More Uncomfortable Awareness

Uncomfortably Aware Part 2

Continuation of Part 1

Despite the absurd myths perpetuated by rape culture, the mere sight of an unaccompanied female, particularly one who is intoxicated and not fully clothed, does not literally suspend male freewill as all sense drains from his brain directly into his robotic erection, which then directs everything he does like a remote control. That’s ridiculous. Men can walk away from an unconscious, semi-naked girl passed out on a sofa. They do not HAVE to rape her. That’s also ridiculous:

The human brain has evolved beyond its limbic system and does have access to higher levels of cognitive functioning. The masculine mind CAN make the decision to not rape someone despite the physical state of his body, just like he can resist the urge to piss in his own pants. It is ridiculous to say otherwise – almost as ridiculous as the Good Samaritan Rape Defence, as offered up by one Rodger William Kelly, who claimed he carried his unconscious 29-year-old neighbor from her porch to his bedroom because he was trying to keep her warm and save her life. Having sex with the non-responsive woman seemed like the logical answer. In other words he raped her as an act of random kindness. Fucking absurd.

But of course there will always be misogynists, fanatics, ignoramuses and misguided apologists who deny rape excuses are absurd or that the blame for rape should be squarely placed on the rapist’s shoulders. They will keep arguing, as Nick Ross did that “rape isn’t always rape”; the victim must take some responsibility. He likens a provocatively dressed female to a “sack of cash” left unguarded at the front door of a bank, or in the middle of a poorly secured airport.

Ah, sorry, but giving in to the temptation of stealing a bag of unchaperoned money that does not breathe, feel pain, or have a brain, is NOT the equivalent of forcing your erect penis into another human being who finds you repulsive. And even if you didn’t make her sick to her stomach – even if she was attracted to you – she STILL would not be interested in having you sexually assault her, believe it or not.

But none of that matters does it? Lowlifes and sadists who choose to think of rape as a game of mutual seduction are not, as a rule, impressed by pleas to a sense of humanity, video-recorded facts, expert and reason-based opinions, or eye witness testimony which conflicts with their biases. No one, however, was going to enlighten those lesser evolved, narrow-minded vertebrates anyway. They will not be swayed. They stand cemented in their philistine mud.

But don’t give up trying to sway them.

For the higher evolved Homo sapiens, the ongoing chronicling of rape and brutality plague the intellect and generate awareness. Ultimately, it is this awareness that revs up the enormous, slow-to-start, gas-guzzling engine of social change.

The rape stories are morbid, but they are also vital sources of fuel that must be mined, exported and consumed. This is the power of the people driving the engine.

As a result, the rapists don’t have to worry about the wrath and judgment of a god anymore (although did they ever?); they have to worry about humanity’s judgment…or at least those members of humanity who are outraged by this epidemic of rape.

Granted, it is not unanimously conceded rape is or ever was an epidemic, nor is it accepted across the board that an entire subculture exists around this social pathology.

There remain those who choose to believe rape is nothing more than a minor nuisance that’s been blown out of proportion by radical feminism and mass media, with an agenda to either malign men or create sensationalized news stories for the sole purpose of increasing viewer and readership amongst the sheep-like masses.

But whether you believe a disease is a disease or the product of choice makes little difference to the disease’s progression. A carcinoma left unencumbered, undetected and unaddressed will spread. And while the relentless reporting of rape on a daily basis might seem like the cancer, it is actually the first flush of a cure.

As humanity takes notice it’s under attack by sinister phenomena, the hope is that it will no longer passively sit by as rape after rape after rape occurs without restraint. And while clearly humanity is not completely awake from its apathy, certain of its appendages are beginning to show signs of life.

There is movement.

An army of social activism has been assembling and reacting in retaliation against the river of human sludge that snakes its way throughout the internet, infecting humanity, spreading hate, inciting violence and ruining innocent lives.

Change is a foot.

I personally am grateful for these changing tides because the unyielding diet of rape stories, of which I feel force-fed, is emotionally draining. It makes me antsy, helpless…hopeless.

Not a week has gone by where I cannot at some point be found sobbing in front of a monitor as I watch or read another story of barbarism, especially against children. These accounts DO NOT desensitize, as you often hear – they antagonize ALL conscionability.

