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Posts Tagged ‘Mistakes Were Made’

Hey Girls and Evolved Boys!

Are you trying to wrap your head around the Cornell 7 story? Or even surprised at some of the insane (almost always male) reactions to it? So surprised and disgusted that you can’t even formulate a response?

Auntie Beth is here to help.

What to say to the “not all men” crowd and/or rapist apologists:

Asinine comment
She knew what she was getting into by going to the frat house.
Response (dealer’s choice)
• There were a whole bunch of guys there too. Did they also sign up to be raped?
• Rapes happen in homes, hotels, dressing rooms, even behind dumpsters. Women can’t go anywhere then.
• She went to see a friend. With friends like that, no one needs enemies.

Dipshit remark
Come on. She wanted it.
Response
Do you have a vagina? I do. Let me tell you: No vagina wants seven hours of sex.

Idiot on social media
She told police everything was consensual.
Response
Maybe she did want to do ketamine and have sex with her friend. Maybe she even wanted a threesome. BUT consent stops when consciousness does. She probably was not aware of everything that transpired until she saw the screenshot of the group chat much later. Also, rape is fucking traumatic, you douchebag. Processing it takes time and different forms.

(Frankly, I don’t care if she walked into that house stark naked, high as a kite, and started dancing on a pole. That doesn’t mean she’s suddenly the house fuck toy.)

Helpful reminders here: 
1. This is what consent means.
2. If given the choice, would the victim market herself as “free pussy” to the fraternity?
3. 57 dudes saw that message.
4. All those dudes took one of two paths: They either went to get some, or they ignored it. No one took a third path — that of a normal human who finds rape disgusting — and either protected her on his own or called the cops.
5. One sent her screenshots later. Yay?
6. If a dude passed out in a sorority house, he would not find himself in a similar situation. It would be more like this.

Buffoon’s statement
It’s two years later. Why didn’t she come forward then? She must be lying.
Response
She fucking did. She went to campus police. (And if you read the statement, it’s clear she doesn’t remember everything that happened. 10 drinks in three hours plus ketamine plus pot will do that.) Cornell conducted a whole Title IX investigation (albeit starting three months after the incident). They found SOMETHING, or Chi Phi would not have been banned from campus. Ithaca police, fools that they are, relied on info from Cornell police, who withheld the group chat information. That’s one of the reasons they are reopening the case.

What an ass says
Calm down. At least the case is being reopened.
Response
Yeah, because of the outrage. It’s the Safety Valve Theory. But then everything will go back to the way it was, is and always will be. (Fuck the Patriarchy!)

What the rape defender says
These young men have a promising future. Their lives shouldn’t be destroyed by this! Innocent until proven guilty.
Response
If they are smart enough to have a promising future, they are smart enough not to jeopardize it by raping someone. And what about her future? Sure, innocent until proven guilty, but let’s not kid ourselves that the guilty are ever truly punished either.

Rules for women: 
Don’t go there.
Don’t wear that.
Don’t go alone.
Don’t drink.
Don’t make eye contact.
Don’t be polite.
Don’t be rude.
Don’t accept a ride.
Don’t stay out late.
Don’t go out too early.

Rules for men:
-0-

What if we only taught men one thing: Don’t rape.

Then women wouldn’t choose the bear.

And all the evolved men out there, you have a responsibility too. Hold other men accountable. Change the culture. If you aren’t part of the solution, you are part of the problem.

Don’t be one of the seven.
Don’t be one of the 50.
Don’t even be that one who sent a text LATER.

Be the one who stops it RIGHT THEN.

Better yet: Don’t ever let it start.

You know Auntie Beth talked to her own sons immediately to make sure she had talked to them enough when they were growing up that they would know what to do.

Every woman has been catcalled, groped, harassed, stalked, assaulted, or raped — sometimes all of the above. Ask any woman if you don’t believe Auntie Beth. (Ask Auntie Beth why she knows … )

“Not all men” but always a man. How are we supposed to know which men are safe? Remember: Jane Doe went to the Chi Phi house to see her friend. Who apparently raped her.

