franklyrebekah

Let’s be honest here, guys. It has been a really crappy month for those of us who give a shit about women’s rights. First, there was the huge leak of celebrity photos. Then there was the release of the Ray Rice video by TMZ. And then there was the Oscar Pistorius verdict. It’s been, disheartening, to say the least. And I, of course, have a few things to say about it. But before I do, I want to share something that one of my friends from high school wrote on Facebook the other day because, really, it’s almost as if she pulled this right out of my brain, made it better, more relatable, less ranty, and certainly significantly more hopeful. And all this from across the pond. From Rebecca Holmes, who works for an amazing UK-based women’s advocacy organization:

Today I was distracted at work. Today I watched and waited and watched again as a live feed of the Oscar Pistorius verdict streamed on my screen. Now, after he was found not guilty of both pre-meditated murder and murder…I feel shocked. Disappointed. Disheartened. Angry. There really aren’t words. All I am left with today are questions.

Would the verdict have been different if he wasn’t a high profile athlete, an Olympian, a symbol of overcoming obstacles? Would it have been different if Reeva seemed less capable, less desirable? Will the legal system ever catch up with what we know to be true? Will the media still care about this next week?

Those of us who work in the sector devote our lives to this issue. We campaign, and we educate, and we try to get the world talking…we talk about it with our partners over dinner and with shopkeepers at the local market. Then something like this happens. It feels as though sometimes, the law is dragging its feet, trying to cling on to the horrific days of yore, the days when if a man shot his wife three times, it wasn’t murder but ‘negligence’ and ‘excessive force’.

I am grasping at straws today, trying to find a positive in this outcome. And I hope, I think, I have found one. People are outraged. And outraged people talk…they talk about Oscar Pistorius, about Ray Rice, about the 1.2 million women who were victims of domestic abuse in the UK last year. The media is covering the story, people are posting on Facebook, and I am sitting at my desk hoping that they take the next step. Will they research the terrifying prevalence of domestic violence (1 in 4 women) or the statistics around murder (38% of all women who were murdered were murdered by their partner/ex-partner)? Will they take time out of their busy lives to explore the incredible gender inequality that underlies the Pistorius case? Will they make the connection that gender inequality lives in our homes, our businesses, and our schools? Or will they go back to calling out the feminists, the angry women who make a big issue out of childrens’ toys and books? Will they turn around and say ‘boys will be boys’.

I am desperately hoping that these outraged people will take the time to learn about the issue and support organisations that challenge these inequalities. I am hoping that more people will hear what we are saying and realise that ‘why doesn’t she just leave’ is a useless and victim blaming question. I am hoping that this story helps to ignite a spark that finally turns into a blaze. It is easy to be angry at a verdict…to bang our fists on our desks…shake our heads and tut. It seems to me, that the best way to respond to the Pistorius verdict, isn’t just in the courts. It is in the schools. It is in the streets. In our families. Change the story. Change the message we send. Call out gender inequality and by all means, stay outraged.

I really hope that people do stay outraged and that it isn’t just the usual suspects. I mean, I for one am outraged as fuck. It has actually been one of those situations, especially with the Ray Rice case because I worked all day Tuesday at a sports bar with about a million televisions all tuned in to everything Rice, where right when I think I can’t possibly get more angry, I do. It’s as if my anger about this knows absolutely no bounds. I actually wish I had live-blogged the thoughts that went through my head over the past week or so. It was truly something to behold. Here, though, are some of the things. Stick with me here.

When the initial video was released that showed only the view from the outside of the elevator, what we saw was horrific. A woman, clearly unconscious, being dragged like a rag doll by a man who easily could have lifted her up. And the NFL suspended him for two games, saying that Ray Rice was a “heck of a guy” and that they could not determine what had happened inside the elevator from the video they were giving. I am calling bullshit. First of all, a good man does not beat his wife. Not only that, but I would bet all the money I have, which admittedly is not much, that this was not the first time this happened. It was the first time it was caught on tape. Violence escalates. The first punch isn’t usually a knock out. Second of all, what the fuck did the NFL think happened inside that elevator? Two people walk into an elevator of their own power, and then only a few moments later one drags the other one, completely callously, out of that same elevator and leaves her lying unconscious on the floor of an Atlantic City casino hotel. I don’t think we need to be geniuses to figure out what the fuck happened inside that elevator. I don’t think we needed to wait the months to see that absolutely horrific and nauseating attack. I don’t think we ever needed to see that. I don’t think that Janay Rice needed to endure the knowledge that one of the lowest moments of her life was captured on video and that millions of people were watching it, talking about it and judging her relationship.