It doesn’t take much effort to seek out these stories, either. Do a quick Google News search and you will find a self-replenishing supply. Turn on the TV or stroll down the frigg’in street and chances are your brain will be sucker-punched with this unwelcomed information.

There is the seemingly endless stream of rape cases out of Pakistan, Afghanistan and India involving children and young women, such as the recent report of a 4-year-old who was lured with the promise of a banana and then ripped apart in a violent act of sexual assault. She was found hemorrhaging and later died of cardiac arrest.

The week before, there was a 5-year-old from New Delhi who met a similar fate. New Delhi was also the setting of a gang rape that ignited huge protests demanding something be done about the pandemic of violence against women and girls in India.

The 23-year-old medical student was taken hostage on a bus and gang raped by six men in particularly sadistic ways while the bus kept in motion. Her companion was beaten to near death. The bloodied twosome was eventually discarded on the side of the road and 2 weeks later the young victim died from her injuries. The family did not want her name released for fear of the shame it would bring.

And don’t get complacent in thinking this one savage gang rape and murder as well as the resulting protests has put an end to this presently exposed evil – the reports continue to roll in every hour.

Last week another story broke of a gang rape involving a31-year-old Californian woman who was traveling in India. There is a bit of “slut shaming” going on around this case because the woman, who was stranded, chose to get in a truck with three strange Indian men. She didn’t “choose” to get raped, just to be clear – she chose to accept the kindness of strangers:

On this continent, no one will soon forget the intensely disturbing, news-breaking story of Ariel Castro kidnapping, confining, torturing and raping three girls who he kept imprisoned in his Cleveland shack of a house – in the SAME neighborhood they were snatched from – over a TEN YEAR period. How does something like that go unnoticed, when there were SO MANY indicators? This is the same insidious cancer referred to above.

It is as if humanity has been ignoring the signs of its disease. Healthy cells die while malignant tumors rape and multiply.

Then there are the stories of sexual coercion and persecution that utilize social media in some way. There is the recent story of a 12-year-old girl from Chicago who was raped at gunpoint by three teen boys, one of whom recorded the whole thing. The video was then shared on Facebook like a trophy to be admired.

Facebook seems to come up a lot in these tales of horror.

The Chicago attack is just one in a virtual library of instances where a gang rape has been recorded and then proudly shared on Facebook or You Tube as if the rapists had actually accomplished something worthy of praise and recognition. They do have half of that straight: their crimes ARE being recognized and it IS causing alarm and a call to arms of sorts:

As the war on rape wages in the US, with cases such as the Steubenville trial whereby two teen-aged football players were found guilty of repeatedly raping a drugged 16-year-old girl at various parties throughout a single evening, in Canada 17-year-old, Rehtaeh Parsons, hung herself as a result of being raped at 15.

After the rape, Parsons was systematically shamed and harassed over the next two years, with the by now familiar custom of sharing images of the assault and engaging in rape-encouraging propaganda via the internet. Before Parsons, a similar fate became of Amanda Todd, who was painted with a virtual Scarlet letter and then mercilessly cyber-bullied until she too was pushed into suicide.

We could carry on with the stories, but there are too many – this blog would never end. My conscience would never be freed from the vice-like grip of the innumerable atrocities waiting to be discovered and the despair they are sure to induce.

But there is, I’ve discovered, an antidote for such despair in examples of protest, action and justice. These are the stories where the muted bystanders and the victims, the apathetic and the apologetic, the paralyzed and the indecisive begin to move and make noise. They stand up from their comatose positions, take to the streets, to their keyboards and to their internet connections -- people like blogger, Tim Baffoe, feminist writers and activists such as Soraya Chemaly and Lindy West, and comedians such as Tiny Fey and the brilliant Patton Oswalt  -- who say wait a minute, we’ve got something to say - ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. And they say it with humor, poignancy, provocation and insight beyond the confines of mainstream beliefs and opinions on these issues. These are inspiring times and there are jokes to make you laugh but more importantly think: 

To be continued...

Uncomfortable Cyber-Awareness of Rape

Uncomfortably Aware Part 1

In today’s information age, we are exposed at an unprecedented rate to horrific accounts of rape.  It is making some of us uncomfortably aware. And while ignorance may be bliss, it is only blissful to the ignorant. To the socially conscious, to the street-wizened and to the victimized, ignorance is a tool of oppression and a means of propagating inhumanity. 

