Aunty Christ went on her first call

It’s a true statement, that headline there. (They seldom are.) Aunty did indeed get a call last night, very late—possibly more descriptively termed very early this morning—from dispatch, telling me to get on up to the hospital where there was, waiting for me, one bona fide rape victim. I can’t tell you about the experience, sadly. Sadly! I mean, who doesn’t want to hear a story about a rape victim? To go in the entirely opposite direction, I do know who does want to hear a story about a rape victim, and that is: All you fucking assholes who find this blog by googling “Aunty rape fukking boys” and “aunty rape piss stories”.

To all of you who did find this blog in such a manner? Shame. Shame on you. Go eat a bag of dicks and die, you vile, disgusting meatsack.

(To the two or three of my readers who didn’t come here looking for aunty rape porn: Not you. I’m sorry you had to hear that.)

Now, you ask, what the fuck were you doing, Aunty? Ah, good question. I have signed myself up to be a volunteer advocate for the D.A.’s office. Whenever a person is raped, and goes to the hospital, and has made the very tough decision to press charges against his or her attacker, a volunteer—maybe me—is called to meet that person at the hospital, provide information about what’s going to happen, and so forth.

Anyway, I wish I could write something about the experience that wouldn’t be depressing as hell, but I can’t. And I wish I could write something about the experience that would help me process it, but I can’t. At least not here—for reasons of confidentiality. And, realistically, probably not at all. It’s just not possible. How does one process something like that? Something that shows people to be subhuman—forcefully taking from those who have the very least (the homeless, the mentally disabled, the poor, the very old, the very young), or shrugging their shoulders and refusing to offer help where they might. I feel like both these inclinations suggest very scary things about humanity, and yet they’re hardly new.

But mostly I just wanted to get that off my chest. The thing about eating that bag of dicks. Please do it, rape googlers. I mean it.

I hope you feel bad now about being a disgusting rape googler. You've made me, and this puppy, very sad.

Aunty Christ does a meme

On a Sunday morning, I usually like to warm up the old brain cells with a crossword. Today, however, I have been given the opportunity by Mssr. Georges Skookumchuck to talk about myself. And although Aunty Christ is usually both reticent and modest, she can be prodded into sharing under the right circumstances.

And the circumstances are right, right now. Picture, if you will, Aunty sitting down with her laptop next to a soft thug dog who is worn out from swimming and eating pork ribs. In the distance (hark!) there is the soft thrum of work and homework that needs to be done, and closer in, if you listen very carefully, a tiny voice saying, “Procrastinate for as long as you can, Aunty.”

Georges’ list of 25 Relevant Questions:

1. Greatest peak experience/s? (That is to say a positive or ecstatic experience/s that fundamentally influenced your life.)

I can’t think of one wonderful experience that totally eclipses everything else. Instead, there are several. Literally climbing peaks in Colorado. Ditching everything in Chicago and moving to Colorado. Ditching everything in Colorado and moving out to Saskatoon.

The act of ditching and moving really is quite ecstatic, if you’ve never tried it. It frees up your damn brain, for a moment or two at least.

2. Nadir experience/s? (That is, a negative experience/s that fundamentally influenced your life.)

In junior high, the group of three girls that I had been friends with previously turned on me viciously, and, I think, without reason, although it’s quite possible that the reason was that I was a big dork. I’d like to be able to say that the experience made me more flexible, more open to new friendships in unexpected places, or less dorky. Unfortunately, the outcome was that I realized that most people suck, and that the less they suck all over me, the better.

3. Had any paranormal experiences?

Never.

4. Biggest irrational fear?

That people think poorly of me. Which of course isn’t irrational in the sense that, “What? How could people ever think poorly of me!” but more in the sense that worrying about what people think of me has never made people think better of me. Except perhaps when it comes to not farting in public.

5. Biggest completely reasonable fear?

Death.

6. Biggest irrational aversion? (This is not the same as your biggest irrational fear.)

I have a hard time forcing myself to eat things that I’ve tried and don’t dislike, but also don’t like enough to overcome being afraid of them for most of my life. Things that fall into this category include eggplant, mushrooms, and avocado.

7. What are your core metaphysical belief/s? (N.B. By metaphysical belief I mean any principle that you think is true and live your life by but cannot be empirically or scientifically proven to others who don't believe it.)

That doing good will result in good things coming into my life. That dogs have feelings. That logic rules.

8. What do you think is the ultimate fate of humanity?

Have you seen Idiocracy? That, except without the happy ending.

9. What do you believe will happen to you after you die?

I hope my body is cremated.

I hope whatever is left does not: (a) live on for eternity, (b) get its own planet, (c) come down to Earth on Xmas Eve to help some poor sap better appreciate his life.

