The Day I Groped My Coworker (Accidentally)

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Monday November 20, 2017 · 9:35 AM PST

2017/11/20 · 09:35

I’ve written here before about my experiences with sexual harassment and assault. Most recently I told my #MeToo story. With the accusations against Senator Franken, I was reminded of the following story.

About 15 years ago I was working in HR for a now defunct large financial institution. I was a team lead and it was my job to provide guidance and to train new team members. We had just hired a new person. He was gorgeous: tall, handsome, a former minor league ball player. He was sitting at my desk while I was showing him how we processed paperwork. I was staring at my computer screen when I reached out with my left hand to grab my pen. It turns out my hand missed the desk and landed in his lap. I didn’t realize what I had done right away and spent several seconds moving my hand around before I realized where it was. I snatched my hand away and apologized profusely. I have no doubt that my face was red and covered with a look of horror. He laughed it off and accepted my apology then teased me often about my inability to keep my hands to myself. After this incident, I was always careful to remain a respectful distance from my trainees.

I tell this story because I have no doubt that he could easily make it sound like I did this on purpose and that I’m an abuser. People aren’t perfect. Sometimes hands land where they aren’t supposed to be, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Whether or not that is the case with Al Franken, I can’t say. But this is my problem with the automatically-believe-everything-you-hear school of thought. If we can’t take the time to be thoughtful and objective, then we aren’t any better than the knee-jerk assholes on the right who believe everything their Fox News, Infowars, Limbaugh, Hannity, rightwing smear machine feeds to them on an hourly basis.

The difference between us isn’t just a matter of who’s right and who’s left. It’s about thinking versus going with the gut, it’s measured versus reactionary, and it’s understanding that there are shades of grey versus the land of black and white. It’s okay to pause to see if the accusations have merit, and we owe it to accusers to take their story seriously, unless evidence suggests otherwise. But if we start eating our own because we’re afraid that Republicans will accuse us of hypocrisy (newsflash, they will no matter what we do), then we are just as guilty of destroying our party for the sake of our image as they are for propping up sex offenders for the sake of their party power.

Women roaring loud and proud

Bradana

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Friday June 10, 2016 · 10:52 AM PDT

2016/06/10 · 10:52

Nancy Pelosi having a little fun at Paul Ryan's expense.

I've been having a real girl power moment for the last couple of days. All of these intelligent, articulate, capable women coming together to smack Donald Trump and the Republican good ol' boys club. I mean who isn't enjoying Elizabeth Warren's epic takedowns, schooling The Donald on just how little respect most American's have for him.

Then he turns around and there's former New Jersey governor Christine Todd Whitman coming at him from the right, reducing him to the size of an insect. Senator Susan Collins had the following to say about him:

Collins told me that Trump’s comment about Curiel was “an order of magnitude more serious” than anything he had previously said, including his “troubling insults towards individuals” and “his poorly-thought-out policy plan about banning Muslims from entering this country.”

We all know that Hillary is going to be relentless in driving home the point that The Donald is ill-suited to be president.

YouTube Video

Is it wrong that I hope he cries? I'd really like that.

In other news, Nancy Pelosi spent Wednesday trolling Paul Ryan. Wonkette has a hilarious take on the whole thing. Head over there if you want a good laugh. There’s a picture above of the press release, but the text of it says:

Washington, D.C. — Speaker Paul Ryan will not be available to answer your questions today about his surrender to Donald Trump. Speaker Ryan has cancelled his regular Wednesday press conference so you don’t ask him about Donald Trump’s racist commentary against a federal judge, and why, ahead of their national security agenda rollout tomorrow, the House GOP wants to hand the nuclear codes to a person who engages in textbook racism.

Lastly, the First Lady is hosting the United State of Women Summit at the White House on June 14. I can't get enough of this video. Check it out then go over to their webpage and check out the brilliant work they are doing.