This awareness – that our blissful ignorance has been complicit in unimaginable misery for a big chunk of the human race – is often coupled with a compulsion to act; in other words work, and possibly unpleasant, frustrating, unblissful work; hence the ignorance is bliss thing. It’s less work to blame the victim. But once you know, you know. You can no longer cuddle up in your cozy ignorance.

In the past if you were raped, few people heard about it, unless it was a particularly sensational or gruesome story. As for you, the anonymous one, you were more or less condemned to suffer in the privacy of your own humiliated head, with only the pain of your battered body to remind you that you were indeed a human being and not an inanimate object meant for male consumption and communal use, like a public toilet.

Then again maybe that really was all you were worth. Perhaps you deserved it. The societal messages that surrounded you certainly suggested you deserved it or worse yet “wanted” it.

But you didn’t deserve it and you absolutely did not want it.

The only way to reconcile this cognitive dissonance between what you were told and what you knew, was acquiescence, suppression, denial, rationalization or a big ass bottle of booze and a bevy of pills. There was no easy therapy.

If all else failed, a self-applied noose around the neck and a suicide note would take care of the problem. You were already dead inside anyway, and no one seemed to notice that. They didn’t know about your ordeal nor did they care to know. You were utterly alone.

You were also ashamed.

You were ashamed because even though it conflicted with your reality, the culture and era in which you found yourself told you in subliminal and not so subliminal ways that not only did you want to be raped but you were MEANT to be raped.

All girls, in fact, were hardwired and physically formed to desire rape and used their sexuality to manipulate men into raping them. It wasn’t the man’s fault – he was just doing what the reptilian part of his brain associated with aggression and arousal told him to do. Men had no more control than a dog in heat over their natural urge to copulate with any accessible female they could get their molesting hands on, even if that female was a duck.

It was thus left up to women, who were NOT cursed to wander the planet with debilitating thoughts of ejaculation every 12 seconds, to act as bodyguards. Men were vulnerable and needed protection from their overwhelming impulses – impulses which could be triggered by virtually ANYTHING:

Nothing like a big hairy, gouty toe to put a rapist in the mood.

Basically the male libido was a handicap for men. Women, who did not possess this same handicap, were by default held accountable (because someone HAD to be) for whatever happened to female bodies, even as they were paradoxically prohibited from making choices that affected those SAME bodies.

If you were female and someone raped you, assaulted you, insulted you with gendered hate speech and rape jokes, or impregnated you, the only person you could blame was yourself – you should have been a better bodyguard.

The "good" women who covered their parts, averted their eyes and did as they were told were not a threat to the practice of NOT randomly raping people. These upstanding ladies were still raped, mind you, just not as much, or so society was led to believe.

The "bad" women who had opinions, disagreed and dressed how they wanted based on personal style, fashion trends and comfort were fair game. Their appearances and mannerisms prodded at men's fragile self-control like a fool prodding a rabid beast with a stick.

It was only a natural inevitability then that a man would succumb to his weakness and sexually impose himself on whoever or whatever (there was a guy who raped a cow and was forced to marry it) inadvertently provoked his hypersensitive arousal.

Stupid people who goaded rabid animals deserved what they got (although it’s hard to say how the cow provoked her rape. Was it her sexually stimulating “moo”?)

Consequently, accused “rapists” were seen as rape victims. They were lured to rape in the same way Eve lured Adam to defy God and eat from the Tree of Knowledge. 

Females were responsible for the evils of men because at the heart of the matter, even though women were the inferior gender, feminine sexuality was nonetheless a tool of mind control. It didn’t make sense, but when it came to Man's God-given right to have sex with anyone or anything regardless of person, species, place, time or consent, it didn’t have to make sense: 

June 2013 ~ Texas

Men were so afraid of this magical feminine power which tricked males into committing rape that in certain places women were forced to hide their wicked femaleness under loose fitting clothing, in some cases to the point of wearing heavy black cloaks over their heads like body bags.

Apparently the thinking here was (still is) that females lost their power when men couldn’t objectively see their femininity, when they blended into the background like black ghosts floating before a white sky.

However, there did remain a few astute men, who although may have been blind to stark contrasts, nevertheless understood covering something with a sheet did not literally make the thing disappear. The thing still existed – it still had genitalia – and women were still raped.

