Archive for the ‘women’ Tag

Only a special kind of mother could possibly know this   2 comments

A couple of my most beloved friends lost their baby last week. It was neither totally unexpected nor do I believe was it totally unwelcome, given the other possible outcomes of this tragically ill-fated pregnancy that began on an otherwise magical night in the most #becausefutbol moment of both of their young lives. (If you haven’t seen the ‘maternity ward’ commercial that ran on ESPN during the World Cup, find it on YouTube, then apply it to the NFL.)

This piece is about the mother. The word – mother – doesn’t seem to carry the weight to justify its mass, sitting there on the page, or the monitor, whichever. Less so on the monitor, because the black type means a small array of switches have been set to zero; their circuits have been broken; their value nil.

I would imagine that in a way my friend must somehow feel the same, although God Himself knows she’s got no reason to. She’d spent most of the spring preparing her body; her heart and her nature, her soul if you will, and her mind have always been prepared. She’s been mother material for longer, I’m sure, than the decade or so that I’ve known her. And, to be perfectly honest, we’re so diametrically opposite in just about every way, if we were really close friends, I’m convinced she would hate me. I just love her because she’s always had this aura or something. Maybe she gives off a maternal pheromone; I have no idea.

Other than family, I’ve only met one other woman in my lifetime, really, whom I would describe in those terms. While the one central to this event has been fortunate – she’s always been put on a pedestal by her husband, and rightfully so; the other, not so much — sadly, she was abused by virtually every male who ever got within arm’s reach of her. You wouldn’t know either one’s background by the way they love their children, the way they hold their heads up when they’re with them — their blessings, their treasured gifts. Interestingly, they both have three. I love them both. I just hurt for them in different and indescribable ways.

Now, I need to interject that through the winter, we’d found out my younger son’s wife was pregnant with their first child, a boy, whose gender we found out at an ultrasound the morning after the Super Bowl in February. So I was pretty excited that I was going to be a grandfather for the first time in July, which I did, B”H, on July 7th.

Back to the end of April, when my friend central to this story told me she was pregnant, I had somehow sensed (divined?!) it for no apparent reason, and I was wild with excitement, because I’ve got a sense for that (and earthquakes – don’t ask), and I posted this on my Facebook page:

I’ve been thinking [friend – not named] is pregnant for two full weeks now, and didn’t want to impose by asking her or her husband, who’s also a friend. The last time I had this premonition was this morning, oddly enough in the shower. I wasn’t thinking of her (she’s like a sister, people, come on), but I got that feeling again, and she just confirmed that today, without my having to ask. The oddest thing is, I’ve done that with one of her previous kids. She’s the only person I’ve ever been able to detect twice, but about the 10th-12th person I’ve been able to make the call on just out of thin air.

By the time May came around, I’d expected to hear or see, in the form of a cute Facebook post, what my friends’ baby’s gender was going to be, and I enquired and was told they believed it was a girl, but there were problems and the outlook didn’t look good either way, pending some more tests. I tried to swallow my heart back down. Prayers and requests for same go out immediately, literally around the globe. Older son in Jerusalem to Western Wall, holy sites in Hebron, other friends to mosques and churches….

More painful days of even more painful tests told them their baby had a “not uncommon” (1 in 6000) genetic disorder, and would likely not survive until birth, but a small percentage may live as long as 10-12 years, require 24/7 care and have the mental capacity of an infant. This could have a permanent effect on their family, their three kids would be scarred for life, and they could end up among the least fortunate, God forbid. The kind of stuff that runs through your mind when there’s absolutely not one blessed thing you can do to make any kind of constructive difference….

I was dying to give her the one thing I could, but I couldn’t! It was only a suggestion. The suggestion every single woman I spoke to about this said they would give their daughter, and what they would do themselves! But being a progressive — being in favor of a woman’s right to choose what to do with her own body, all I could do was shut my mouth and respect her decision to follow her own beliefs. She’s a smart woman, has graduate degrees; she’s a scientist. She knows her options. But if she follows her beliefs as religiously as she does, with so much conviction, then I have to follow my belief, which is a woman’s right to choose, as religiously as she does hers. What an incredibly difficult real-life test for a confirmed, dyed-in-the-wool, blue-state progressive liberal Democrat from Brooklyn named Levine. I hope I never have to take one like it again.

That aside, I tried to put myself in her place when her husband told me, knowing her child had died inside her, going into the hospital and being induced (as my son’s wife had been just days before), going through I don’t know how much painful sweating, agaonizing labor and having a natural birth (as I witnessed my wife do twice) and knowing that after everything she and her body and soul put into it, there was nothing more than a lifeless body that never breathed the air, a child she loved and now had to bury without ever hearing him cry, I don’t think I could survive something like that. I would be a total and complete wreck. Just give me the needle and don’t take it out. Where on earth does one find the strength?