YouTube Video

If you're like me and you can't get enough Trump trollin', take a gander over at Twitter at #womentrumpdonald. You'll be glad you did.

It's better than nothing...

Bradana

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Monday June 06, 2016 · 5:47 PM PDT

2016/06/06 · 17:47

These are just a few random thoughts that have been floating through my brain for the last few weeks. Take them as you will.

Not everyone agrees with you and that's okay. You may have studied a topic in depth. Reviewed the opinions of specialists in the field. Read everything you could get your hands on. Spent time developing your ideas and honing them to an opinion that you view as the correct one. Someone will still tell you that you are categorically wrong and completely naïve. They may use some much coarser language that hurts your feelings. I am sure that you are sure that you are right, and maybe you are. That does not give you the right to deny other people's right to be heard, including their right to vote. Even Republicans have a right to vote. This is a necessary part of Democracy. It may piss you off, and I know it pisses me off, but without the dissenting opinion how would we know we are right. Or as a smarter person than I said:

If all mankind minus one were of one opinion, mankind would be no more justified in silencing that one person than he, if he had the power, would be justified in silencing mankind. John Stuart Mill

Politicians go where the votes are before they go where the money is. Votes are king in our system. By that I mean that the Powers That Be have yet to find a way to permanently do away with one person, one vote. Politicians need votes to get into office, and as long as they are in office, the voices of voters can be heard. In the 1990's, the Democratic party moved right because that's where the voters were. For years the Democrats had watched as the GOP took over the White House and Congress while staunch liberal candidates lost election after election. In 2008, the Obama coalition was born from changing demographics, the long-time loss of white working class voters, and the inevitable backlash against the first African American president.

No pressure from voters increases the influence of lobbyists and big donors. This is a corollary to the last item. The old saying is the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Politicians listen to the loudest voices. If you're not telling them what you want to happen, they will listen to whoever happens to be around. Now is also the time to revisit #1 and acknowledge that just because you have made your voice heard, it does not follow that your opinion will be the prevailing one. If you still think you're right (and it's okay to change your mind, there is no penalty for that), keep talking, convince others to speak up, too.

Politics is a process. Processes happen because we need some way to go about this. Someone had to come up with the first pass at this process, but like everything, processes can change. They are not perfect, they may not even be good. But in the absence of something better, this is the best we got. Don’t like it? The good news is we have a process for making changes.

Political parties are like any group of people. There are rules. Some are formal, written down, approved by majority rules. Some are informal, tribal, everybody knows but nobody knows where they come from or how they were agreed upon rules. There are expected behaviors. These are not usually recorded or even acknowledged. This does not negate the impact of failure to follow them. If you join a group and then proceed to break the rules and behave contrary to expectation, you are creating a frustrating situation for everyone.

And lastly, I would encourage everyone to take time to breathe. Step away from the bickering and snide comments. Go outside, smell the air, feel your connection to everything around you. Remember that you are part of many families. The ones you were born in, the ones you've chosen, the groups you've joined, the people you work with, the city, county, state, country you live in, the human family. Families fight, they disagree with each other, then they forgive one another.

And then they kick Donald Trump's ass.

Don't boycott North Carolina

Bradana

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Friday May 20, 2016 · 2:04 PM PDT

2016/05/20 · 14:04

North Carolina Air Horn Orchestra outside the NC Governor's mansion

Like many people I was pleased to see the number of companies and performers that decided to boycott North Carolina over HB2. It seemed like the only thing that Republicans bent on enshrining their prejudice into law would pay attention to was economic pressure. In the two months since the bill was signed into law, the Republican governor and legislature have remained stubbornly defiant in their support for the bill that removed legal protections for such vulnerable populations as GLBT citizens, women, and ethnic and religious minorities.

With the announcement that Maroon 5 is the latest in a series of artists, governmental agencies and businesses avoiding NC, my husband and I were having a conversation about this and he brought up a good point. Boycotting North Carolina amounts to abandoning these people to the mercy of their oppressors. Rather than pressuring the powers that be into changing or repealing the law, boycotts have hardened their resolve. Instead of sending the message to the GOP that this sort of law is unacceptable in 21st century America, we are sending the message that we are turning our backs on the very people that need our support.

