I Am Woman Hear Me Roar Unless I Use a Word You Don't Like

If you are easily offended stop reading now. I'll be offering my opinion on a word that some find highly offensive.

Also the word I am discussing in this post comes nowhere close to the R word. The R word targets a group of people who are often defenseless with no voice or without someone who will defend them if they are able to use their voice. If you can't see the difference among the two then think a little harder about it.
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This week a new burger joint opened in Waco. It is called Fat Ho Burgers. It's making the news and not just on a local level. I understand that the word ho can be highly offensive to some regardless of how it is used and I respect your opinion if you do. Personally I don't use the word, but I am not offended when I hear it either in passing conversation or if I am called one.

So that should be that. A burger joint opens and based on its service and food quality it will stay open or not. But no. Little busy bodies who tout that they are successful business women have to interfere. I'm not bothered that they find the restaurant's name distasteful. Everyone has the right to his or her opinion and the right to decide whether or not to frequent a business. However what does bother me other than them wanting the government to censor a word they find offensive is their attitude that suggests they think they are acting selflessly and are saving a community from self-destruction by explaining to the business owner what ho really means and how it is offensive to any woman within earshot of the word. The first thing that irks me is that I'm a woman and being called a ho is the absolute least of my worries in life. I don't appreciate them speaking on my behalf. The second thing that irks me is that the owner is a 23 year old woman who I assume lives in the same area of her business so she understands the majority of her customer base and whether they will take offense. She put herself through college and she saved up enough money to venture out on her own to buy and run a restaurant. She's certainly no fool. I don't think she's too stupid to know the different meanings and uses of ho. I'm sure she doesn't appreciate being told that she is putting down all women when she uses it and she doesn't need a history lesson on women's suffrage. She hasn't asked for help in changing the name of her business but even so, the offers have come because they in their glass houses know better.

I haven't decided exactly where their misplaced sense of charity comes from, but I think I might know what part of the cause is. They have some sort of misguided sense of feminism. Feminism run amuck. Or maybe it isn't run amuck- maybe that's just feminism. The definition of that word and the levels of feminism get a little blurry to me. Don't get me wrong I believe any woman can do anything she sets her mind to. I believe a woman doing the equal work of a man should earn the equal pay of a man. I can get just as sweaty as a man when there is work that needs to be done, but I also know how to play it smart and get out of doing that hard work if I can use my womanly wiles to do so. God made man and woman differently and I have no shame in that and it leaves me with nothing to prove. But I don't think that a feminist can have her cake and eat it too. She can't scream that women are just like men and are strong and how she can take care of herself without any man's help and then cry in the corner when someone uses the word ho. She can't be so full of herself to assume that when that word is used that she is being made a victim. She certainly can't assume that women who have no shame associated with that word are ignorant or are damaging what they claim they have worked so hard to fight against. They insist that word creates victims out of women because the use of it is so demeaning a woman who hears it enough loses all self respect and worth.

I have news for them. The use of that word isn't what creates victims. The casual use of the word ho isn't what causes a woman to feel so unloved and unworthy that she is willing to remain in a relationship that is abusive. I'm not a counselor or psychologist so I don't even begin to know how a woman comes to that kind of view of herself. But I do know that acting haughty and lofty towards a woman who uses the word ho in her daily vocabulary or treating her as though she is an ignorant woman oblivious to her own hate mongering doesn't do a thing to help those women who are truly victims. I wonder if all those offers of money that are coming to Ms. Evans to pay for new menus and advertising if she changes the name of her restaurant to something that doesn't include the word ho are refused,as I suspect they will be, will instead be donated to Advocacy centers and after school programs to instill self confidence and worth in young girls and women so that if they are called a ho in an actual demeaning tone they can hold their head up high and walk away unscathed. Maybe if more time was spent on actually showing a girl her worth and how God intended her to be precious and treasured and uniquely different than men we would have more women who can find a better life around people who actually love and accept them. A campaign to stop the use of the word ho on a sign in a small Texas city isn't going to do a thing to change the attitudes this group of business women claim to abhor. They should instead try focusing on those women and girls they proclaim they are trying to protect by telling them they are worthy and priceless and that word does nothing to shape who they are or who they will be. I guarantee a woman who has been victimized to the point of having no self worth isn't going to be impacted in the slightest by seeing the name of a restaurant change from Fat Ho to something else. But I'm not sure that those successful business women leading the charge for the name to be banned are able to see my point through the lofty glances they have for Ms. Evans or anyone who defends her right to call her restaurant whatever she wants.

