Monthly Archives: February 2017

Age of Consent

I wrote about the tricky Age of Consent laws nearly three years ago. But (not-so-surprisingly) very few people wanted to get involved with the topic.

I think that’s a mistake. Because the issue of adult-child “relationships” is going to come up again and again in the future. It has the potential to divide traditional, religious Conservatives from the secular, “alternative” ones.

This was apparent just yesterday, when popular bloggers Milo Yiannoupolous and Matt Walsh engaged in a heated social media debate.  You can read about the Milo/Matt situation on one of Matt’s Facebook posts.

Anyway, here’s what I wrote back in 2014:

Cultures at War

I’ve been binge-watching House M.D. on Netflix for several weeks now.  But, the following scene struck me enough to stop the furious pace and transcribe the conversation.  It fits perfectly in a blog discussing cultural differences…

A 17-year-old girl has been stalking Dr. House, very overtly trying to seduce him. Close friends warn him to keep his distance–which he more or less tries to do. But the girl is insistent. Finally, she corners him in a parking garage.

Girl: “In Iceland the age of consent is 14.”

House: “I’m surprised that tourism isn’t a bigger industry up there.”

Girl: “So today I’m jailbait. But in 22 weeks anybody can do anything to me. Will I be so different in 22 weeks?”

House: “22-weeks is enough for a fetus to grow arms and legs.”

Girl: “It’s just a line. An arbitrary line drawn by a bunch of sad old men in…

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It’s All a Big Hoax

Attention, anyone who has been told they are “color blind.”  Don’t believe that! You’re perfect the way you are, and no one should tell you any differently!

Color-blindness is a hoax!

It’s all a scam!


And, if anyone tries to tell you they can “see” green or red or yellow, they’re just trying to get control over you.  

Don’t believe me?  Well, here’s a question for all those people who supposedly “see” colors: why can’t anyone agree what they look like?

If other people really can see colors, then they ought to be able to describe them with at least a little consistency, wouldn’t you think?  Do they really expect you to believe it’s just “hard to explain” but “you’d understand if you could see the whole color spectrum, too.”


Yeah, right.

If THAT’S not suspicious enough, just Google “Colors aren’t real.”   You will see dozens of articles where expert debate this very topic.

Many scientists will come right out and say, “Colors don’t exist. Our brains have only made them up.

In other words, humans have only imagined them! (Well not ALL humans have imagined them, of course. The brains of colorblind people don’t make up such nonsense.)

Sure, there are scientists who say that even imaginary things are “real” in an important sense. They will say that perception is part of reality. They will say that thoughts and feelings EXIST, though they aren’t made of “stuff.”

In fact, James Jeans said the entire Universe is more like a “thought” than like a “machine.”


But that’s just his opinion.  Why should we listen to him?


And, that’s why I’m blowing the roof off this “colorblindness” hoax once and for all.

If you’ve been told you’re somehow lacking because your brain doesn’t trick you the way most people’s brains trick them, don’t believe it.

You’re not blind. (What a horrible thing to tell a child!)

It’s the Color-Seeing people who have been indoctrinating each other.

Go ahead and try to prove that I’m wrong.

Both Mom and Dad

They’re having a Daddy-Daughter Date Night at our church in a couple of weeks, but my husband is scheduled to work…

We decided not to tell our 5-year-old girl about the Date at all, so she won’t be disappointed. But I saw something on Facebook today that made me think… “Hey! Maybe I can paint on a beard and solve this problem!”

Please note, this mom is attempting to give her son a “normal” life.



Also, please note the many commenters encouraging her and agreeing that she has done a great job filling the roles of BOTH “Mommy and Daddy.”

2.10.17 Mommy and Daddy.png

So, there you have it.

The jury is in, and here’s the verdict: a little facepaint and wishful thinking CAN turn you into whatever they’re missing.

Maybe I should dress like a man and start calling myself “Daddy” whenever Luke is unable to attend important events.

But…wait… why stop there?

Are you disappointed your child doesn’t have an “Abraham Lincoln” to look up to?

Here’s a solution:



Do you want your kid to have a brilliant rocket scientist in his/her life?



Do you want to be “Mommy” AND “Daddy” AND “teacher”  AND “best friend” AND “superhero”???



Great mommies will be all of those things (and more!) So, that costume ought to do it, right? (Plus, don’t forget the really humble, totally not-attention-seeking post about yourself on Instagram, when you encourage people to share!)

If your child is missing someone important in his/her life, just find a good tailor/seamstress and fill that void!

A father is just a mom with a ball cap and goatee. So they can be replaced by any single mom with good intentions.



Or, maybe my daughter will just stay home from the Daddy-Daughter Date this year, out of respect for the #1 Man in her life.

Because maybe…just maybe…to pretend it’s possible for a well-meaning woman to do a daddy’s job is to insult the good fathers everywhere.