I'm thinking of the kid who sees his parents say that being transgender is wrong, and then sees his cultural idols walking away, refusing to come to his state because of this. How much more powerful would the message be to this kid to show up, telling attendees that they are not alone, that there are people who see transgender, gay, and female people as deserving the rights and dignity that everyone should have. That we support them, that we will not abandon them, that we will fight with them and for them. Now this kid has a different perspective and gives him the strength to change not just his mind, but the minds of those around him.

So instead of abandoning the people of N.C. to the ugliest part of the GOP, we need to be there standing in solidarity with them. We need to say to them that we support them and will be there for them, even as their government is trying to destroy their rights.

North Carolina Workers Rights Project

Gay Straight Alliance Activism Guide for HB2

HuffPo - Avant-Garde Activism: North Carolina’s Grassroots War Against HB2

The Guardian - Musicians trade in boycotts for activism to fight North Carolina's 'bathroom bill'

Feminist Fighters: Hillary Clinton and My Mom

Bradana

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Wednesday May 18, 2016 · 11:24 AM PDT

2016/05/18 · 11:24

My mom, my brother and I at my grandmother's house. — My mom, my brother and I at my grandparents house c. 1975.

Ten days ago was my mom's 80th birthday, or it would have been. My mother was a Depression baby, a member of the Silent generation. Her life saw so many changes, not unlike her mother's or her mother's. Each one of these women has been an inspiration to me.

My mom was a feisty one, a fighter from the start. She fought whooping cough at 10 months old, she grew up through a war where her mother had to scrimp and save and barter for enough coupons to keep her growing daughter in shoes and clothes. At 13, my mom showed the first sign of what would become a strong advocate for women's rights. When the boys in her grade were to be excused one afternoon to attend a track meet, mom organized the girls so that when the boys left, all the girls stood up and walked out, too. She wasn't going to be left behind to wait like a good little girl, and she got all of the other girls to go with her.

My mom was the first person in the family to graduate from college. This wasn't such a surprise since her mother was the first to graduate high school and the first to attend post-secondary education. At the time my mom graduated from college in 1959, the choices presented to her were secretary, nurse or teacher. She didn't want to be a secretary, and had no desire to "change bedpans" as she put it, so she chose teaching. She taught speech and drama in the early years, and within 10 years was working her way up the ladder of the local teachers union. In 1974, when I was 3 and my brother was 1, she was instrumental in organizing a teacher's strike. Even when I was in high school there were teachers who talked about my brother and I picketing in our little red wagon. I still have the picture from the paper of us in the wagon being pulled by my mom while she walked the picket line.

She spent two years as the president of the local education association. During that time, she got a truly horrendous principal fired, had another moved out of the school and into the head office, and petitioned for girls soccer to be included in the high school (since I played and she thought that we should have a team). As the years went by, her activities slowed down due to her health, but she still managed to get her teaching buddies to support causes, from support for Patty Murray during her first Senate campaign, to advocacy for LGBT students, to the ouster of two teachers for inappropriate conduct with students. Fiesty.

Eight years ago, my mom and I had a serious conflict over the presidential election. You see I was a big Obama supporter and she supported Hillary Clinton. She told me that one day I would understand how huge of a deal it was to have a female candidate for president, and how it was a dream for her to see a female president. She talked about her grandmother who cooked lunch everyday for the local school and brought it to the kids there. She never worked a day in her life, but she marched for women's right to vote. She told me about my grandmother, who was fired from her first job when she got married and was unable to find a new job until after my grandfather died. She told me how these women worked and fought and lived and died and raised kids and fed communities and survived husbands, wars, depressions and children.

