I’ve been paying almost feverish attention to the murder trial of Jodi Arias in Phoenix while resting a nagging hamstring injury at home. Today the judge called in sick, so the trial resumes Tuesday, due to Presidents’ Day. I woke up early this morning to watch the coverage, but wasn’t too disappointed when the session was called off; now I’ve got a five-day weekend to fill in and study up on the parts of the trial I’d missed – everything leading up to the point where Arias took the stand in her own defense, less the YouTube videos I’ve watched of a few other witnesses.
At the pace this trial’s been progressing, I’m betting Jodi won’t get through her direct testimony until the end of next week. If I were her, I would need at least a weekend to chill before facing Juan Martinez. I’d sooner line up with no pads against Ray Lewis than be cross-examined by this guy.
In reading the blogs of both Arias and Alexander, untouched since their last posts in May of 2008, something in Alexander’s lengthy post caused me to stop and re-read it three or four times to fully absorb.
The following three paragraphs appear in Travis Alexander’s blog, in his last post, dated May 18, 2008. The title of the post is “Why I want to marry a Gold-Digger.” I’ve highlighted the text to which I refer below in bold. All spelling and grammatical errors are per the original:
“In the midst of all of this however I have learned a lot about what matters most to me in finding a wife. There are many qualities of course that are an absolute must. Spirituality, mutual physical attraction, the ability to communicate effectively, wants children, etc. but there is one thing that I have come to appreciate as much or more than all the others. I don’t know how to label this quality except to say that it is the quality to appreciate the qualities in me.
There are a lot of things us quirky humans find endearing, that everyone else could care less about. The way we mispronounce a word, how we slurp our soup or snort when we laugh. Those types of things I feel are important. However it is not what causes love, it’s a by product of love.
People fall in love for too many reasons to count. Usually it is a combination of reasons. But I want someone to fall in love with me because I am a man of ability and achievement. Not because I have a lot of friends (not saying I do) but for the reason people want to befriend me, not because I have tons of money (not saying I do) but because I have the ability to earn a ton of money. Not because of my accomplishments but because I am a man of accomplishment. In fact I wouldn’t want to marry anyone if they loved me and these were not at least some of the reasons why.”
I think it’s pretty clear that Travis loved himself, and he loved loving himself. He wasn’t looking for a wife in any of the girls he dated; he was looking for a disciple to worship him. He wanted a woman to adulate him, to be in wonder of him, to be in awe of him.
From the moment he got his claws on Jodi Arias, he attempted to mold her into himself. PrePaid Legal, baptizing her into his cult, and stuffing his dick into her whenever, wherever, and however he pleased. In a car on the freeway, on the phone so he could jerk off and properly make love to himself (and spray it all over the room, huge loads, 15 ‘pumps’ according to the phone sex tape). He had a willing participant in all his fantasies, and he needed her to keep his ego fed. But in doing so, he had to keep her on the sly, lest any of his Mormon friends (who thought him to be a pious Temple Member) see what a complete fucking phony he was.
Two of the four times Jodi cited as times he’d been physical with her, he knocked her to her knees; once he kept her down. Forcing her to kneel before him; tying her to a tree and ramming his dick up her ass; making her wear LITTLE BOY’S UNDERWEAR while he was fucking her in the ass; ejaculating in her face on the porch of her home and throwing her a piece of chocolate; shooting a huge load down her throat; making her dress like a slut (her words) and go out in public looking for toys to incorporate into his filthy fantasies — all those are things abusive men do to humiliate their victims. Jodi Arias is a victim. (Just in case anyone thinks there’s only one victim in this case.) And I’ve not seen anything to convince me otherwise.
The fact that he made that post at that particular time in their relationship reveals the depth and breadth of his pathological need to be adulated, admired, loved, revered, respected, and worshiped. If you read further into his last blog post he also reveals how he planned to do that, and by this time, he had a number of girls on strings, presenting himself as a virgin to the inexperienced 18-year old when he was 29; as a pussy-hound who went “damn the LDS, full speed ahead” and wanted to shoot porn flicks with Jodi, and we have yet to hear from the other fish he had on the line. And there were others. There had to be. There always are. But Jodi, she was the biggest fish in a quickly-evaporating pond for Alexander, because he was getting older, and she had already acted out her pathological willingness to be molded into what her previous Mr. Right Now wanted – the breast implants from her 20-years-older former lover who wouldn’t show his face.
All the foregoing, and a lot more, including Travis’ revelation to Jodi of the trip to Cancun with another woman, contributed toward setting the final scene in this sick, macabre drama. I don’t know what was in Jodi’s mind the day of the crime, and I can’t wait to hear her describe the events that unfolded in the few days immediately preceding it. Anything she did afterwards is, by definition, after the fact and immaterial because she had to have been in some kind of shock to kill the much bigger Alexander, and she wasn’t even in her right mind, whatever was left of it, afterwards.
Some of the evidence looks pretty bad, but whatever she went back to Mesa for, she and Travis had a good long ride and accompanying filthy photo session before something went incredibly wrong, and I think it was Travis’ violent over-reaction to Jodi’s dropping the camera that burned the fuse down and ignited the charge in one or both of them. Because until then, at least according to the pictures and the file-dates on the SD card (I don’t know why HLN and them keep calling it a SIM card) that was in the camera, they seemed to be having a rollicking good time.
There are a number of scenarios I can see, wherein Travis gets violent with Jodi. But I can’t see Jodi Arias as the monster the prosecution is trying to establish that she was. I just don’t see her as the antagonist. Whenever she appears before Travis, it’s not to start a fight; it’s to have “make-up sex,” and get a mouth or an ass full of Travis as an extra added bonus.
The entire case sickens me. Travis’ hypocrisy, which turned out to be fatal for him; Jodi’s poor self-image and her willingness to submit to deep and repeated humiliation at his hands; and finally the effect of Travis’ hypocrisy on the other girls he dated, and the shit they had to put up with before discovering what was really lurking under his Magic Underwear. To me, Travis Alexander is just another brick in the wall any female associated with him ever had to climb. Except for the degree of severity, all of us XY types are essentially alike.
I can’t begin to get into the mind of a woman who could submit to this kind of torture; I’ve had, and still have, female friends who use a curious term to describe their leapfrogging from abusive/failed/doomed relationship to abusive/failed/doomed relationship: “serial monogamy.”
The first time I heard the term was from a friend, a couple of years ago. Then, recently, I heard another friend describe herself using the same term, and even more recently I’ve heard it used again. And when I look back at the patterns of some of my high-school and college friends, I can associate the concept to even more women. All the documentation on it seems to point towards one of those basic personality traits humans have supposedly developed and evolved with over the eons – natural selection, survival of the species, Darwinism.
isn’t it really just an excuse to rationalize promiscuity? it sounds a lot more to me like drug addiction, only the poor addict has no idea what the hated drug she so desperately craves is going to do next time she swallows it. The only way I’ve ever seen a story like this end is in tragedy. Let’s hope the death toll in this case isn’t unfairly doubled by an Arizona jury.
*** I would like to acknowledge the gentle corrective action applied to me by one of the friends to whom I referred two paragraphs up. In addition, I would like to apologize to anyone I unintentionally offended with my misstated conclusion. In my own defense, I think it was an inherent fault in my Y chromosome, but that’s no excuse.
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