I wonder if they know they have unwittingly helped Ms. Evans. They have created a huge amount of free advertising for her. I probably would have never heard of the restaurant if it wasn't for them and even if I had, I probably would not have tried it. But now I will. And if the food is good, I will be back. And that is the way entrepreneurship is supposed to work.

And just on a side note. I heard a discussion on this topic on NewsTalk 1230. A caller against using Fat Ho seriously suggests that a better name would be Charlie's Angels or Evans' Angels. Yes, that's a much better choice not only because it's as cheesy as can be, but because that show didn't exude sexism in the least. I guess it's bad to use the word ho, but it's okay to insinuate that Ms. Evans is a pimp with her angels.

The Chronicles Continue

I'm supposed to go another round of my C25K training run again today. And I would if it wasn't for the shooting pains I have in every inch of my leg muscles with every step I take. Even my stomach muscles hurt. My lips hurt too because when I opened my car door earlier this morning it smacked me in my face. I tried dodging out of its way but my leg muscles stood firm and refused to move quickly enough.

Jason told me in his very compassionate way that I needed to learn that I couldn't just start running one day. I needed to work into it. I told him I've always been able to do it before without having this much muscle pain. He kindly pointed out that I was older than I've ever been before. How badly I wanted to kick him, but again my muscles refused to move. They wouldn't even let me bend to pick up the rock that was beside my foot. But even if they had bent and I was able to grasp the rock and fire it at the back of his head I would have had to ask him to rub Ben-Gay on my shoulder too.

I refuse to prove Jason right by giving up and accepting the hurting muscles as a sign of getting older. I will push through the soreness and run again. Tomorrow, or the next day or maybe the day after that looks a little better.

Chronicles of a runner, well, jogger/walker. Shuffler.

It's that time of year again. The gathering and eating of my favorite seasonal candy snack of Cadbury eggs always coincides with the weather turning lovely, the birds singing, green replacing the brown of winter and people talking about beginning their training for marathons and triathlons and I say, "You people are crazy." . And then someone always mentions a 5K event for a fundraiser so I say, "I can do that!" In years past the "I can do that!" was usually followed by me swallowing my Cadbury egg and wiping the chocolate off my hands and mouth onto my exercise capris as I pulled them out of the forgotten spot in the bottom of the drawer. This year I hit the eggs early and have no desire for more due to me getting a little carried away with them on my birthday so there was no Cadbury chocolate to wash down with a glass of water before I headed out the door.

Today I searched through all the apps on my phone and found the C25K app I loaded two summers ago. By the time I found it buried among other forgotten apps I was dreading going and already thinking of how busy the day was going to be without enough time to exercise, but I quickly perked up when I saw there was an update to the app that added GPS so it would tell me how far I was going, my pace, and made it much easier for me to load up the songs I wanted from my Ipod onto the program. For only .99cents I was going to be equipped with my own personal trainer, maybe a triathlon wasn't so very far out of my reach. I was very excited and bounded towards the backdoor before I found my handy arm strap that I use for keeping my phone on my arm. No matter, I would carry it in my hand. It was only the first day of training and would be easy to carry it with me. I let the dogs out into the backyard happily and told them that they would have to stay and I would take them walking when I was done.