So this is the thing. The other day I received a message accusing me of writing “whiny Feminazi hairy armpit gibberish.” At the time I was like, whatever, fuck you, man. But the reality is that a lot of people think what I say and think and write about is a load of crap. The reality is that it simply is not. The reality is that women are considered public property and we are undervalued. You think what Ray Rice does away from football doesn’t matter? Fuck you. Being an athlete does not preclude you from also being a descent fucking human being. And do you know what descent human beings do not do? They do not knock their fiancees out in elevators, or anywhere else.

I don’t know how to say this next thing other than to say that reassessing the way we think about things matters. Because changes start at the micro level. There will not be a change in the law until their is a change in the way we understand, and think about, intimate partner violence. And yes, this includes violence not only against women but against men as well. And there won’t be a change in the way we talk about intimate partner violence unless we start rethinking our ideas about victimhood, and the stigmas attached to that label. And while we’re at it, let’s think about the way we talk about people, value them. I understand that Ray Rice and Oscar Pistorius are fantastic athletes. The also were lucky enough to be born with penises, and therefore given extra chances. But they are also shitty human beings. You know who else is a fantastic athlete? McKayla Maroney. But you’d better believe that the majority of comments surrounding the release of naked photos of her said that maybe if she didn’t want those photos released, she shouldn’t have taken them. People are saying her career is now over. All because someone hacked into her private accounts and released, without consent, photographs of her. As many people have said, that is a sex crime. So here we have Ray Rice, who acted violently upon someone else, and McKayla Maroney who was acted violently upon. And yet some of his fans think he deserves a second chance while many of her former fans are calling her career finished and saying they are glad that her life has been destroyed.

Oh, and by the way, there is a petition circulating to try and get the Obama Administration to charge McKayla Maroney with production or possession of child pornography because the nude photos of her that were stolen and then leaked were taken, by herself mind you, when she was underage.

Whiny Feminazi hairy armpit gibberish my ass.

As I mentioned in this post, I am going to be leaving for India sometime in the extremely near future.  Like, as early as Monday.  Right now it is Friday and do you know what I have to do?  All of the things.

So as it turns out, working in the food service profession for years and years leaves you with a lot of really awesome tank tops, brightly colored shorts and, of course, a pair of Chucks or two but leaves you with absolutely no “professional clothing.”  Do you know what I need, as it turns out?  Professional clothing.  But here’s the rub.  India at this time of year is very hot.  Does this mean that I can wear professional clothing that is weather appropriate?  Nope.  Still have to make sure to get pants.  And jackets.  I am going to sweat so much and all my clothes are going to smell terrible.  I am going to go into a business meeting and they are going to sit me on the far side of the room away from everyone because the smell of my jackets will be so ripe that people will not be able to concentrate.  Or at least, that’s how I imagine it happening.  Me and my power point presentation on one side of a long wooden table, all the other people on the other side with clothespins clipping their noses shut so no noxious gas (AKA my stench) can enter.  I bet by the end of the first week my suit will be able to stand up on its own.

Maybe I am exaggerating but prepare for the worst, you know?  Then when I only sort of smell and hopefully I can cover it up with some tasteful perfume it’ll be like a win for me.  And everyone around me, honestly.

So today my friend Meredith is taking me shopping for Adult Clothing.  Not the XXX-rated kind, if that’s what you’re thinking.  Just like, the sort of things you can wear to an office that has more conservative tendencies.  So, yea, basically as far from XXX-rated as one can possibly get.  I am hoping to buy approximately 4 outfits.  Or maybe, like a bunch of mix and match clothing so that I don’t always have to wear the same thing.  And then I am also going to bring this really awesome dress that I have that almost goes down to the floor and I will wear it with a tasteful jacket.  Tasteful, that’s the name of the game.  Tasteful, understated, and neat looking.  It’s a good thing I am going to have Meredith with me* because otherwise I will go shopping for neat and tastefully colored clothing in various greys, beiges, whites and blacks and up with like neon purple striped tank tops and some shorts.  My entire current wardrobe is in various shades of blindingly bright stripes with some blindingly bright solids thrown in for good measure.  I basically always clash.  It’s part of my thing.  I have cultivated a wardrobe that clashes and blinds people constantly and I love it.  LOVE it.  It won’t kill me to take a few weeks off of bright, right?  Right?!