This is the kind of stuff that a special kind of mother’s character is built on. The heroine doesn’t need a name, she doesn’t need a philosophy or a specific belief or anything, she doesn’t need a background. This is about a woman’s – a mother’s – superhuman strength of mind, body, and character. This goes so deep into the makeup of her character, it is an eye-opening, mind-expanding, cathartic thing for me, as a male, to really sufficiently identify with in any kind of way. All I can do is try to imagine what it must feel like.

Except I can’t.

 

Jodi Arias trial: Trying our patience   5 comments

The Jodi Arias case has been going on for longer than most of her relationships have lasted, and people all over the blogosphere are getting damn fed up with it. You can read it on people’s blogs, Tweets, Facebook posts, maybe even their attitudes if you happen to call someone who’s forced by circumstance to watch HLN’s time-stretched version of this fairly tiresome and unprofessionally-conducted trial.

Constant objections, repeated sidebars, meetings in chambers, former Juror Number Five (the Three-Toned Wonder of bad hair), Judge Sherry Stephens admonishing the witness time and time again in the case of Alyce Laviolette, who may have to check into her own clinic if she can even walk off the stand under her own power by the time that day mercifully arrives.

What’s surprises me the most is the unprofessionalism displayed by the prosecutor, in most cases, followed pretty closely by the judge, who looks like she’d rather be getting a pelvic exam than sitting on the bench for this fiasco for another minute.

Prosecutor Juan Martinez has taken this trial so personally, he can barely hold himself back, gritting his teeth, clenching his fists. Most recently he actually hopped on a couple of occasions (as in ‘hopping mad’) and has begun to slap exhibits on the glass surface of the document projector, snatching exhibits from the domestic abuse counselor and, according to the continuum of abuse that’s been put into evidence, practically terrorizing her. 

This is unprofessional in itself, and might be grounds for appeal, but apparently that’s Juan’s shtick.

On the other extreme, listening to Kirk Nurmi ask a question is worse than watching the grass grow. It’s more tedious than going over every inch of ground we have under satellite surveillance in North Korea, one pixel at a time. His direct questioning of the defendant alone lasted long enough for an entire freaking carton of Tootsie Pops to melt.

The only attorney in this case who doesn’t make me want to toss a brick at my computer screen is Jennifer Wilmott, but she hasn’t made a big score yet in this case, although she seemed to have raised Dr. Samuels from the near-dead, because most of the time he spent being cross-examined, he was arguing with Martinez to less success than Alyce Laviolette. At least she’s demonstrated more resilience.

For a case with a profile as huge as this one, Jodi Arias needed either a franchise-level quarterback or a reliable, proven winner to back her starter. What she ended up with, apparently, was Mark Sanchez and Tim Tebow. Screwed if you run, screwed if you pass, screwed if you run the Wildcat, especially against Ray Lewis and the ghost of Lawrence Taylor, as personified by “The Prosecutor.”

But we did get some good scientific information from Dr. Samuels regarding socio-identity disorder and dissociative identity disorder, neither of which Jodi suffers from. But she does have PTSD, Dissociative Personality Disorder, and Dissociative Amnesia, and some incredibly low self-esteem if any. And it’s always comfortable to know that the chart Ms Laviolette would classify every relationship as abusive to some degree.

My take as of now is that Jodi was a pacifist looking for something to believe in. Travis became her guru, in Samuels’ words, something I’ve said from the beginning. Travis served as her religious icon, her mentor in the PPL MLM scam, and her sex tutor.

The most important thing I’ve learned from this trial was in the form of  a short class in body chemistry from Dr. Samuels: Panic activates the limbic system, which puts out adrenaline, which in turn causes glucose to be produced. (This explains why, as a diabetic, my blood sugar is always higher after a stressful incident.)

Correction: In an earlier post, “hypothalamus” should correctly be “hippocampus.”
“and the animal instinct of survival came roaring in from her hypothalamus hippocampus and turned her into something like The Tasmanian Devil on Angel Dust.”
My apologies.
     And yes, it freaking sure as hell IS brain surgery!

As usual, your intelligent comments are elicited and appreciated. Please free to say your piece as long as you stay on topic and keep it real. Comment spammers should expect a guy at their door who resembles Samuel L. Jackson, especially when he reads you his favorite passage from Ezekiel.

Jodi Arias Trial – All we know are the facts, ma’am.   10 comments

Joe Friday’s worst nightmare was back on the stand last Thursday, answering the last of some 220 juror questions, many of them repetitive and annoying, but as we’ve learned to expect, once again there are new twists in the most recent version of things as they did or didn’t occur on or about June 4, 2008, the day Jodi Arias admittedly killed Travis Alexander.

