Black Out

“What I know for sure, is that speaking your truth is the most powerful tool we all have.” – Oprah Motherfucking Winfrey

Awards season is just starting and you can bet your ass I’m parked on my leopard couch joined by four pussies and a chug. Wine is at the ready and I watch the pre-pre-pre red carpet because you know, I’m fucking cool like that. I was a little torn on watching my typical go-to network E! because one of their longtime female anchors, Catt Sadler recently left over gender pay discrimination. But as soon as I flipped to the channel, actress Debra Messing was chastising the network on the actual network while being interviewed. She fucking rocked it.

Cheers to you and the mic drop Debra Messing.

I was all dolled up in my best black lounge wear because a movement started a few weeks ago. It’s a fund offering financial support and advice to victims of sexual harassment, discrimination and abuse who otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford it after coming forward.

To date, they’ve raised over $16 million from donations made all over the world. Experiencing sexual harassment in the workplace first hand and being a survivor of rape, I’m all in on shit like this. Coming forward and speaking up is one of, if not the hardest decision victims deal with during the initial stages of shock, let alone trying to figure out if you can miss work, arrange childcare for legal appointments, therapy sessions, phone calls following up with detectives, etc…

The stars attending the Golden Globes wore black in support of this movement, Time’s Up.

While watching the red carpet, stars were asked why they were wearing black, not what designer they were wearing. As I sat listening to the heartfelt and moving answers, I started getting emotional (ew, feelings). This was a different sort of emotion that I typically associate and feel due to Rapegate. I realized I was feeling recognized – as silly as that sounds. In my experience of being raped, I still carry shame, guilt and a feeling of dirtiness every second of every day. I know that every other survivor I’ve spoken to has felt the same way at some point.

I found myself bawling watching the red carpet and I’m the world’s ugliest crier.

You guys. For real.

The first time in almost two years, I was feeling proud of myself. For sharing my story and hopefully helping other people. And for whatever reason, stars who have a global platform giving fucks about people like me really hit home.

Then when the show started, jokes were made and the mood was just as fun as a typical Golden Globes show (I particularly love when an actor wins and is kinda shitfaced when giving a speech because this is the only awards ceremony with an open bar). Seth Meyers opened the show with “good evening ladies and remaining gentlemen.” I loved it.

Cut to the first commercial break and an ad for the New York Times makes me want to go and get a goddamn subscription right now. Please check out my bootlegged version below:

Thing is, ever since the Women’s March last January, the #MeToo movement and now with Time’s Up, survivors like myself have a community. Support. Whether one has chosen to speak out, reported their incident or kept completely silent. And everything just seemed to come to fruition last night.

I’ve recently been told not to make rape “my cause” or that I am “dwelling” on it by being in therapy. I even had one of the closest people in my life tell me they couldn’t stand being around me because of all of my negative “rape” talk (side note: don’t ask me how my fucking day is if you don’t want the fucking answer). This makes me question myself. And, writing and talking about being raped as well as sexually harassed in a work environment have been my greatest allies because I feel like I can help others.

It’s sad that we live in a world where women have to ask for equality, respect and meaningful change no matter their socioeconomic status. Lack of opportunity, sexual violence, overall poor treatment because of difference in skin tone, sexual preference or gender is inexcusable. Period. Movements and organizations like Time’s Up allows survivors to know that they are not alone – never, ever alone – and personally speaking, being raped and the aftermath of it, made isolation my worst best friend.

I’m only seeing wine and my fur babies right now, thanks.

Trying to keep my stirring emotions in check, Oprah Winfrey took the stage receiving the Cecil B. DeMille Award and holy fuck friends. It was the pep talks of all pep talks for the world right now.

It felt like she was in my living room (which, actually she was kinda) talking to me directly. I was in a fucking puddle. She not only touched on victims of sexual assault and abuse, she spoke to racism, free press, truth-telling and generally what it takes to make it through tragedy – hope.

“I’m especially proud and inspired by all of the women who have felt strong enough and empowered enough to speak up and share their personal stories….I want to express gratitude for women who have endured abuse and assault because they, like my mother had children to feed and bills to pay and dreams to pursue. They’re the women whose names we’ll never know. We’ve lived too long in a culture of brutally powerful men. For too long women have not been heard or believed if they dared to speak their truth to the power of those men. But their time is up.”