Parting thought:
Women’s bodies are their own. Men: You want to get off? Rosy is always free.

Best wishes and warmest regards,
Auntie Beth

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Dear Music Fans,

I’ve been on a roll lately — getting out of the house and saying yes to live music. I have thoughts about performances and venues, because of course I do.

And you’re here, because I guess you want to read them.

Acts: The Breeders with Team Dresch
Venue: Pioneer Courthouse Square
Highlight: “Cannonball” by The Breeders

I’m an OG fan of The Pixies. Kim Deal was the key ingredient for their early success. Black Francis needs her, even though his ego thinks he doesn’t. When she started The Breeders, I knew there was room in my heart for both bands.

But like The Pixies, The Breeders can be hit or miss. For every “Cannonball,” there’s a “Hag.” (For every “Wave of Mutilation,” there’s a “Hey.”)

As for the venue, I was concerned about an outdoor space in downtown Portland at the end of summer. I was worried for nothing. It was the perfect temp and size. There were places to stand and places to sit (on steps, until some jackass spilled his entire beer). The acoustics were top-notch. Ravens flew overhead. The stars were out.

The people watching was spectacular. Young and old turned out. I did not realize this, but The Breeders fan base skews lesbian — a fact Team Dresch, also out and proud, noted repeatedly.

They were great, by the way. Never heard of them, but they are from Washington and have been around a while apparently.

The Breeders put on a fun show and had plenty of energy. Kim sounded fantastic, and we all got out of there at 9:30 p.m. on a school night.

Team Dresch: B+
The Breeders: A-

Acts: Squeeze with Adam Ant and Haircut 100
Venue: Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall
Highlight: “Goodbye Girl” by Squeeze

I know what you are going to say: “You said you’d never see Adam Ant again.”

I know.

But he was sandwiched between a band I had seen before and loved (Squeeze) and one I hadn’t and wanted to (Haircut 100).

I figured I could go get a drink if it was that bad.

It wasn’t so bad that I had to escape to the lobby, but it wasn’t great. Adam was more ambulatory than the last time, but his voice was … um … not where one might want it to be for paying customers. And he’s still wearing the same stupid outfit he’s been wearing for seven years — down to Aunt Maude’s best Sunday church hat.

Please stop.

On the other end of the spectrum, Haircut 100 had plenty of energy and put on a great show. Squeeze did too. Difford and Tilbrook have still got it. They sounded the same, and played all the hits.

They also played “Trixies,” a concept album they wrote in 1974 when concept albums were de rigueur.

They played this album right in the middle of their set.

You know how a mattress sags in the middle in a cheap motel?

Yeah.

Everyone just sat down — which is frankly what I thought the middle-aged audience would be doing the whole time anyway. I mean, Arlene is a bougie old gal. We all had plush assigned seats.

After the shock wore off, boredom set in. I might have taken a nap. My concert-mate Jason got antsy and warm (Arlene had a hot flash) and roamed off.

Finally, they pulled up the Trixies sign and kicked back off with “Hourglass.” Everyone got back up and started dancing again as if the last 40 minutes had never happened.

Jason and I never want to hear about loose women at Trixies again.

Haircut 100: B+
Adam Ant: D
Squeeze: A- (without Trixies); C (with Trixies factored in)

Acts: Rob Zombie with Orgy, The Hu and Marilyn Manson
Venue: Cascades Amphitheater
Highlight: “This is Mongol” by The Hu

Sometimes you have to say “Yes” to adventures. Jason and I were last-minute tagalongs on Gerard and Jesse’s date to see this lineup. Marilyn Manson is a trash person, but I was interested in the rest.

As it turns out, the singer for Orgy might be trash too — so much so that sources say they got kicked off the tour before the prior show.