As Tough as a Private School Girl

I followed my husband into the dimly lit comedy club and waited for my dad to get there, too.

It was “Open Mic” night–after 9:00pm, in the middle of the week–so it wasn’t easy to bribe a babysitter.  But I’d asked to come along in order to see my budding-comedian husband deliver five minutes worth of jokes he’d been polishing.

Luke was glad for the support, but he and my dad both warned me that 95% of what I was going to hear was just “shock humor.”

Sure enough, the men I’d arrived with were the only ones whose performances were vulgarity-free and genuinely clever.

I’m not exaggerating when I say EVERY other man on the line-up peppered his act with every type of profanity you can even think of.

There were jokes about mother-in-laws being “witches.”

Jokes about bosses that deserved to die for being such “brick heads.”

There were jokes about the various ways ex-girlfriends liked to “freak,” and how they’re still fun to “get freaky” with, even though they’re crazy and good for nothing else–and are probably worse “witches” than their mothers.

And one, very drunk man delivered the same rambling monologue, which (I’m told) he delivered every week, about the reasons he wants to beat up a fictional person named Chad.  (“Freak you, Chad!” “You’re a freaking freak!”)

Clearly, it was just mindless rambling for over two hours.



But, the honest truth is, I had a great time watching how the night played out. Really, I enjoyed being immersed in a culture I don’t get to experience very often.

And, if I were a more sensitive person and had been soooooo offended that I couldn’t handle one more expletive or reference to the female body, I always had the option to leave.  

I’m sure I would have been encouraged to do just that.

In fact, I’m positive that, if I tried to interrupt the person on stage with a personal grievance or moral lecture, the other comics would have told me where to shove it…because I witnessed an exchange with an offended audience member the night I was there.

One of the newbies was on stage, doing his very rough and awkward “routine,” and reading his notes off a napkin.   I don’t remember the punchlines exactly, but he said something about suicide.

At that point, a woman in the front row spoke up and told him it wasn’t funny.

Keep in mind, the comic was NOT a professional.  He’d never dealt with a heckler before. So, he wasn’t sure what to do other than blink at the woman with his mouth open.

Sensing his weakness, she kept going: “I have a friend who killed himself, and it’s not something you joke about.”

At that point, the amateur blew out a lungful of air and started stuttering.  “Wow. That’s just…Wow–that’s terrible.  I’ve never had this happen before.”

The other comics in the room started shouting encouragement: “Just keep going! Do your thing, man! Do your set!”  But the woman was still speaking, also.  The comic looked back and forth, from his friends to the woman, saying, “I don’t know what to do. Wow. I just–just–wow.”

Eventually, the audience started shouting at the woman:  “Be quiet! Let him finish! It’s not your turn!”   And she quieted down long enough for the comic to recover (kind of) and hobble through the rest of his time.

A few minutes later, the woman did what she should have done in the first place: she walked out the door.


The whole situation left me wondering: what makes a person think they have the right to control another person’s speech?

Where is that magic line between, “I just don’t agree with what he’s saying” and “I need to STOP him now, because what he’s saying is THAT BAD!”

As a religious, Conservative, mother-of-three–there were plenty of things being said that night which I thought were unnecessary and inflammatory.  Much of it revealed (in my opinion) that lost souls will say virtually anything to feel important for a few minutes, including promoting things that are downright WRONG.

But they have the right to say them to whoever will listen, don’t they?

If a bunch of single, white guys want to meet weekly and pass around a microphone for their hate-tinged, drunken rants, I’m pretty sure they’re allowed to do that in the United States.

And, if the equally-drunk crowds demand to hear more about “witches” and “brickheads,” then who am I to show up as a visitor and force them to play by my rules?

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but there’s a lady here tonight. So, please don’t say anything your grandmother wouldn’t like…”

I heard looooots of references to genitalia.  I heard looooooots of disrespect for human life, especially females.  Does that mean I had the right to call the cops and ask them to arrest all the “misogynists?”

Should I have declared war and burned the place down?


Above is a picture of a riot that took place on the campus of UC-Berkeley, because a speaker was coming.

If you are a liberal who’s so offended by the raunchiness of Milo Yiannopoulos that you have to escalate the situation from a war of words into violence, then this private-school-graduate housewife is calling you out.

Grown-ups don’t settle things with fires and fists.

In America, we have the chance to pick up a different microphone, if we want to explain why we agree/disagree with what’s being said on stage. But answering words with weapons is what mindless punks do.  People who don’t speak very well have to lash out.  People who feel trapped because they know the other person is making better points have to lash out.

And ladies in comedy clubs with no sense of humor (and the children they left at home) are all known to lash out.

But grown ups are supposed to know better.

If you can’t take it when someone with a microphone says ugly things, then may I suggest at least growing some skin as tough as a private school girl’s?