After a few stretches on my front sidewalk just so all the neighbors would know that I was about to exercise I began the app. And this is what followed on my first jog/walk of the season.

My music selection began and since I didn't have ear buds or my handy arm strap holder it was a little hard to hear, but I had the birds to listen to. It already sounded as though they were cheering me on. The bell on the app sounded and a friendly little voice said, "Warm Up." I couldn't hear it very well, but joy of joys the phone vibrated when it sounded so I would know to change pace even if I couldn't hear it. I started going around our block and had my route mapped in my head. It was a perfect combination of fairly sharp hills and easy hills. This was going to be great. A car was needing to turn where the two streets intersect and the driver waved me on. She had the right of way so I smiled and kept my feet moving so she would know this was no leisurely walk and motioned for her to go while I waited. We waved to each other as she passed.

My five minute warm up walk seemed to be taking a while. Not finding my arm strap was good because I could easily look at my phone to find out how much longer each part of the workout had left. My warm up walk still had 3 minutes to go. I thought it odd that time seemed to be moving so slowly and I was already a little winded. I slowed down the pace a bit and carried on. Surely I missed the bell sound so I looked at the phone again. 3 seconds left on the warm up. The bell sounded and the vibration shook my hand and the friendly voice said, "RUN." So I began jogging and saw that the countdown was for 60 seconds. That's all? No need to jog. I can run this.

The chipper voice said, "WALK" about the time I was at the house behind ours. I can see through their backyard into ours and saw all three of my dogs sitting at the back fence line. I glanced down at the timer and still had a full minute of walk time and smiled at the ease. I glanced back at the dogs who had noticed me and began whining in protest that they weren't with me. Barney the beagle began his baying howl. And I cheerfully told him to wait. I'd take him when I was done with my time. I now recognize the look he gave me as one of doubt.

Long before a full minute could possibly be up I felt the shaking of my phone and heard "RUN" in the amicable but stern tone. So I jogged. Again it was just for 60 seconds. I could do it. It was probably already halfway over so I quickly glanced again. 50 seconds left? My mapped out route quickly changed to just running around the block in the same direction downhill except for one tiny little stretch of a gradual climb. 45 seconds left?! O crap.

Sweet relief! The mocking voice said "WALK" again. One minute and 20 seconds of walk time. I could recover. Oh for the love of humanity that had better be a text message vibration and not the. . . I flippin' hate you stupid voice that screams "RUN!"

I jogged until the contemptuous voice said "WALK" in a tone that added "because I know you are about to fall over anyway you, loser!" The singing birds were mocking me. A dove dropped a twig it was carrying in an attempt to trip me and if I had been going at any faster of a pace it would have worked. I walked and was back to the house where I can see my dogs. They were watching intently. I wondered if I collapsed right there if they would love me enough to bound over the fence to come to my rescue.

"RUN." I hate you. Maybe if I pretend like the voice was a Zombie chasing me I could go. It worked. I shuffled a jog for a full 50 seconds, but I lost all sense of my surroundings imagining being chased. I looked to my left and about jumped out of my skin and did a little girly half scream thinking that someone was standing there staring at me waiting to scare me. It was a yard statue of either a haloed Jesus or Mary reaching out in an embrace. I was too weary to distinguish which one it was even when I was so close I could have touched it. I stopped running a couple of seconds before the patronizing voice demanded that I "WALK." I know when they recorded it they added a subliminal evil laughter at that point.

The GPS must be broken. I hadn't gone much over a mile and I was supposed to go 5K before it was over. I should have brought my pedometer. When I take that off my pants waist and give it a few shakes the mileage adjusts to where I know it's closer to what I've really done. When I shake my phone nothing happens. Maybe if I stop and give it a few good shakes the mileage will go up. "RUN." I curse you zombie voice.

I started jogging again only after giving the phone a rough shake for a few seconds. Imagining a zombie chasing me only made me want to turn around and walk into it with my arms outstretched like the scary holy statue. A zombie hug would be welcomed if it meant no more running.

