Nice and Sleazy Does It

I have lots to say.

First of all today is Pink Shirt Day, which is an anti-bullying awareness campaign, click here for more information, and a topic of which I can relate from my own and my classmates’ experience.  In my high school, there was a boy, who kind of looked like Bender from The Breakfast Club only he was freakishly short.  He always wore that ubiquitous white trash red plaid lumberjacket,  otherwise known as the Kenora dinner jacket, and Kodiak boots with the tongues hanging out and the pants half tucked.  He would hold court over the other teenage boys, who tried to emulate his exquisite style but ended up looking awkward zit-faced henchmen.  Somehow he owned his stumpy diminutive frame and it made him seem even more menacing, like he could crawl through your legs and breath fire up your privates.   This boy, let’s call him Ron Trottier (not his real name…..JOKES!  Yes, totes his real name!  Come and get me now, tiny man!) had a sinister Grinchian smile and he would stare you down with his bloodshot eyes and then call you by your nom du jour.  They were bad names for some kids which I never want to hear again.  And like every other bully, he also got violent and did some creepy night stalking.  For me though, I just got the verbal business.  My first name was “Bean.”  I don’t get either but maybe it was for “string bean,”  I was 5’9 and he might have been 4’11.  No biggie there.  The second one of my names was “SLUT!”  Said super loudly in the hallway.  Incessantly.  Daily.  For four years.  Who calls a virgin a slut?  A pig, that’s who.

And speaking of pigs and sluts, let’s segue into that event a couple of weeks ago in Toronto called “The Slut Walk.”  It was a protest that was inspired by a police officer who intructed the female students from York University not to dress like “sluts” so that they don’t tempt the rapists.  A shit storm ensued, of course.  A lady has the right to dress like a ho, said the righteous female spirit.  By the way, I have to change the word “slut” to “ho” from here on in because my Pavlovian reaction to that word is to wince, and I cannot afford crows’ feet.   And I agree with those bitches, take back the word, take back the night.  While I didn’t bother going to Queens Park on that day to strut, it was only because I hadn’t anything to wear!  Which is the dilemma of the LOCA (lady of a certain age), what is appropriate and what is not?  I have a tendancy to think “less is more” but what does that mean?  I think over a certain age, the less part means skin and more cover.  Damn.  My ho days are over.  Here is a video of the protest that day.  Check out around the 1:00 minute mark:  I HAVE THE SAME SKIRT!  Only mine fits longer so I guess I’m okay.

And by the way, kids:  It does get better, just be strong.  Karma has a way of kicking a bully’s ass.  I notice they took the premium cable package away from the federal prisons.  Sleep tight, Ronnie!

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2 responses »

  1. Today, I went to the beachfront with my children. I found a sea shell and
    gave it to my 4 year old daughter and said “You can hear the ocean if you put this to your ear.” She put the shell to her ear and screamed.

    There was a hermit crab inside and it pinched
    her ear. She never wants to go back! LoL I know this is
    entirely off topic but I had to tell someone!

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