Barely 15 minutes into the morning session, Jodi Arias answered this juror question, without correcting the questioner:

Judge: You stated that you remember throwing the gun into the desert, but do you remember what happened to the box it was in?

Arias: No, I do not.

Judge: What about the holster you mentioned?

Arias: I only saw the holster before I moved (back to Yreka); I didn’t see it again after that.

This box was a new addition to the story, but for some unknown reason, by not correcting the question as she’s done a dozen times over the course of this trial, she acknowledged by default that it existed.

This is also in direct contradiction to her testimony on March 5th (day 27), during the late afternoon session. At about the 35-minute mark, this revelation was made for the first time, which indicated there was no box:

Nurmi: (Exh. 69 – picture of inside of Travis’ closet projected on screen) And point to us again where in this closet the gun was. 

Arias: (touches screen to indicate location) He kept it up in this… well, it was more… it was in the corner. It wasn’t above the clothes necessarily. It was… there’s a corner there. It was in the corner.

Nurmi: OK. And was it sitting out? Was it in a box? Do you recall… wh-wh-where was it?

Arias: It was sitting up there. I believe it had a holster.

Nurmi: OK.

Martinez: Judge…(unintelligible) I think she said “I think it was in a holster,” right?

Judge (to Arias): Restate your last answer.

Arias: I think… Yes, I.. it… it… it was in a holster at one point.

Nurmi (to himself): What the FUCK???

So had she or had she not imagined two separate containers, for lack of a better word, that the gun was in. And was it in a box, in a holster, in a holster inside a box, or just sitting up there? Pick an answer, any answer.

Back on Day 25, during cross-examination, she said nothing of a holster OR a box.

On just the second day of cross-exam, she contradicted herself in the space of less than thirty seconds. During the morning session on Day 22, at about the 1:09 mark, Martinez was questioning her about extracurricular activities with Ryan Burns on June 5th. She told Martinez loud and clear, “I did not grind that guy.” Moments later, Martinez asked, “Did you grind with him? And she answered, “Yes.”

But after Juan Martinez’ math lecture, which exposed the two-gas can story as a bald-faced (well, bald-something) lie, my last page of notes for the day ends in “throw in the goddamn towel.”

Now, just when we thought it was safe to take a long weekend without the drama this case has caused, we’re presented with yet ANOTHER twist, this one not attributable to Jodi Arias: Travis Alexander’s arrest and conviction on shoplifting and battery in 2002. You’ll have to click “Search” once you get to that page. Although convicted on two misdemeanors, Travis’ booking photographs are nowhere to be found. Same with the fingerprints. So, there’s a history of violence in the years prior to his meeting Jodi Arias.

After five days off, both teams should be well-rested and ready to start fighting today, March 13th, Day 30 of a trial that would never have happened if Travis Alexander and Jodi Arias hadn’t been fuckbuddies, something that seems to have caught on over the last ten years. Part of me says I wish I were 25 years old again, but most of me thanks God I’m not.

Jodi Arias: Running With The Devil of untreated mental illness   16 comments

I found the simple life ain’t so simple, when I jumped out on that road.
I got no love, no love you’d call real, ain’t got nobody waitin’ at home….

— Van Halen

Jodi Arias had a big problem keeping her life simple. It began in her childhood, and it is securely locked behind one of the psychological coping mechanisms she’d developed to shield herself from the intolerable mental anguish of whatever cost her self-esteem before she even turned 15. This was a crucial time of her life, during which she needed attentive parenting — extra attentive, because rather than blossoming into a woman, she was wilting and dying inside. But she got no love, no love she’d call real; and there was nobody waitin’ at home.

Where did she go first, as a 15-year-old? Into the claws of an 18-year-old goth kid who believed he was a vampire, and wanted to take Jodi to San Francisco “to find some real vampires and live together forever (in death).” [Editor’s note: Outside of Hollywood (or Vancouver) movie sets, there are no goddamned vampires!] We are talking about the number one low-life reject in her little town, dressed in black when it was over 100 degrees in the shade, who stood out like a bent left ring finger. That hookup was short-lived, as he cheated on Jodi and she moved out. He was her first in many ways.

Foreign exchange student

Next, she IMs her way into a relationship with a kid in Costa Rica who had the same last name as Jodi, and she’s enrolled in an exchange program and living with his family. So, the cultural exchange program naturally turns to the exchange of bodily fluids, he gets her a ten-dollar ‘promise ring,’ and he immediately takes possession of her.

