Being thin just runs in my family. I had a women’s body and a teenage boy’s metabolism. It slowed down, thankfully in my midtwenties.
This is how Nature made me
But from my early teens to my mid-twenties (and sometimes still) I was bullied, abused and attacked for being thin. Surprised? I bet you are. Skinny women are perfect and everyone loves them, we are so attractive right? Well, that what everyone thought. Which is why they were cruel to me.
I’ve had girlfriends be so angry that I fit a size two dress that they stormed out of the store and refused to speak to me ever again.
I’ve had co-workers follow me to the bathroom to see if I purged my lunch,
I’ve had snide remarks and insults thrown my way for ordering a full meal in front of another woman picking at a salad.
I’ve been told that I am not a real women, because real women have curves.
I’ve had women ask me (in front of a whole party) if I had… Continue reading
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