And now I look at Hillary Clinton with new eyes. I see a woman who put her dreams and ambitions on hold so that her husband could be president, who graciously stepped aside when another man stepped forward to be president. Who has faced decades of abuse, accusations that she is too feminine, too masculine, too smart, too conservative, too liberal, too corrupt, too vain, too ambitious. Her dignity, femininity, intelligence and ambition have been called into question, and she's still standing. Hell, she's rising above.

I wish my mom could be here to see this. She passed away a year and a half ago. But in November I will get to vote, and I will proudly vote for Hillary knowing that generations of women, of Americans, are there with me. I guess it's one more chance for my mom to tell me "I told you so."

Merry Christmas, Mom

Bradana

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Wednesday December 24, 2014 · 10:10 AM PST

2014/12/24 · 10:10

I've been meaning to tell you about my mom for some time. She was my hero, my rock, my partner in crime, my friend, my confidant. She taught junior high for thirty years and always said that it took a special kind of person to teach that age group, someone that thought like them. She was tough when she had to be, funny when she could, and always caring about her students. She raised my brother and me by herself, taking care of us, a house, a myriad of pets and a job that she loved.

Our house was the house that every kid in the neighborhood wanted to be at. She always had some kind of activity to entertain us. She made a slip-n-slide out of plastic drop cloths and cheap shampoo and said it was the best way for us to play since she could just hose us off and we were clean. I remember her sitting in the living room with a group of about eight or ten kids while she asked us questions from Highlights magazine.

That's not to say that she didn't set time for herself. She always told us that she stopped being Mom at eight o'clock, so whatever we needed we'd better ask before then. Then she would retire to her room, with a book and the dog, who we always said was her favorite child.

She and I shared a love affair with books from the time I was ten and started sneaking her Harlequin Romances. We would pass books back and forth so much that my mom, my Grammy and I would make notes in the inside to remind us when we had read the book before. I still have some of those books with the date, initials and a one word review of the book.

She loved camping and as soon as school let out for summer, she would have the car packed and we were off to the mountains. If any of you know what June is like in Washington, then you know that it rains, a lot. We were the blue tarp campers with flying tarps all over the place. I remember on more than one occasion waking up with the rain pounding on the tent while she told me to get dressed so we could dig a moat around the tent.

There are so many memories, more than I ever realized. I never truly appreciated how tough she was, but she was amazing.

My mom passed away at the end of October and it's taken me two months to be able to write this. So Merry Christmas, Mom, wherever you are. I miss you and love you with all my heart.

The Power of Invisibility

Bradana

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Tuesday August 19, 2014 · 11:47 AM PDT

2014/08/19 · 11:47

I have spent a good portion of my life feeling like I was invisible. I think it is a function of a number of overlapping attributes that have added to my cloak of invisibility and given me a freedom that I never really appreciated before. I am not by any standards conventionally pretty; I’m fat, I wear thick glasses, I have social anxiety so I get very quiet with new people. But I watch, I observe and I think. This is not to say I’m having a pity party, I’m saying that even beyond the privilege of being white, I present as a non-threat, non-target, non-entity, which means, I get away with a lot of shit.

One thing I get away with is smoking marijuana. I smoked in my car in the parking lot of bars for years. While other more, shall we say, “thuggish” people are targeted for arrest and assault, nobody seems to think once, let alone twice, about me. I get out of speeding tickets by looking all sweet and befuddled. I even back talk to cops when they harass other people and they just shrug me off. I protested Afghanistan and Iraq and watched others get hauled away by the police, while they left me alone.

I say all of this not to brag, but to say that the police are far from infallible and any of them who tell you that you should just do what they say without lip, yeah, I don’t do that. And I get away with it.

This is probably one of the most horrible things about our society, that someone like me just drifts along doing what I want and not worrying about being beat or harassed or shot by the cops (or other authority driven and armed assholes). I hate it because I am reminded that not everyone gets to be invisible. I hate that young men are dying in the street while I go free. I hate that whole swaths of our country are still treated with disgust, derision, suspicion, hatred, discrimination and violence. We should be ashamed. I am ashamed.