“A new day is on the horizon. And when that new day finally dawns it will be because of a lot of magnificent women and some pretty phenomenal men fighting hard to make sure that they become the leaders who take us to the time when NOBODY ever has to say me too again.”

FUCKING PREACH WOMAN.

I mean seriously. Can I get an amen?

Watching the Golden Globes and having Oprah Winfrey give the world a rally cry reminded me of why I’m fighting my fight. Why I won’t stay silent. Why I will hold my inept detective and the Nashville Sex Crimes department accountable. Why I refuse to let anyone else feel like a walking stereotypical rape victim, as I do. Why I remain with my personal super hero therapist, Sheila. Why I don’t give any kind of fucks how uncomfortable conversations can be when I talk about my truth. Because it’s mine.

I want my Iowa twins to grow up in a world where nothing holds them back because of the color of their skin or their gender.

You break these hearts, you die.

This movement, uprising – whatever you wanna call it – is giving a voice to those who feel muted, ignored, unimportant, disregarded, not believed. And I can’t wait to join in.

Time’s up motherfuckers.

CBXB

 

Weekend Winks – Take Me to Church

Or…maybe you shouldn’t because I might burst into flames.

This Church. Not the one with a steeple.

This Church. Not the one with a steeple.

Being that I’m a lucky lady, I scored a ticket to the Eric Church concert in Nashville this weekend.Β  Naturally the most important element of concert prep is putting together my concert attire. And I tend to always go understated.

What to Wear?

Being subtle is my favorite thing in life.

Once the giddy up was on, I trotted down to a local honky tonk where I ran into an Arizona buddy that I haven’t seen in years. Once we started talking, it seemed like we were in the high school hallway yesterday.

Photo Bomb!

The Photo Bomber gets bombed!

My choice in outerwear proved to be a wise one as it easily turned into a bar pillow.

Bar Pillow

Heads get heavy after too much Grey Goose.

It also upped T Man’s bland outfit at one point in the evening.

Giddy Up

Animal print is so complimentary.

Leopard went straight to T Man’s head because he ever so graciously took photos of himself while using my phone.

Camera Man

It’s all fun and games until a blogger posts your picture.

What would a concert be like without a cocktail?

Showtime

No fun. A concert would be no fun without a cocktail.

But having seven a couple of Skinny Pirates might not have been so smart, as a life sized devil appeared during one of Mr. Church’s songs, making me want to sprint to the nearest House of Worship.

Devil

I still see this every time I close my eyes. Thanks Eric.

I awoke Sunday to a very pissed off pussy (who might as well have been the life size devil at the show) because he lost a wee bit of beauty sleep due to my Saturday night shenanigans.

SLEEP

Where the fuck were you last night?

I was relieved to find my phone in check, as I had lost my Louis Vuitton clutch twice during the previous evening – once in the arena and I then left it in the Uber cab (I don’t know how in the world this happened as I had a cross body bag on to prevent me losing anything. Major fail). But faith has been restored in humanity as not only was my clutch waiting for me at guest relations but the Uber driver came back by to see that my clutch found its way back to my mini manse.Β  Phew.

Upon charging my very dead phone, this is the face that greeted me as it powered back on.

Screen Saver

You might want to think twice if you are putting your mug on a blogger’s screen saver. Just sayin’.

Not only was I excited for the Golden Globes yesterday, I about pissed my pants in delight when I used my local grocery store’s points at the pump, making each gallon less than a dollar.

What?

Twenty gallons for less than $20.

While under lock down in Iowa due to bone chilling temps, my twins are approaching a small milestone.

T

Just the cutest duo on the planet.

Prince and Princess B will soon be entering a horrific phase (for their parents)…

Terrible Twos?

Terrible twos on the horizon this week.

In anticipation for my fave awards show, I thought I’d try to mimic the little golden statue by using a similar colored face mask while soaking in the tub but it did nothing but make me still look like me.

Golden Glow

Golden glow fail.

It was then time to decide which healthy treats I should grant myselfΒ  while watching the red carpet after eating my way through the holidays.

Dip Baby Dip

Pigging out while watching impossibly skinny stars prance around in their elegant gowns does wonders for self confidence.

And then the fabulous trio that resides in my mini manse gathered on the couch for the Golden Globes.

My Two Pussies

Golden globed PJs, one happy cat and one pissed off pussy.

Some things never change.

CBXB

CBXB!