But again, since all women were genetically programmed to be consenting whores who fooled men into raping them, rape was not technically rape anyway. There was no such thing as consensual rape, even evidently if one of the people “consenting” was not consenting willingly.

No did not mean no.

Besides, everyone understood that sincere rape was only committed by alcoholic degenerates, drug addicts and psychopaths. Normal men with jobs didn’t rape.

But some of us understand things differently now.

And while the aforementioned attitudes towards rapists and their victims obviously persist today in our, what has been dubbed “rape culture”, the difference is that what was once ignored is now being examined. This piece of seemingly fresh meat has been kicked over to reveal its rot and the maggots are scattering.

We are seeing things we’ve never seen before.

Just as advances in science and technology have revealed errors in many other once widely held beliefs, these advancements have also, perhaps unintentionally, revealed gross misconceptions regarding rape.

There is no hiding from these realities (albeit often misinterpreted realities). The shared knowledge travels along the information highway faster than a rapist can find an alibi or zip up his pants.

Any despicable thing a person does can potentially be recorded by a passerby and shared with the world in the blink of an eye. This kind of reality monitoring by regular people arguably has a more powerful impact on human behavior than divine monitoring, because the first example relates to verifiable, possibly criminal facts – the latter does not.

It is more difficult, although not impossible, to make the “she asked for it” defence when there is a video that’s gone viral of you and your buddies gang raping an unconscious girl or a girl who is fully conscious and can be heard as well as seen screaming in terror and agony, begging for the torture to stop.

It is also more difficult to argue rape was actually consensual sex when there is a corpse and a suicide “note” in the form of a You Tube vlog, which unequivocally conveys the message that the “sex” was not by consent but by force. If a girl would rather be dead than live with the nightmare of her assault replaying in her head every breathing moment, how can any reasonable person say she “wanted it”?

It is furthermore harder to claim rape only happens to women who behave and dress provocatively when men are also being raped, as well as innocent children who are even more barbarically violated than their older rape-victim counterparts. 

Then there are the countless women who are raped while minding their own business, walking down the street in anything but a seductive manner, or housed in the seclusion and “safety” of their own homes. 

And I won’t even go into how rape is used as a weapon of war and terrorism.

What is exceedingly clear from this steady stream of rape reporting and slut shaming is that the criminal act of rape has NOTHING to do with the actions of the person who is raped. The rapist can choose NOT to sexually assault people it’s a simple as that. 

The word "no" should be sufficient in expressing one's desire NOT to be raped. Potential rape victims should not have to wear government-issued signs around their necks that explicitly state: DO NOT RAPE THIS PERSON.

(This is not the end. I ramble on for many more words, but thought it best I break this sucker up in case someone actually reads it).

Continued: PART TWO

The Human Pincushion

Through a series of unfortunate accidents I dropped a box of pins and needles in a dimly lit area of my carpeted living room. Six-year-old Hannah witnessed the whole thing and without moving to help me pick any of the pins up knowingly said, “Dad’s going to step on one of those pins”.

“No”, I corrected as I crawled around on my hands and knees, “we’re going to pick them all up. No one is going to step on a pin! Now please help me!”

“Je ne parle pas anglais”

She thinks she is clever because she is in French immersion and no one understands what she is saying. She doesn’t really understand yet either but regardless, she knows more than the boys of the household and has fun confusing them. She likes to make up French “sounding “gibberish, especially when she is being told to do something because it throws them off. It works with her brother and dad. It does not work with me.

“Aidez-moi, Hannah!”

I think she reluctantly picked up ONE pin, but upon doing so, screamed in torment as if she had been stabbed with a harpoon and gave up.  She told me she was just a kid and it was dangerous for kids to pick up pins. Besides, she pointed out, she wasn’t the one who dropped them.

Insolent child.

Still, even without her assistance I thought I had gathered up all the pins.

I was wrong…as tends to happen.

Sure enough, a few days after I drop the pins, I get a frantic, angry phone call from Darren. He is in agony. He has stepped on a needle and it’s inserted so far into his foot that only the eye of the needle is poking out.

I can hear Hannah, the little traitor, in the background saying, “I told mommy this would happen.”