I kind of assume that whatever happens to us after death is a less literal interpretation of reincarnation or afterlife. Elements are recycled into new growth. Energy bounces around the universe. That kind of thing. It sounds pretty dippy to say it, though.

10. Which do you trust more, science or religion?

Science. Hands down.

11. Favorite book (fiction or non-fiction) written between 2500 BCE and 1 BCE?

I like Euripides’ Medea, but really, I like all those Greek plays about women going crazy with grief. Oh, women. Can’t live with them, can’t cheat on them without them running off and killing your kids, eh?

Also, I should mention that I like the idea of Medea, but have only read a really poor, probably very truncated version of it.

12. Favorite book (fiction or non-fiction) written between 1 BCE and 1000 AD?

Oh, Georges, you’re killing me.

Off the top of my head, I will say that I remember enjoying some of the apocryphal texts written about the boy Jesus, wherein he flies around and acts like a little scamp. But I think it had more to do with the shock value, and less to do with the actual writing.

Clearly, I need to read more old shit.

13. Favorite book (fiction or non-fiction) written between 1000 AD and 1800 AD? (There have been enough lists of favorite books that were composed mostly of things written between 1800 and the present so we'll skip that.)

Tristram Shandy sneaks in just before the cutoff, so I’ll say that. It’s one of the first modern novels, and the first, I think, post-modern novel. At the same time. It blows my freaking mind.

Plus, it’s about penises, and has a lot to say about obsessions, which is one of my own obsessions, oddly.

14. What is your philosophical grounding? (If this is the same as your metaphysical beliefs then give your core ethical principles.)

I think this is: Do no harm.

(Sounds pretty dippy to say it, though.)

15. What political opinion do you hold that is most inconsistent with your other political opinions?

My first reaction is that all of my opinions are consistent, since I find hypocrisy to be the worst personal failing a person can have.

I’m almost certainly wrong though. About my own beliefs being consistent, I mean. I’m probably just trying overly hard to justify them.

16. What makes a good person good?

Consistency. Sincerity. Kindness. Intelligence.

Intelligence seems kind of controversial, given the modern predilection to equate dumbness with baby-ness with pure-heartedness. I assume everyone reading this is smart, however, and won’t fall into that lazy-minded trap.

17. Aesthetically speaking which is more important, audience reception or creator satisfaction?

When I am the viewer, the former. When I am the creator, the latter.

Which is to say that everyone who participates in creation may gain something by the experience. But just because I enjoyed creating something hardly means that you, as the viewer, must or can learn something of equal value from it. This blog being a great example of something that gives me great pleasure but seems to have limited value to any audience.

18. Favorite painting/s? (If you can find pictures of them on line please post them on your pictures page. There is a website called artcyclopedia which has a huge amount of jpegs of great paintings.)

Well, there’s “The Sleeping Gypsy” by Henri Rousseau. There’s something about that lion, and the stiff, columnar form of the sleeping person. It’s dreamlike yet grounded.

Check the erect, turgid tail as the male lion attempts to wake the sleeping woman, who wants merely to lie with her woman-shaped lute!

As a kid, I loved this triptych of St. John the Baptist getting his head chopped off that used to hang in the Art Institute of Chicago. I think I liked the stream of blood that arced out of his neck-hole, and the round bone-and-nerve bundle in the center of said hole. I have no idea who created it, but I do know that it no longer lives in the Art Institute.

Less well-known artists I like include Brit ex-pats Robert Bissell and Ben Whitehouse.

Here's a lolling bunny with butterflies, from Bissell. He also paints a lot of bears and bees.

I lived down the hall from Ben in college, and let him jack off on my boobs once or twice. What we do for art, huh?

I do like his landscapes.

Here is one.

19. Favorite living hero/heroine?

There are people I like, and people I don’t like; people I’d be proud to know, and people I find repugnant. But to turn someone into a hero seems facile and thus wrong.

That said, I like Michelle Obama’s shoulders.

Michelle is my shoulder hero.

20. Favorite dead hero/heroine?

Keeping all of the above in mind, I will say Joe Orton. I’m working on a very important* project that uses his Edna Welthorpe letters as a guide and inspiration. And it’s an aim of mine to sex up many young Moroccan lads someday.

(*It’s not.)

21. Most important goal/s in life?

Growing old gracefully. Keeping all my teeth.

22. Details or big picture? (I know both are important. What I want to know is your overall leaning and if you consider that leaning a strength or a weakness.)

Details. I am a Virgo, after all.

It’s a strength, when marketing oneself in the paralegal field. It’s a weakness, when paired with my obsessive nature, and thrown into the mix of a relationship where details may not be as important as other things like affection, devotion, and trust.