I reached the point again where I can see my yard where the dogs were now running frantically back and forth down the fence line. I hollered for them to keep doing that because that was all the exercise they are going to be getting today. Then I regretted wasting my last bit of oxygen by talking.

At a point when I was going up the one steep incline that reminded me of Mt. Everest the phone made a different almost happy sound. And I used my remaining reserve of energy to do a few gallops thinking surely I was done. I made it! The mocking, angry voice said, "You are halfway done." Oh I loathe you and if I could make the muscles in my hand open I would chuck the phone that you have contaminated with your vile, vile voice. "RUN!" Another car was needing to turn and it slowed down enough for me to barely lift my arm in a wait gesture and I crossed in front of it. Run me over. I dare you. NO I beg you.

I rounded the next corner and saw a girl on a bicycle coming my way. Somehow over the pounding in my ears and the wheezing for breath I heard her say, "Keep it up! You are doing great!" If she had been wearing a helmet I would have shoved her off the bike. But I was still in enough control that I was concerned about her hitting her head on the pavement plus I now didn't have enough energy to give her a smile or even a far less friendly gesture so I wouldn't have been able to shove her hard enough.

At some point the voice said appropriately over the song "Wipeout" that I was ready for a cool down. I checked the phone and it was still marking my pace and mileage so I didn't think it meant the kind of cool down where I went and fell face down on a neighbor's sprinkler so I moved on. Barely.

I made it. Barely. Just as the voice said I was done the song "Crazy Train" began playing. How even more appropriate. And what makes it even more crazy is that I'm ready to do it all again tomorrow(after I take the dogs for a walk first.)

Spay or Neuter Those Pets, People!

I know it sounds very Bob Barkerish of me, but if you have a pet that isn't spayed or neutered please get it done soon. I'm not addressing responsible (and I stress the word responsible) breeders, but people with a family pet.

Today I watched a man dump a litter of puppies at a local shelter. He rounded them into the shelter's side pens and drove away without a second glance. He didn't leave them water or food or even look like he had an ounce of regret as he pulled away. I was screaming at him in my mind as I watched in disbelief, but despite wanting to yell and ask him what he was doing I remained silent. At least he was bringing them to the shelter, even if it was after hours and even if for all he knew they would be left alone all night within easy reach of strangers who might happen to walk by and decide to be cruel to those pups. At least he was giving them a chance instead of taking them out to a river in a burlap bag or slowly letting them starve or shooting them in the head. If I had told him what I wanted to he might have done those very things to the next litter instead of bringing them in. I guarantee he wouldn't have heeded the advice given in even a friendly level-headed conversation about spaying his dog so I stayed out of sight.

And so, I would like to give that advice to you. If you have a female, get her spayed. You might like puppies. You might think you would love to let your dog have some and they would be easy to give away to home. You might be right. But for every home you find for that puppy another shelter dog that already exists goes without a family. For some shelter dogs that means being put to sleep if a free puppy goes to a home where he could have been.

If you have a male you might not have to worry about the puppies that are made if he gets out of the yard one night. But someone else will. And that someone might not be willing to treat the puppies humanely. Those puppies, if lucky will end up being abandoned in a side pen at a shelter. Lucky, even if they are shivering with fear because they are scared to death of a human's touch and sick because they haven't had any vaccinations. The puppies I saw were still young enough that they should have eagerly ran towards me when I talked to them and tried to pet them. Instead they cowered in a corner and cried out when I reached out and touched them. I should have been able to pet and pick up puppies that age with abandon and let them give me puppy kisses. Instead I had to pick them up gingerly because they were sick with diarrhea and I had to go home and immediately wash my clothes in bleach and take a shower to get all the germs off of me before I could touch Abigail or my dogs for fear of what I might give to them.