I don’t know why I’m the first person Darren calls in such situations. First remove the needle and if you need medical assistance, call an ambulance! Do not call Lala. I cannot help you.

But of course he is not phoning for help or advice. He, with his little sidekick, Hannah, is phoning to place blame.

In a barely controlled voice he asks me if I know why he stepped on a pin.

“Because you don’t look where you’re going?” I answer helpfully.

“NO!” he shrieks, abandoning all pretence of self-control. “YOU dropped pins on the carpet and didn’t pick them up!”

My cell vibrates at the intensity of his outrage.

“Where are you getting your information?” I ask as calm as you please.

“Hannah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Hannah is a child,” I say, “who are you going to believe, a child or a grown adult?”

Darren cannot believe my lack of contrition and yells, “The child!”

I, however, am not about to admit to anything and instead say, “Does it really matter why at this point? Don’t you think you should remove the foreign object from your foot before worrying about who is responsible? Also, you have to be responsible for your own feet. Surely, you can’t blame me for where YOU decide to tread!”

In frustration he hangs up.

A few days later he has stepped on another one of these pins and I receive another one of his phone calls.

It occurs a few more times in the proceeding weeks. Each time I am not home and each time he phones me on my cell to freak out and demand that something be done. Short of ripping up the carpet, I don’t know what more can be done.

He doesn’t know either, but he does know that with every pin that impales his foot, his resentment for me builds, as does his fear of entering the living room. His god, the TV, is in there, though, and it isn’t like he can avoid his place of worship.

A few weeks of this and he tells me he can’t take it anymore. He does not think he can survive another pinning. And even though I have not admitted (and never will) to any culpability in the matter, he is still suspicious my clumsiness is responsible for the pins. Because of this, he thinks it’s only fair I offer up some sort of restitution. Failing that, it would give him great satisfaction to see ME step on one of these pins.

I tell him that is a horrible, horrible thing to wish on anyone, especially your wife, and as punishment I am left with no choice but to put The Curse of the Pin on him.

“You already DID!!!” he sputters.

Again, ignoring any blame, I suggest to him that if it was me who kept stepping on pins I’d start wearing slippers. I would also avoid the area where I suspect the pins are strewn.

For some weird reason, even though it fills him with dread, he cannot keep himself away from the vicinity of the pin carnage. This perverse fascination is in fact why he keeps stepping on them. Look and ye shall find.

Eventually he does listen to me and takes to wearing slippers. He also makes an effort to stay away from the area in question, but he simply can’t do it. Nevertheless, for another week he is fine. No more pinnings. It seems he has managed to retrieve all the wayward pins with his foot.

“See? I brighten, “something positive has come out of this. Now the kids won’t step on a pin because you’ve already done it for them! You’re a good dad”.

My words of praise do nothing to dissolve his simmering rage.

Then one morning, he wakes up with an ache and stabbing sensation in his back. This is nothing new, mind you, and as a rule I more or less ignore his physical complaints. He worries and complains about back pain constantly because when he was 19 he got into a bad car accident and fractured his spine. His doctors at the time warned that as he got older he may start to experience chronic lumbar pain and other associated symptoms.

The result of this is that Darren is constantly on high alert to ANY discomfort in his back no matter how minor or imagined. This time, however, he says it is “different” and excruciating enough that he can’t go to work.

For the rest of the day he lies on the couch moaning about how he needs to go to the doctor and get some painkillers, but he never makes a move to actually do this. In the meantime, I suggest a muscle relaxant.

It is not until later in the night at maybe 9 or 10 o’clock that I get another one of Darren’s by now customary phone calls. From his pressured tone and rapid breathing I know immediately this has something to do with pins.

I was correct.

It seems Darren had reached around to scratch where his back hurt and in doing so pricked his finger on something sharp. There was blood. He nearly fainted when he realized what it was.

It was the tip of a pin.

You have no idea how disappointed I am that he never went to see that doctor about his “ailment”.

Every time I think of this whole pin situation I am thrown into a new fit of hysterics. As a consequence, Darren has stopped speaking to me.  He is beside himself that I’m not taking it more seriously. He says with utter conviction that if he hadn’t felt the pin when he did, he probably would be dead right now.

“Don’t be absurd,” I laugh, “you can’t die from being stabbed in the back with a pin. A knife, sure, but a pin? I don’t think so, there pincushion”.