23. Depressive or anxious?

Both.

24. Pick a super power, you only get one.

I’ve always thought that having the ability to give anyone in the world a debilitating charlie horse would be truly diabolical. No one would ever suspect.

25. What would your diet look like if there were no physical or nutritional consequences?

Bacon and beer, baby.

I’m basing my answer on the assumption that “no physical consequences” includes feeling generally okay as well as not weighing 650 pounds. If it doesn’t, I’ll throw a little broccoli into the mix too.

No one is tagged. All in Facebook-world or blogger-world are free to answer, however.

Aunty Christ is a Communist sympathizer

For the past four nights I’ve been dreaming about people I knew earlier in my life, who I haven’t seen in years. One night it was my best friend, who now lives in Japan—though even in the dream we were communicating only by phone, planning my (imagined) trip to Tokyo to see her. In another dream, I had run into my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend/wife, who I recognized because she was walking his dog, and found myself holed up in their hotel room, waiting for hours to speak to him, which I wasn’t even sure I wanted to do. When he arrived, he wouldn’t look me in the eye, instead kind of lumbering around the room with his back hunched, while his girlfriend/wife talked about how much they enjoy fishing.

What started this nightly journey into my past, I think—or in any case what happened four days ago—was that I was unkindly reminded that I never did really get a satisfactory ending to that whole nightmare with my lady parts last year. And now, I guess, it’s about time to start revisiting it, and start the whole unpleasant process with the letter about the abnormal cells, and the colposcopy appointment, etc. And, not that I want to get into it now, but just in case anyone from Planned Parenthood comes across this, I should point out that:

1. No one ever wants to come to your clinics, but
2. People have to because they need medical treatment and either
1. don’t know where else to go or
2. can’t afford to see a private practitioner, and
3. I think everyone can agree that the last thing anyone needs heaped upon them in addition to having to do this thing that is essentially
1. embarrassing
2. stressful and
3. painful
4. Is having their appointment canceled on them without anyone mentioning that the appointment has been canceled, or
5. Having a man tell us how “uncomfortable” a colposcopy is, or frankly
6. Having to deal with a nurse who doesn’t know how to use the colposcopy equipment,
   
7. All of which adds to the general unpleasantness of the trip to Planned Parenthood.

To sum up, Planned Parenthood sucks purple monkey ass. How much I appreciate it being available to a person is equaled only by how little I actually ever want to use its services again.

Anyway, the highlight of the trip down there (by which I mean “Planned Parenthood” and not the other “down there,” since the actual appointment was—unbeknownst to me—canceled [see Item D]) was being told by a large man in purple pajamas (see Item E) that I can probably look forward to another colposcopy this year, and another biopsy, and another magical trip through the wonderland that is my cervix. I had hoped to avoid all that by quitting smoking last year. Although, as I told the ladies at the colposcopy last year, I do not smoke through my vagina, as the colposcopy ladies told me, regardless of which orifice you use as your smoke-hole, the cervix likes to sop up toxins and then create a giant cancer on itself. Or whatever. I’m not currently licensed to practice medicine in this state, so I shouldn’t try to explain it.

So, I quit smoking, and now, until my next appointment (rescheduled for next month), I am going to eat nothing but fruit and vegetables* in an effort to turn this little cervix thing around. This is gonna be great, guys. I will have the best-looking cancerous cervix in three states after this.

Even more attractive than this! Think about it!

And I’d better be all right with that as the end goal because frankly, if I do have cancer, or if there’s any expensive medical treatment that needs to happen to prevent what I have from turning into cancer, I’m kind of shit out of luck, you know? With the being unemployed and all? And the no health insurance thingy?

Which is why I’m watching the health-care battle in the Senate with particular interest. And also why I’m pretty upset with how it appears to be turning out. Look, I know that a large segment of the population is firmly against socialism. This is why most people refuse to use the U.S. Postal System or drive on our government-funded system of highways. I know that most Republicans, if they were laid off, would choose not to collect unemployment. I know this. I’ve also heard things about how it’s your money (yours! yours! yours!) and you’re not going to let my lazy, Welfare-queening ass have any of it. That’s fine, really. I just kind of want to say that, from my perspective, it makes me a little sad to think that I’ll die** because some MBA-carrying diaperbag or other decided to save the company I work for a couple dollars, and current (and probably future) public policy neither prevents that kind of thing from happening nor provides a safety net for those affected.

And yes, I know that kind of thing happens all the time, and that makes me even sadder. Though the fact that it’s happening to me makes it especially poignant, I think.

*And bacon. And beer, goddammit.

**Not to be overly dramatic about it.