P.S. – If I had to choose a superpower it wouldn’t be invisibility. I want to be able to disintegrate things with my mind, it would make commuting super easy and I could better even the scales of justice.

Poll

7 votes Show Results

Which superpower would you like to have?

7 votes Vote Now!

Which superpower would you like to have?

Flying

2 votes

Invincibility

1 vote

Super Strength

0 votes

Control the Elements

3 votes

Blow things up

1 vote

Super Pie!

0 votes

I'm not high, I'm just hurting

Bradana

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Thursday August 14, 2014 · 9:01 PM PDT

2014/08/14 · 21:01

I’ve wanted to write about the politics of pain for a while. As a sufferer of chronic pain, I find myself in a constant struggle with doctors and pharmacists who think they know what and how much pain meds I require. Even more difficult is the fight I have with myself on taking the meds. I’m stubborn and independent and I hate that I have to rely on something external to myself to get through the day. In that way I have internalized a core tenant of the War on Drugs: drugs are a crutch that people use to escape their lives. I'm not talking about heroine and cocaine, I’m talking about prescriptions (not just opiates) and medical marijuana.

Anyone who deals with chronic pain will tell you that there comes a point at which you just don’t want to hurt anymore. You deal with it day in and day out, some days better than others. The strength it takes someone in chronic pain to just get through an average day is astounding. The choice often comes down to whether I want to be able to think or be relieved of the pain. I take a host of medications to address the damage done to my nerves by diabetes: antidepressants, anticonvulsants, analgesics, and when I’m lucky opiates. I say lucky because I love me a good opiate. When I take them I know I’ll stop hurting. In fact I had a nice little Vicodin habit going on for a few years, but then my doctor suggested medical marijuana.

I had never tried marijuana before, and I was 34 when I first did. When I got my prescription for medical marijuana, I was so happy I cried. In addition to good old fashioned smoking, there are tinctures and oils that work like magic on my nerves, alleviating the pain in ways I hadn’t had in years. I was even able to move off of the Vicodin, for which my liver is eternally grateful. Pot helps in other ways as well. I have a pretty good case of Generalized Anxiety Disorder and OCD. I can be revved for days, feeling edgy and out of control, or I can smoke a bowl and it goes away. For me, weed is an important part of improving my quality of life. That said, I find myself fighting it with self-talk like “It’s a crutch” and “I don't want to get addicted.” But you see, I kind of am addicted in the way that I’m addicted to all my other medications. When a diabetic needs insulin, do we say that she is addicted to it? Of course not, but marijuana and pain medications in general are always greeted with the caveat of addiction.

I’m tired of running a gauntlet for pain and anxiety medications because there is so much fear that I will become addicted and “abuse” them. If by abuse them, you mean take them so I don’t go crazy from the pain or anxiety, then yah. I’ve been asked if I could have all the pain go away in exchange for giving up the meds, would I. The answer is yes. Okay maybe. Okay fine, I admit I like being stoned, but I would give that up to be pain free, to be able to walk a block without pain from the middle of my back to the soles of my feet, to be able to write without getting cramps and shooting pains in my hands.

In all this there is one thing I want everyone to remember about medical marijuana and opiates: When you take these drugs for pain management, you aren’t getting high and you're not an addict; you’re using them for their intended purpose, to feel better.

I'm a Rebel

Bradana

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Tuesday August 12, 2014 · 2:09 PM PDT

2014/08/12 · 14:09

My body is in a permanent state of rebellion. This is the only conclusion I can come to. It never seems to do what I want it to do. From hair (not just on my head) to nails to joints to internal organs, something is always going haywire. Take antiperspirant, mine suddenly stopped working last week, in the middle of a hot spell, when we don't have air conditioning. Now I'm borrowing my husband's until I find one that works. Is this a part of OMG menopause? No no no no! Why, oh why does my body hate me?