Anyway, so I have to do that.  Also, I have to make some flashcards to learn some things.  I have become good at flashcards because last week (the week before?! It all bleeds together!) I made flashcards to learn the entire menu of a crab restaurant I was planning on bartending at.  I made 84 flashcards and learned them all, trained one day and didn’t end up taking the job.  Partially because I found out this guy drinks there and partially because it simply was not a good fit for me.  (Do you like how I have been linking to that one post in almost every single one of my recent posts?  Have you noticed?!  I’m pushing buttons!)  Anyway, I made a lot of flashcards and then I learned them all.  I plan on doing that again.  Tonight.  Which is Friday.  Tonight, Friday night, I will sit in my house with a pen and flashcards and write and write and write and then I will watch Nashville and then I will go to bed.  And then tomorrow I will get up, lad my super awesome and fun running group on a 6.7 mile run (their longest yet!), go home, shower, learn flashcards, go to a going away picnic for my friend Monica and her family because they are moving (insert sad face here), hang out with my friend Lee during the picnic and maybe for a bit after, and then I will go home and learn flashcards.  And read about drought. Uplifting!

Hopefully it will all go well and then I will be in India and I will know all the things and I will look smart and organized and not blindingly bright.  And I won’t stink.

Do they have laundry and dry-cleaning services in fancy hotels?  Does anyone know?  Also, does anyone have a small checkable rolly bag that they don’t mind lending out for a month to someone who is going to India? I promise I will return it.  I’ll even bring you back something nice.  Like some bangles!  If you’re a girl.  Or if you are a guy who likes to wear bangles!  Bangles are so great.  Everyone should wear them.

Okay.  That puts an end to the most boring post ever.  I promise there will be funny things here at some point soon once the Things that Actually Happen quotient starts rising and the Things I Have to do to Prepare for the Things that Actually Happen quotient declines.  Stay tuned.

*Meredith has a very good style sense and although she does wear bright clothing sometimes, she does not ALWAYS wear bright clothing and she will do a superb job of keeping me away from all of the orange stripes that I am sure will be on offer this time of year.

So the other day my good friend Glen posted a link online from a blog written by an actually successful writer.  It’s called “How I knew I’d Made It” and is worth the read.  But if you’re lazy or busy or have all your available tabs open on your phone and can’t possibly dream about closing one of them, I will summarize it for you.  This guy, John Scalzi, who has written books and had them published and everything, said that the moment he knew he had made it was when he went to a gas station, filled up his tank, and drove away, for the first time in his life, without looking to see how much he had spent on gas.  He had grown up poor and, as a result, had always known exactly how much he spent on every item because dealing with each day’s available money was sort of like a balancing act.  He had to be sure that buying something now didn’t mean he couldn’t purchase something he needed later that day, week or month.  Gas was a biggie.  He had to figure out exactly how far he needed to go and estimate how much gas it would take to get there and, perhaps, back, and would ask the station attendant for things like $3.14 worth of gas.  That day, driving away and not having accounted for every penny, was the day when he had finally allowed it to get through his head that he could afford things.  That’s when he knew he had made it.

I have often joked that I would know I made it when I got a comment on this blog with a random, personal attack in it about my character or my appearance or something.  I imagined it would come on one of my more political posts and would be something along the lines of “shut up you fat bitch no one would ever fuck you,” or something like that.  I figured it would come from some weird dude in like, North Dakota or something, who spends too much time playing video games and maybe has a bad skin condition.  I actually even had a long conversation with my brother, Aaron, about it.  He had called to ask me my opinion on something and the conversation kind of wound its way everywhere, finally landing on the article I was working on for this online magazine I occasionally contribute to.  It was an article about consent.  We talked about it for awhile and then he said to me something along the lines of,

“Well, I think that is a really interesting approach to the issue but I have to tell you, one of these days you are probably going to end up getting linked to some MRA webpage or subreddit or something and there is going to be a whole shit storm.  You should probably have a contingency plan.”