Lawn seats at the amphitheater were reasonable, but we nearly needed to take out personal loans for the rest. Want a beer? That’s $25. A Rob Zombie tank top? $50. A burger, fries and soft drink? Also $50.

I would have paid more to see The Hu, though. They are REMARKABLE. I don’t even have the words to describe their sound or energy. They use a horse head electric fiddle played upright, for God’s sake!

Next was Manson. The music is good, not gonna lie. I hate that I like it. But I wasn’t there for him … and his dead swan.

In addition to pissing off birds everywhere, he angered the crowd by screaming “Portland” after every song. The amphitheater is in Ridgefield, Washington.

I also wasn’t there for his nightmare-inducing bassist.

Liza Minnelli Manson and whatever that is

I killed time by discussing the Clancy case via text with Dominic and also convincing him to start listening to The Hu immediately.

Rob was next, but there was a significant set change. There also was a significant temperature drop. Though I had been mocked by someone I will not name for bringing a jacket, I was glad to have it.

Rob started off strong with “F.T.W. 84” and “Tarantula.” The set was indeed elaborate. He was very funny, but said something alarming: Rob said there were 17,000 people in attendance.

Um.

That meant 17,000 people leaving at the same time if we all stayed to the end.

Spoiler: We did not hear “Dragula” live.

We skedaddled during “Feel So Numb.” To be honest, he sounded out of breath. He is 61 after all.

At least we weren’t from running to the car to beat the rush. And we made it back to actual Portland in no time.

Orgy: 0
The Hu: A+
Marilyn Manson: B (for sound); F (for the person delivering it)
Rob Zombie: B (partial credit)

What’s next? What’s left of the Sex Pistols in Denver. I’m sure I’ll have opinions (because of course I do.)

Love and kisses,
Beth

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Dear Former Colleague/Friend:

I say this with all the compassion I can muster:

You need help. Immediately.

I can understand being bitter about a past job experience. My last job wasn’t what I expected, so I got a new one.

I can understand not getting along with or respecting a boss. There’s one former boss I wouldn’t pee on if she were on fire. (Ok, that’s crude, and maybe I would.)

I can understand wishing you could force change to make the place better. It’s depressing to me to think about how great my last place could have been if only they had done some things differently.

What I cannot understand is basically trying to burn the whole place down with people you claim to like and care about inside it.

You know how many publicly pissy posts I have written about a former workplace, colleague or boss? One. And you can’t even tell which workplace or person.

Your vendetta against your former boss has to stop. You need to seek therapy.

It’s not healthy to write post after post about him and your experience.

Or contact our accreditors.

Or our board of trustees.

It’s not healthy for you, and it is actively harming us, the people who still work there. We have to do extra work because of you. You also are hurting our reputation, and that isn’t cool, Friend.

I think you think you are some kind of crusader — speaking for all employees who are all, in your mind, victims. You have a savior complex.

I will not minimize or negate your experience, but yours is not universal. I do not have the same view of my colleague that you do. People on my team have not had the same experience you have. People on HIS team disagree with your characterization.

I’m not going to address your wild email to the board that you have copied and pasted in its entirety where you detail every negative interaction you had with your boss.

You say that you knew that what you had written was “unhinged.”

Accurate.

(And then you complain you didn’t get a response. Would YOU respond to you?)

I’m going to address the other parts of your post that left me stupefied.

You said that executives (including me), “work exactly 8-5” then spend our evenings “drinking expensive wine with expensive people for ‘networking.’”

So when I’m at my desk at 7:30 p.m. trying to catch up on emails I didn’t get to during the day because of all the meetings, I’m actually NOT AT MY DESK but out drinking and networking and have been since 5? When I was at a first-generation student dinner until 8:30 p.m. last night, I should have demanded wine and told them they were fancy? That working all day last Saturday and every night last week was a figment of my imagination? And I guess taking my laptop to work on a big proposal while I was supposed to be on vacation didn’t actually happen. What the FUCK? As my former friend, you have personally witnessed some of the above. What’s wrong with you?