Oh and I’ve taken to calling him pincushion.

RHOV ENDS ON A TRIUMPHANT NOTE

FINAL LALA RECAP (PART 8) OF RHOV S2 FINALE

This for sure is my LAST recap installment of the Real Housewives of Vancouver finale, because these blogs are fast becoming, or already have become, irrelevant.

In part 7 we discussed Ioulia’s contribution to the aesthetic side of Vancouver life. Not only does she bop around all over the city showing off her stunning beauty for anyone lucky enough to witness it, she also had her reflection emblazoned on three limited edition gold-rimmed plates, which she plans to sell for $24.99 each. 

This way, those unable to see her in the flesh, can still enjoy her physical magnificence while eating their supper. They can slop their food on her face, or keep the plates in pristine condition, displayed prominently in their dining rooms and kitchens.

But why stop there?

Businesses, government offices, schools, hospitals, rehab centres, soup kitchens and injection sites, as well as shelters for both stray humans and stray animals might also benefit from Ioulia’s pleasing aesthetics. 

It will cost them though, so some of the less funded institutions might have to do bottle drives or panhandle in order to pay for the plates. I wonder how many empties you’d need to buy the one with Ioulia and her cat?

In addition to pretty plates, Ioulia furthermore plans to beautify the city by becoming a “respected” art dealer. Perhaps she can combine her complimentary interests and diversify. She could encourage other local artists to paint say Ronnie’s missing bellybutton on the face of a spatula. 

Or what about Ronnie’s mug in various stages of intoxication on a set of gargantuan casserole dishes? We all know how she likes to cook enormous casseroles.

Remember how in the beginning of this gong-show season Ronnie started out all maternal and domesticated? What happened to that Ronnie?

When you're preparing your shepherd's pies, turnip-macaroni quiches & cheddar-broccoli bakes don't forget your big ass bottle of booze - vodka, wine, whisky, frigg'in rubbing alcohol - it doesn't matter. Just make sure you get nice & sloshed while you're cooking because it makes the food taste better. 

Maybe Jody’s likeness could decorate a platter meant to serve crackers, fruit and nuts. 

Then there’s Amanda, whose constant public displays of partial nudity and vampire-augmented youthfulness would be perfect for tart pans and garlic presses.

Bake with a REAL housewife of Vancouver for the rock bottom price of 99 cents! 

Don't want to go through the gruesome experience of a vampire facelift?  Why not take advantage of the anti-aging properties of freshly pressed garlic using our low-end garlic press! You can press as much garlic as you can stand and eat it, or you can smear it all over your face without the expense and pain of having your own blood injected into your head. Just be careful not to get the garlic in your eye.

Mia is a spinny kind of gal -- how fitting would it be to put her picture on a Lazy Susan? Perfect!

But first things first.

In the season finale Ioulia, who apparently once studied at Sotheby’s Institute of Art, puts a lot of effort and “many hours” into organizing her first gallery showing, which she sees as her “ticket to becoming a respected art dealer”.

In the midst of this “effort" we watch as she indecisively frets about how to display the pieces, while at the same time stating she’s “definitely someone who knows what she wants”.

Ioulia asks for advice: "Do you think it would be random if I put them up on top here? How do I want and where do I want? Can we try, sorry, just one more version?”

She says she knows what she wants and yet has to ask the hired help for their opinion on where and how to arrange the artwork. They are not much use, mind you, as they stand there stupidly holding up the pieces with their arms getting tired, waiting for Ioulia to make a decision and stick with it.

Ioulia to the workers after they’ve arranged the art exactly as Ioulia directed: That doesn’t work. This one goes here for sure, for sure, for sure, for sure. No. What do you think? 

She then goes on to inform us that because she’s been around art “for so many years” she has a “good eye” and an innate “sense” of “what works”.  She also considers herself a “perfectionist”.

Ioulia says, “Because I’m a perfectionist, I want to make sure personally that everything’s in order”.

I don’t know what her standards of perfection are, but later after the event has started and people are walking around viewing the artistic creations on display, we overhear Robin quip something about overpriced pieces of “plywood” that are not even lined up! Haha! Oh that Robin says the funniest things!

Robin: I'm not an artsy kind of girl, but they're wanting $5000 for this plywood? Look! They didn't even line it up right here!"

