sex...and I do have one

after all......it is midnight at the prairie, and quite the enchanting hour.

Fascinating debate between two of us at work (who are at opposite ends of political spectrum, me being progressive left and him being....well, you know) about what you could say to a young girl nowadays to actually make her stop and think about having sex at such a young age. I gave a flowery speech about teaching little girls to respect themselves first, etc. etc. but began to think about what it was that made me not have "actual" sex until I was 21. Okay, I was brought up in a different era, but it was 1971 and the sanctioned freedom to have sex was a reality.

I had desired sex from a very young age (more on that in my other blog), but never acted upon it save the heavy "making out" that we did in junior and senior high school---I often believed I ended up much more frustrated than the boys. It wasn't that I wished to be a "good girl" because even as a youngster, sexuality was such a huge part of the inner me, I never saw these desires as making you "bad."

What I realized was that I had been privy to enough male-male conversations about girls to be taken aback by the ugliness of their content. It was rarely flattering, even when the girls in question were smart, beautiful, loving and seemingly everything they desired. I developed a huge fear of being disrespected or humiliated or fooled like that---I knew that sex was so integral to me, and the thought of it and me being the butt of a joke was enough to stop me every time.

(btw...when I did have sex for the first time, it was with the abandon of galloping horses----I happily chose it, and it was exactly what I wanted. The key word being "I." At least it happened, and continued to happen in scenarios of my choice, design, and control. Therefore it ultimately did not matter what any man thought or said. (yes, yes, this goes in the other blog as well.)

So my conservative friend says, "well, that's exactly what morality is made up of.....fear and consequences." I chewed on this for a minute. Actually, lots of minutes. I knew I didn't agree, but for the life of me couldn't be clear as to why I thought so. Certainly biblical teaching, certainly parental teaching, but it seemed such a shallow interpretation of morality. He obviously believed that morality is dictated to you by a higher power......my sister believes that morality is simply the choices a collection of like-minded humans make that provide them with the most comfort and safety, and thus surrounds them with more like-minded humans, and not believing in that particular kind of higher power, I like her idea much better. But voila, that, too, is rooted in fear and consequences.

I always thought it was simple equation, and the closest I could come to description was a version of the Golden Rule. How hard could it be to tell when you were hurting others, when you yourself knew what hurt was? And then I watched decent people do bad things, and I was back at the drawing board, as each one had made the definition of hurt so subjective. And why? Fill in the blanks: ____ & ____________.

Rats.

Okay, then...scare the crap out of 'em, put the birth control pills in their orange juice and condoms in their Hello Kitty purses. Maybe we can pretend that self-centered is the same thing as self-respect. Or maybe self-preservation is amoral?

hit and run

returning from opening trail gate, picked up small box turtle from highway after someone's car had obviously hit it---shell was severely broken in several places and he was bleeding. I was shocked when he moved his head so ran him over to vet near park. Vet & husband take care of many turtles at home, but he was so badly injured, and I know very much in pain. Don't yet know outcome, but at least he got another chance, even if slight.

You can't eat honor

The aforementioned humiliation at change of job duties is no more. Because the job is no more as of end of August. Not to be dramatic (me?) but I was promised by the head man himself a job through December, and a few days later they had simply changed their minds, saying the schedule wasn't to their liking. Of course, they had all that info when the promise was made. I've already worked through most of the anger, but a deep feeling of disappointment in people as a whole remains, and it colors my view in a way that will be hard to erase.

Still foolish enough to accept yet another part-time position (I have two part-time positions...the other one did not change knockonwoodthankluckystars) in another location....alas, 44 miles round trip, and I have no idea how I can afford that. But job is better than no job. The "new" manager is quite splendid, so there's always hope. Maybe. With progress like this, I should be living in the gutter by retirement age.

Should I have taken up my ex-lover's offer a while back when he offered to pay for unencumbered bjs?

Nah. I only do that for love ;)

they shoot horses, don't they?

Don't misunderstand---for 99% of the time, I am delighted with visitors to "my" prairie. But every once in a while we get a just desserts situation that is pleasing to our nature-protective souls. Two young men had come to visit the day before yesterday to check out the terrain in prep for bringing (and supposedly impressing) their girlfriends. Ignoring a face-to-face warning from the staff, they came face-to-face with being locked in at an inner gate closing time. Left there only for three minutes, they wailed and made all sorts of excuses when let out.

So you can imagine the wonderful irony when they returned the next day, girls in tow, and scampered out onto a trail which traverses half the prairie basin, and found four wild horses on the return path. Most visitors would be thrilled, as this is not a regular occurrence, but this hysterical kid called the station stating that the horses were "attacking" them and they wanted someone sent right away. Telling them to calm down and not spook or throw things at the animals, and they might have to wait a few for the little band to move on seemed to upset him further, so I promised some assistance. It was only minutes, but he called again in greater distress, saying they had to retreat around the bend on the trail, and someone needed to come.right.now.

The FUN part is that it was the same staff member as the day before, who, incidentally, knows horses domestic and wild like the back of her hand, and who was able to casually stroll through the horses to "rescue" the people like a (wait for it) walk in the park!! She was professional and nice to them, didn't gloat, and explained that the horses would not have hurt them had they just walked around with little fanfare. A true Kodak moment, and I would not have been so kind.

I shudder to think what their reaction would have been to the bison (who will charge if they see fit) or an alligator (who usually won't, but who likes the spot it picked and can be reluctant to move.) I think we should have told him about the dozens of moccasins who love to stand their ground as long as they can see you. Maybe he'll think twice about returning.

Youth doesn't entitle you to condescension, and I get easily fed up with people of any age being nasty and expecting niceness in return because "we pay your salary." Hey, bend over and I will shove my college degree up your ass, as that's the only place you seem to park your head. If you have no respect for what you have supposedly traveled to see, I'll give you a map to Disney F. World, where you will feel very much at home.

Self-definition

Though my father was a university professor, I was taught as a little girl to never judge anyone, especially myself, by my job. All work was good work, including my mother's "job" as a homemaker. So imagine my surprise today when I felt what I urgently hoped was a transient humiliation. The other half of my aforementioned job is a desk one, but one that was creative, fun, and best of all had flamboyantly flexible hours. That ended July 31st.

The reason I am still there is a an agreed upon transition in job duties, which will keep me there until early December only. Beggars-choosers thing. Several months back, I had declined an opportunity to move up from assistant when my boss left---a good decision at the time, since there was no indication my job would cease to be funded. Now my duties are rote, my hours locked in (as well as my butt) and I must complete the training of the young girl who did take my former boss' job. At first I was grateful to still have a job, period, but as the day wore on, and I was sticking labels on files, answering the phone, getting a true feel for what I would no longer be doing, the day wore on me as well.

Okay, I'll get over/past it, and I need to worry more about finding something else by December to compliment the weekend job, not wallowing in what could have been. It was just a tough few hours, and for just a few seconds I was a hot-faced little 2nd-grader, embarrassed in front of the class by a small-minded teacher who could not resist pointing out my booklet-stapling error. I had edged toward the door, all prepared to run out and up to the protection of the principal's office. (sounds odd, but him I knew and liked) She moved to the door, and I didn't have the guts to push past her.

Well, I'm not 7 now, but 57 and I need to get a grip. Just low on "chipper," and for some reason I have begun to understand why some must make a beeline for the local bar at quitting time.