You characterize our board members as being people who “see the literal bottom line from a distance” — people “not in touch with the reality of the working-class … living with the decisions of out-of-touch boards.”

Um. Most of our board members are alumni who work full-time jobs. They also donate their time on several projects throughout the year, working closely with faculty and staff. They donate money to scholarships, faculty awards, staff awards, etc. They aren’t trust-fund babies jetting around with Daddy to China.

You assert that the board and the leadership team — of which I’m a part — operate from a playbook “comprised of ego, power, money and status.”

You have about two years of experience in higher education, and suddenly you are the expert? And this is genuinely what you think of me too?

Fuck. OFF.

I think this David vs. Goliath/The Poors vs. Richie Rich/Sad Little Underdog story sounded good to you, and you just went ham.

Too bad it’s not true.

“It was not the type of thing I ever advise anyone to send.”

Girl. Take your own damn advice.

And again, with the compassion I have left, I implore you to get help to MOVE ON.

Get a GD hobby, honey.

And though I have a modicum of compassion, I have no respect for you. Not now. Please don’t ever ask me for a reference.

Sincerely,
Beth

P.S. I did sleep on it before posting. Only changed a couple of words. Have no regrets. You still feeling good about yours? I hope your former boss sues you for defamation.

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Welcome, everyone, to the award ceremony for the first National Championships for the Mental Gymnastics!

(pause for applause)

The competition is complete, and we have our winners. Here are the following champions:

POMMEL HORSE: All the people killed, beaten, sprayed, pushed, detained, abused, etc., by the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement “officers” who have taken over Minneapolis, Minnesota. ICE has pommeled them repeatedly.* Congrats to these folks, mostly U.S. citizens! (So much winning! Are we great yet?)

STILL RINGS: Texas and Florida (tie). It takes immense strength and control to somehow avoid an ICE invasion when there are nearly 2 million and 1.2 million (respectively) undocumented residents, compared to Minnesota’s 130,000. How did they manage to come out on top? Their coach, Pam Bondi.

VAULT: ICE (and the DHS overlord Kristi Noem). They manage to vault right over the First, Second and Fourth amendments to the U.S. Constitution every day!

PARALLEL BARS: Kamala Harris. In a parallel universe — one without Elon Musk — she won the election and none of this is happening. Fun fact: Before the election, the right, with help from FOX News, said the Democrats would strip away the Second Amendment, jail us for what we say, drag us into more foreign wars, and cover up a sex trafficking ring, among other atrocities. Huh. Lookee here.

HORIZONTAL (HIGH) BAR: Joe Biden. He was crucified and had to drop out of the 2024 presidential race because he had a bad performance at a debate. Meanwhile, Trump sends the following letter to the Norwegian prime minister, and it’s just another Monday. Ho hum. Seems fine. Totally sane.

FLOOR EXERCISES: These were canceled as senators and representatives controlling Congress cannot be bothered to do the jobs outlined in the Constitution.

UNEVEN BARS: MAGA.

(Left) Kyle Rittenhouse meets with Donald Trump at Mar-a-Lago after acquittal. (Right) Alex Pretti documents ICE activity in Minneapolis Jan. 24 moments before he was killed, with the Trump administration claiming he was brandishing a gun.

BALANCE BEAM: No winners. Only losers. There is no balance, only hyperbole. For example, the rhetoric around immigration that led to the ICE buildup.

JD Vance claims there are 30 million undocumented immigrants in America. The number is closer to half. And they have been painted as rapists and murderers. According to extrapolated numbers out of Texas (the only place that really tracks), the number is 1.9 homicides per 100,000. There are more than 22,000 ICE agents. ICE killed 32 people in 2025. That’s about 1 per 688. I’d rather live next door to an illegal immigrant than an ICE agent.