Also, for someone who claimed that “it’s all in the details” Ioulia didn’t seem overly worried that there were no coatracks for people to hang up their coats – – or BATHROOMS for people to relieve their bladders after downing all the booze she planned on plying them with, because she figured lots of alcohol would “distract” them from her “technical failures”.

Ioulia working the crowd, creating a buzz. She says she "cannot afford any screw-ups".

I am sorry, but with all due “respect”, none of the above sounds like the behavior of a perfectionist. But so what – perfectionists are annoying, tedious and stubborn, which makes them a drag to be around for any extended length of time.

What normal human being could resist the instinct to touch these humongous barnacles glued to  a board?

Being normal human beings, Mary's friends certainly could not resist the temptation as Mary laughingly scolded, "Ladies! Do not touch the painting!" 

You know who isn’t a drag? Robin. I started out this season liking Robin, then being irritated by her and wishing she’d pick a side and then finally she came through and I loved her. She has the best one-liners, is a hoot to watch (and I imagine to hang out with as well) and is not afraid of a confrontation. Unlike Jody, however, her confrontations are not unreasonable or malicious. Robin comes across as confident and assertive, yet warm and open to hearing other sides.

As far as Robin confronting Ronnie about the drugging accusation, although that particular confrontation was relatively sedate, it was nonetheless awesome.

When Ronnie warns Robin to NEVER come up to her again with her petty complaints, Robin says in no uncertain terms, ”I’ll come up to you any time I please when you accuse me of breaking the law”. Go Robin!

By “relatively sedate”, I mean when compared to one of Jody’s psychotic breakdowns or one of Ronnie’s drunken rants – compared to those, Robin was a polite, self-effacing, soft-spoken apologist.

In actuality, Robin’s confrontation of Ronnie was executed with fairness, skill and precision. Robin did not back down, and she said what she had to say in a stern, logical and coherent manner, without coming across as wishy-washy or resorting to low-blows.

Robin: "You could say I had a lesbian affair with you and I'd take it a whole lot better than saying I drugged you. I can't tolerate that because I know I didn't do it".

Robin even had a few bits of wisdom for Ronnie, such as when she advised in a kind, but firm voice: “Please don’t plant that seed in your head and run with it because you don’t remember what happened.”

How did Ronnie react to Robin’s exceedingly legitimate concerns and fair approach to dealing with those concerns?

This is what Ronnie looks like when she is incorrectly processing information. Notice how her eyes kind of roll into the back of her head.

Well, initially Ronnie appeared to be listening and taking it all in (when in reality, her mind was elsewhere computing the outrage that Robin would DARE confront her about anything no matter how justified). It wasn’t until Ronnie’s brain had adequately if not inaccurately processed its profound affront that she at last was spurred to respond.

This is what Robin thought of Ronnie's stunned reaction to being confronted: "Hellloooo? Toot, toot, toot...anybody hooome? " Haha!

In Ronnie's response, she did not acknowledge Robin’s concerns whatsoever. She also did not concede she was wrong to fabricate a story that placed criminal blame on Robin. 

Ronnie thinks everyone ELSE is screwed up and she for one wants nothing to do with ANY of them! Give her some Botox, Restylane and a vat of vodka and FUCK OFF!!

Being the Great Denier she is, Ronnie simply refuses to take responsibility for her own alcoholic choices. If she cannot find something rational or REAL to excuse her actions, she makes shit up. She invents stories or else in obstinate creationist style, completely ignores ALL glaring, concrete evidence to the contrary.

The following is Ronnie’s reaction to being called out on accusing an innocent person of, as Robin put it, “a criminal crime” (is that sort of like Brett’s “clear clarity”?...oh never mind).

Ronnie: “Who does that? I’m going to call you out! I’m going to call you out on EVERY little thing!” Ah, nooo, Ronnie, accusing someone of drugging you actually is NOT a little thing but Lala understands – you’re deluded and know not what you say or do. It’s really not your fault. You cannot help the way your brain functions any more than an insect can.

In this case, Ronnie chooses to totally ignore Robin’s valid complaints and goes on the offense. She tells Robin, “Don’t you EVER come up to me in a public fucking forum like this EVER AGAIN and talk to me like that”. She then tells Robin and anyone else listening to fuck off and storms out of the venue. She says she’s never going out again. Another lie. So there she angrily goes, one classy lady, with her substitute husband, I mean her son.