I think we should just get one thing straight, I'm fat okay. I know this, I have known this since I was 9 and hit pre-puberty with a 30 pound weight gain. It's a pattern with all the women in my family who are smart and funny, with big hearts and equally big bodies. I am a Weight Watchers failure; in 6 months on the program I lost 9.75 pounds. I never could get that last quarter pound off. After I was put on fen-phen, and I had to have an ECG at 28, I decided that the diet industry would get no more money from me. In the ensuing years, I have dropped 70 pounds from my all time high, just by not dieting. It's not a lifestyle choice, so I don't want to hear about it, I just decided that food was food. Please, please, please do not try to use this post as a way to tout your favorite diet/food philosophy/exercise regime, I am not interested.

And the point I was making is that trying to force my body into some artificial paradigm of health or beauty makes it want to rebel. I hate my hair, it's thin, fine, curly, wavy, flat, easily tangled and that non-color between blond and brown. It really doesn't matter what product I use, what styling I do, give it 10 minutes outside of the bathroom and it flattens and curls until I look like I have 3 hairs on my head and they are all on crack. And don't get me started on the rest of the hair. I've just started menopause and I grow a more luxurious mustache than my husband. Plucking my face requires bright sunlight, a magnifying mirror and a couple of tokes to keep the hands steady. Shaving has become an exercise in terror since I have a disabled foot and the bathtub is slippery. I come out looking like I was attacked by Freddy Kruger.

Speaking of my disabled foot, I have what's called a charcot foot. It happens when diabetes destroys the circulation to the feet and the bones become brittle and break down. I have a lump on the bottom of my foot that is all bone and callus. I'm supposed to use orthotics but they don't fit in shoes with the extra room already taken up by the foot. I could get custom shoes made, but I'm in mourning for all the cute shoes I can never wear because of the foot. And my balance, bad hips, bad knees, and bad back are all vying for the reason why extended walking is a torture. Let's just say that the muscular-skeletal system is as broken as the rest of me.

Speaking of hot mess, anyone else want to know what it's like to have a hot flash? It feels like you're burning only from the inside out. Hot flashes in 90 degree heat are why I am certain there is no hell, because I've been there and it is a 43 year old woman suffering from early menopause secure in the knowledge that it will take years to finish.

When you're a toddler you learn to go to the bathroom, you learn to hold it until it's second nature to wait until you get to the bathroom. Then you start losing muscle tone everywhere, and all of a sudden, you're back in diapers. I am a grown woman and I can't stop peeing.

My nerves are shot thanks to neuropathy. I can't eat eggs, cheese, salads, apples, anything with sugar, anything with artificial sweeteners, or anything too rich or fatty or my stomach will blow up like a balloon and I float away like Harry Potter's Aunt Marge. My skin is sensitive to everything and the skin on my fingers is bubbling and peeling from eczema. I still get tonsillitis and ear infections, and I'm pretty sure I have a rash right now. I have a host of mental illnesses that make it tough for me to get out of bed some days. And now I'm sweating again.

I wish I could trade my body in on a new model. I wish I could live with my head separate from my body. I'm hoping that my mind and my body can broker a truce, a cease fire if you will. Otherwise I'm going to need that new body, mine is seceding from the union.

The Monster in My Head

Bradana

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Monday August 11, 2014 · 8:43 PM PDT

2014/08/11 · 20:43

When I heard that Robin Williams had died of an apparent suicide, my heart hurt. It's the only way I can describe the tightness in my chest. Suicide has haunted my life like a spectre, a ghost that has warped the lives of so many of my friends and family. In fact, just last week a friend of a friend committed suicide, leaving loved ones in turmoil. Once again we are faced with the guilt and anger, and especially the pain, of losing someone. Robin Williams was another American struggling with mental illness. We have such a poor history of letting the mentally ill suffer in silence and shame.

Follow me below the orange cloud for a tip toe through the black hole...

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