Here are some facts:

Wake up, everyone! We are at the end of this glorious celebration of the Mental Gymnastics!

We will have a reception eventually in the new “luxurious” $400 million presidential ballroom — which is completely a necessity as we have managed to solve the all the American problems of affordable healthcare and housing, wage stagnation, inflation (2.7 percent), national debt ($38 trillion), national budget deficit ($1.78 trillion), etc.

CONGRATULATIONS!

*Side note: I can’t believe I have to say this but law enforcement officials are not allowed to execute “guilty” people either. We have a whole judicial system to determine guilt and punishment. Good and Pretti should be alive. For those of you saying, “FAFO,” I have a question and a comment. The question: Why are you defending these thugs? (Is it because if you admit they are wrong, you also are wrong for voting for this? Because you knew exactly what was going to happen. Or is it because you too were a high-school bully, and you love the violence?) The comment: Fuck all the way off with your inhumane self.

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Dear Pat,

As much as I admire your gumption to keep working long past retirement age, I think it’s time for you to consider calling it quits.

Monday was rough, but I thought our tax-prep nightmare was over.

I was wrong.

Yesterday, you sent this:

Eddie drew the short straw and went to get the new forms to mail.

As it turns out, your words were misleading: We still owe lots, but we now owe less thanks to your fix. Great! Thanks!

But why would you tell him that we should now call the IRS to find out exactly how much we owe? Come on, Pat. Isn’t that your job?

So I’m going to subtract the “refund” from the old amount and send a check for the result.

Pat, this experience has, quite frankly, sucked.

And we had to pay for the sucktitude. At least it wasn’t more:

No charge for your mistake? How generous.

You could have at least tried to make it up to us with another free pen.

Pat, I’m afraid it’s time for you to hang up your spurs. Go enjoy fruity drinks by a pool somewhere. Aren’t there great grandkids somewhere who need you?

Please, think of the children. And my sanity.

All my best,
Beth

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Dear IRS/U.S. Government:

We truly are long overdue for tax reform — if for no other reason than the fact that I wouldn’t even wish my H&R Block experience on my worst enemy. Not even on Mitch McConnell, and you know how I feel about him.

Usually, TurboTax and I hang out together for a few hours. I emerge grumpy but satisfied. And I always complete the process weeks in advance of the April 15 deadline.

This year I felt there were too many variables — selling a house, moving retirement funds, freelance work — for me to feel comfortable on my own.

Friends have used H&R Block, so I decided to take a chance. Let me just say this: With friends like that, who needs enemies?

This experience was beyond awful.

I’ve mentioned before that I am Tracy Flick. I had all my receipts categorized and added up. All my documents orderly. Everything laid out in sections in a folder.

I made an appointment two weeks ago to drop off my stuff.

I was assigned to Pat, someone’s great grandmother. She went through each piece of paper with me at 1/4 the speed of a regular person.

Then she told me she’d call me if she needed more information. Over the next week, she called and sent cryptic emails every day.

Today — FILING DAY — she told Eddie and me to come in at 7 to sign. That’s right in the middle of Gideon’s baseball game. But we went.

We sat in her cubicle and watched her work for TWO HOURS.

We watched her call in backup. Repeatedly.

Eddie was dismayed.

I was dismayed.

And then I took a catnap.

We asked her if we could leave to get Gideon at his game.

She dismissed us with a wave of her grizzled claw.

We returned at 10. On a school night. Y’all, I go to sleep at 10.

The door was locked. No one appeared to be inside.

But then from the back, a person emerged and let us in.

I regret to report that Pat still wasn’t done. She had to call in managerial backup. Again.

It’s now 10:40. We just left. We were the last people there. We are much poorer and completely exhausted, but compliant with your rules.

And Pat gave us a pen as a parting gift. For real.

Please, for the love of all that is holy, fix the system so it is easier for everyone.

I never want to go to here again.

Kthxbye,
Beth

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