Ronnie: "I'm leaving and I'm very happily leaving. I guess I had enough".  Does that mean she is not coming back for a third season or is she just lying again?

Robin thus neutralizes the enemy once again. She is: Robin! Super-Heroine! Able to save any gathering from Ronnie’s hatefulness in a single confrontation!

As for Mary, she did not need or enlist Robin’s superhero strength this time around. She was ready to confront Jody all on her own. And she did…to apologize AGAIN.

Mary explains to Jody: “The day of the tea party, I was thoroughly insulted. I am not a nasty, vindictive person. I am actually a very kind-hearted, nice person”. Jody obviously doesn’t agree, even if her reasons for not agreeing are anything but obvious.

Why does Mary keep apologizing to people who do not deserve an apology? I don’t understand. Although, because of Jody’s nonsensical response to the apology, Mary does as usual come out looking like the sane one, while Jody looks like a loon. So perhaps there is a method to Mary’s seemingly unwarranted apologetics.

Mary says, “The thing is, I don’t hate you, Jody, as much as you hate me I do not hate you”.

What can Jody even say to that? Jody has absolutely NO REASON to hate Mary. It’s utterly absurd and unconscionable the way Jody treats Mary, made all the more so when in the face of incontrovertible evidence to the contrary, Jody continues (although unsuccessfully) to malign Mary Zilba.

The apology was actually pretty comical the second time I watched it. The first time I watched it, I was so disappointed that Mary appeared to be submitting to Jody’s nuttiness and cruelty AGAIN that I turned the TV off in dejection. But when I forced myself to re-watch the scene before writing this final installment, I was pleasantly surprised to discover Mary’s apology to Jody was not pathetic at all.

Mary goes to heroic lengths to break through Jody's psychosis, but NOTHING  short of a straight-jacket, padded room and electro-convulsive shock therapy is going to do that. Mary should, however, be commended for her effort.

Now I see that not only was Mary taking the high road, but she was also placating the crazy person, none of which is “pathetic”. Mary comes out the winner. Jody is the loser. This is how it more or less went down:

Mary marches right on up to Jody and explains how she was deeply troubled by the Wobbly Witch’s emotional collapse at Amanda’s Placenta Juice in a Pickle Jar party. Mary might have been personally insulted by the deranged, defamatory things that came out of Jody’s yap, but she was also genuinely worried Jody was going to have a heart attack. Jody calmly replies, “Well, that’s what you’ve done to me, Mary”.

All kidding aside, she seriously does look deranged with her eyes popping out like that in combination with the bizarre things she says, don't you think?

Oh. My. God.

Mary and all the other sane people in the world are astounded at the preposterous things that come out of Jody's mouth. 

Mary CANNOT believe what she’s hearing – NO ONE can – and decides screw it, I’ll just apologize to this weirdo and be done with it. She says, “Jody, I want to say to you if there is something I have said that’s hurt you, I really honestly apologize for that”.

Jody IMMEDIATELY, within nanoseconds of the apology, retorts, “Mary, tell me you’re sorry then”.

Umm, she JUST did tell you, you FREAK OF HUMANITY.

Mary: “I just did!”

Jody: “No, you didn’t apologize. You have bad breath”.

Oh. My. God.

Mary gives up with a laugh and philosophical shrug of her shoulders, remarking, “Well, at least she didn’t tell me to fuck off; by Jody standards that’s progress”.

And that my friends concludes that.

So until next season, if you are going to apologize for doing nothing wrong, may your apologies be ironic, and if you are going to live your life in denial and madness, may you do it without hypocrisy or malice. If you are going to be an imperfect perfectionist, may your perfect faults be enjoyed, and if you are going to have regrets about your choices may you be proud of those regretful choices as the battle scars and lessons of a life lived with gusto.

And if you are going to be an asshole, may you on occasion recognize your asshole reflection in the mirror and adjust yourself accordingly. At least sometimes be the worthy human being you are meant to be.

Finally, if you are going to take umbrage to something Lala blogs, may your insults be clever enough to make Lala laugh with you, and your arguments  convincing enough to make her rethink her stance and change her opinion.

The End.