I'm sure the man that dumped them, if he has any sort of compassion, probably told himself that they will find good, loving homes when left at the shelter. Maybe. If they aren't so sick they can't be saved and if someone will think to look there for a dog instead of answering a free puppy ad or buying one off the side of the road. Maybe, but I'm not so sure. And if they do find loving homes, those are homes that the other shelter dogs that have been waiting for will never see. For $40.00 that man could have had his dog spayed. Now that $40.00 won't even pay for the food and shelter those puppies are going to need for the night and don't forget the medicine and care they will need in the next few weeks if they thrive. But for him it's already forgotten.

Hopefully you can make up for his callousness by having your dog fixed. If you haven't thought of it this way before and have already had a dog that had puppies it's not too late to change your way of thinking. I did mine. It wasn't until several years ago that I realized what a difference spaying and neutering made. Maybe you can help a shelter dog that has been overlooked because of an overpopulation of puppies by getting your next one at your local shelter. And if you do go to your shelter be sure to tell at least one staff member thank you for what they do. I helped a staff member gather those puppies up and had no idea what to say to her. I wanted to share with her my disbelief and anger, but she already knew because she felt it too. I'm quite certain that she has seen far, far worse than that. And yet she continues to come back to work to help the animals who have never seen any compassion other than hers. She didn't need my help because she does that sort of thing everyday and could have probably done it faster without me, but in my naivety I thought I could help her without showing emotion and save her a little extra time by bringing her the pups so she could more quickly put them in a warm sheltered spot for the night. I was fighting the urge to throw up the entire time because of the uncertainty those pups now face. I was moving slowly, torn between wanting to give each of those pups some human kindness and being repulsed at the mess they were covered in. I wanted to leave quickly and forget the meanness I witnessed and was glad when I had gathered the last pup. All I could do was hand the staff member those puppies at the door of the quarantine building and feel relief that I wasn't allowed beyond that point. I'm not ready to see the other nameless animals that have been abandoned and are crying out for compassion and companionship behind those walls.

Abigail's Art Lesson

Abigail and I went to the Mardis Gras Art Show today. It is a fundraiser to raise money for the Heart of Texas Autism Network to use for art programs to give the kids an outlet and sometimes even a voice through art. Abigail finger and sponge painted on a small canvas to donate to the cause. When painting she picks a poster paint color and I put a glob of it on a sponge and have her grab it and plop it down on canvas or paper. Then I either help her hold a paint sponge steadily while she swooshes it or she just uses her fingers to start raking the paint around. When her activity with one color lessens I will show her a few other colors to choose among and we begin again or she looks away and shows no interest in it, so we set it aside for a while. I am not an artist by any stretch of the imagination, but I think her work is really good. It isn't landscapes, or fruit in a bowl, or chubby cherubs playing with puppies, but it's her own style and I think it deserves rave reviews.


By the time we made it to the event many of the pieces had already been sold. Just when I thought hers must have been purchased I saw it hanging almost all alone on its peg board stand. Seriously? No one saw the pure artistic genius in that 5x7 work of wonder? Could the whole town of Waco be that fatuous as to not see the talent in those swirls and swooshes and the beauty of the colors? Maybe I was having a bit of an overreaction, but all you grandmas, aunts and especially moms know you would have felt the exact same way. So, I decided right then that I would buy it. I was pointed in the direction of the lady in charge of the art sales and told her I wanted to buy back my daughter's piece. So she explained what I needed to do and by the time I turned back to remove it from the peg board it was gone because they were already packing up all the art that hadn't sold. So the kind lady helped Abigail and me track it down. She asked me what it looked like and when I explained it to her, she and two other ladies who had joined us to help made gasps and said, "She made that? She's only ten?" As much as I hate to confess it, my first thought was that they didn't understand which one I was talking about. After all the feelings of indignation of no one picking my child's work, I was guilty of thinking, "Oh no. This is going to be embarrassing when they bring back the wrong piece and I have to explain that I'm looking for the one with just finger swirls and sponge splotches on it."