So we talked about it.  It’s actually something I have thought about before.  The more people read your blog, and admittedly I don’t have all that many readers, the more likely it is that someone who reads it will feel the need to send a nasty comment.  It’s the law of numbers, or something.  Anyway, we decided that the best approach would be to engage with the commenter if it seemed necessary, but not on the site of the repost, if my blog was indeed reposted, but on my own page where I have control.  See, where I do believe in a democratic form of government, I do NOT believe in a democratic form of blog and therefore I have it set so I have to approve every comment before it appears on my page.  I figured I could read through the comments I received and then make a clever take down of the person, if it seemed worthwhile, and then continue to moderate the comments.  He thought that was  good idea.

Well, it happened.  I got my first mean comment this morning which was sent, I imagine drunkenly, at 2:30am and from a person I know.  Here it is, from someone who called herself “Your Superior:”

“A pathetic article by a pathetic neurotic child. Pretty easy to discount the ramblings of a 30-something year old woman who, by her own admission, makes less than $2 an hour. See “Life–How to fail at it” for an accurate description of Rebekah Frank. As for the guys she’s referencing, they’re both highly accomplished fun charming attorneys worth a thousand of this pathetic “bartender”. LOL at “my bar”, you sad employee. You’re a failure. Live with it. You and your … boyfriend are a match made in heaven. Two losers commenting on those who actually have lives. Hahaha. Enjoy living on the crumbs successful people deem to bestow on you.”

I left out some of the choice words this person decided to use about my boyfriend because, as he said first thing this morning when I showed him the comment, “wow, that sucks but you put yourself out there.”  That’s true, I did, but he didn’t.  And I honestly don’t know what he has to do with any of this.

Alright so I went back and reread the post this commenter is referring to and, honestly, I was a little meaner than I needed to be.  Especially about one of the guys, the guy who really wasn’t involved in any of it.  It was the result of about 5 years of being subjected to the rudeness of his friend that came out and really, I should have been more responsible about it.  To that person, I do apologize and I will edit the post accordingly.

As far as the rest of it?  Well, this commenter is welcome to his own opinion.  (Yes, I do know who the commenter is and no, I won’t tell.)  But here’s the thing.  The other day, my friend and coworker Liz said to me, “your blog is all about not being a jerk,” and you know what?  When you boil it all down it really is.  It’s about going through life and holding your own and trying to treat other people with respect.  My blog is just a smattering of stories — some of them my own and some of them stories that land in the political sphere — where someone doesn’t treat someone else well and then I write about it.  I never use names, unless that name is already in the public realm, like that of a politician or someone involved in a well-publicized sexual abuse scandal.  A lot of the reason I write the blog, and most of the reason that I write the bartender posts (aside from wanting to entertain people) is because I am a human being and oftentimes those on the other side of the bar forget about that.  I do not want to tend bar forever, although I don’t think there is anything wrong with that.  I know plenty of people who have made a career out of it and I have the utmost respect for them — it is not an easy road to toe.  I just know that it wouldn’t make me happy.  I worked this job while I attended, and graduated from, a master’s program and now I am still working it while I pay off my massive loans and plan the next move.  I have met some incredible people, on both sides of the bar, and I do not regret one second of it.  What I do regret, however, is that my idea of success — one tied up in being happy and making those around me happy — is one that is not recognized or valued by a lot of people.  It is something I have struggled with my entire life.  So, commenter, you think you are my “superior?”  That’s cool.  You think I’m a failure?  Okay, that’s fine too.  And “the crumbs successful people deem to bestow on me” educated me, pay my rent, and are sending me to Peru in a few weeks so, thanks to all of you.

Listen, I’m not perfect.  I have done things that are not kind.  And I am sure that if I went online and read something mean about my friends I would be angry about it also.  But of course, my friends would also not treat people the way this person treated me, my coworkers, and countless other service professionals.  They wouldn’t be my friends any more and I wouldn’t waste my time defending them at 2:30am.

…as predicted, the big, ugly, scaly, lizard-like dry spot above my right eye was simply dry skin and with the regular application of lotion it has more or less cleared up.  I have not turned into a lizard.  I have not been eaten by my cats.  I am still the same girl of medium-stature but now I am a girl of medium-stature with a disappearing dry spot instead of a girl of medium stature who is nervous about turning into a lizard person.  So I feel pretty good about that.

I think actually that is all I have to report right now.  Stay tuned because my life is incredibly interesting and unpredictable.

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