But they brought back Abigail's and with a tone of uncertainty asked if they had found the right one. When I confirmed it was hers they made another collective exclamation of appreciation. Then the lady in charge asked me if I was sure I wanted to buy it because she really wanted to keep it to show others exactly what she was talking about when she discussed the need for art programs for special needs children and the unexpected artistic talent they so many times have. Of course I let her keep it.

She then knelt down to Abigail to tell her thank you and to ask her to show how she had made it. Most of the time with strangers Abigail will look at them for a few seconds and then look away and not respond to them. But when she saw the canvas in the lady's hand Abigail made one of her undeniable nods of agreement and then began moving her fingers across the canvas. I thought I was going to have to explain that Abigail was non-verbal and those motions were showing how she had made it, but the lady understood exactly what Abigail was showing her and gave her lots of words of praise and admiration. Abigail was full of excitement and began jumping as high as her seat belt would allow. I stood watching her and realized that in a span of a few minutes I went from feeling that everyone was absurd for not appreciating Abigail's effort, to feeling that based on their awed expressions surely they were mistaken about which piece was Abigail's, to feeling convicted for not truly appreciating my own daughter's ability to have others recognize her potential, to being close to tears in the pride I felt in Abigail and the gratefulness that was welling up within me to strangers who had seen her amazing abilities when I had been temporarily numb to them. I see Abigail's potential and ability everyday, but I had worrying doubts as to whether others were looking hard enough to see them. Her small work of art taught me the lesson that others, even strangers, find it just as easy as I to behold the capabilities and potential that make up the joyous wonder of Abigail. It was just a 5x7 canvas, but it gave to me a cherished illustration on how Abigail shines in her own swirl of beauty that others can also treasure.

Me From the Future in a Geo Metro

I'm fairly certain that this morning I met myself who had traveled back in time from my future.

I was in a hurry and running late in getting Abigail to school. I came to a four way stop and encountered a little old lady in a red Geo Metro, which by the way was in excellent condition. It was the style that reminds me of the old Gremlins. We came to the stop sign at the exact moment. She to my left with her left blinker on and me going to go straight. I wasn't in a generous mood since I was pressed for time so I was going to take my right-of-way and go. Her car lurched forward and zipped in front of me before I could lift my foot off the brake and there she was zooming in front of me. I guess her adrenaline rush from beating me to the punch wore off because before I knew it I was up on her bumper. She was going a little above the 30mph speed limit so I quickly realized I was going too fast and slowed down to give her space.

She must have seen me in her rear view mirror before I admitted my error by making a gap between us. She took a page right out of my book and immediately began driving right at the speed limit. Before I could compensate I must have breached her territory again because she then dropped to 15mph.

So, there I was. Two car lengths behind her, getting a good look at the back of her head (which was barely peeking over the dashboard) through the back glass of her Geo biding my time until I could get around her. About the time I was thinking I was going to be stuck behind her for a good chunk of unforeseeable future I saw her left blinker flashing. Then three blocks later after I determined she must have never turned off her blinker at the four way stop so long ago, she suddenly veered left. I felt the weight of being penned lift. I sped up and was doing well recovering my time until I came to a red light at an intersection. I was first in line at the light so I had a very good view of a well kempt red Geo Metro in a shape reminiscent of the old Gremlins coming across the intersection making a left turn putting it right in front of my path I would take as soon as my light turned green.

Again, a page right out of my book was played because she looked me right in the eye and grinned. Touche'. Well played. I bow to you Mrs. Gremlin Lady.

And if you are me from the future traveling to the past, show me that shortcut before you go back. Oh, and go back a few months farther to sew up the hole in my coat pocket before I lost Jason's spare keys so I won't have to sit through that lecture again. It should be fine to tweak that a little because I would think having to say a few less, "Yes, Dears. You are right" won't alter the future and mess up the world's dynamics that much.