After Jodi returned, they continued to communicate as ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ until he came to California for his part of the foreign exchange program, staying with some relatives in Redding, about a hundred miles south of Yreka and ironically the town from which Jodi rented the car she used to make that last trip to Mesa. While the guy from Costa Rica was visiting California, he and Jodi got more serious, but he became overtly controlling of her, berating and falsely accusing her when she exchanged innocent hi-hi’s with a male classmate who worked at an ice-cream drive-thru window in Yreka. That was the end of that.

Intercourse With The Vampire

And, so Jodi went back to GothBoy with the belief that Sept 23, 1997 was going to be the end of the world, thanks to Town Drunk With Bible, who she inexplicably latched onto, and she just wanted to prepare Juarez so he/they could… I don’t know what. Escalate their relationship to anal sex and probably other demeaning acts while introducing her to KY Jelly to facilitate same, it appears. Then she splits town again and makes her way down the California coast, supporting herself with a series of waitress jobs.

This friendly, intelligent, attractive girl who had a future if she’d just applied herself toward developing her talents, or if her advisor in high school would have spent some time with her, was headed into the decaying orbit that would consume the totality of her life.

BREAKING NEWS: Significant breakthrough in abnormal psychology

Jodi Ann Arias’ capital murder trial in Phoenix is a study in abnormal psychology. (I’m so glad I passed that in college.) But as all science does over a lifetime, the studies, causes, and treatments of mental illness have morphed almost beyond recognition. There are whole new methods of identifying and isolating specific syndromes, and new reasons and cures for diseases are discovered every time we seem to turn around.

Last week, Lancet ran this story that appears to change the profile of five major psychiatric disorders previously thought not to be related: autism spectrum disorder, attention deficit-hyperactivity disorder, bipolar disorder, major depressive disorder, and schizophrenia.

Thanks to embryonic stem-cell research, the work of the Psychiatric Genomics Consortium, and the geniuses who worked on the decoding of the human genome, we now have a landmark discovery which can reasonably cause mental health professionals to believe Jodi Arias’ many personality disorders are genetic in nature.

Jodi’s dissociation from reality – pathology

In addition to the above specific groups of mental illness, there are the many dissociative disorders, which also afflict Jodi, and make her everything she shouldn’t be, specifically Dissociative Identity Disorder, which affects self-esteem. Dissociation is a universal response to overwhelming trauma, according to Marlene Steinberg, MD, a prominent published psychiatrist who specializes in this field. I would love to see Jodi’s results on the adult DES test.

I’m very anxious to hear what Dr. Samuels has to say, and whether this will alter his diagnosis of Ms. Arias. If anyone in this case is competent to relate this discovery to the mental illness that turns a talented, intelligent, demure, and — let’s face it — knockout gorgeous young woman into the Queen in Aliens, it is Dr. Richard Samuels, PhD. 

(Note: I have no idea how this completely unrelated line appeared here. I would credit it to a KUI error and a proofreading mess-up.)

— At this point I’ll spare you the gory details of their illicit sexual relationship; we’ve already got TMI. —

Flash-bang adrenaline grenade

Although I have major doubts that Jodi indeed planned this poorly-choreographed attack, I agree that Jodi Arias is ultimately responsible for the death of Travis Alexander. But I still fail to see how a 5’5″ (1650 cm) 125- to 140-lb. (~60 kg) woman could effect as much damage as she apparently did to someone the size of Alexander, who worked out and outweighed her by 60-80 pounds of upper-body muscle. Especially within the timeline we’ve been given thanks to date and time stamps on the photos:

5:29:20  intentional face shot of Travis in shower (break of 1:10)
5:30:30  intentional (deleted) “Calvin Klein” shot of Travis sitting in shower (break of 44 seconds)
5:31:14  accidental picture as camera hit the floor (break of 1:02)
5:32:16  accidental picture of Jodi’s foot in blood, Travis is dead. (Total elapsed time: 2 minutes 56 seconds.)

So, we’re to believe that Jodi Arias was cognizant of what happened? The entire killing took 62 seconds – the length of a commercial! If that’s not the primal reaction of someone who’s in immediate fear for her life, and blacked out by her own adrenaline, then space-time must have curved for the minute and two seconds it took for her to effect 27 stab wounds, two more that Travis blocked with his hands, a gunshot wound, and a cleanly slit throat, presumably in one continuous motion, from ear to ear. And then pick him up and drag him down the hall as soon as the mortal combat was over, kicking the camera in the process. It does not fit that a person in their right mind could achieve that.

Had Jodi Arias not been in the blackout state she referred to as “a fog” during those few short seconds it took to inflict all that damage on Travis Alexander, she would never have reacted the way she did. She must have been terrified to the extent of having a seizure. Why not run out the door instead of into the closet? Because her brain did what human brains do under massive stress – it blanked out, and the animal instinct of survival came roaring in from her hypothalamus and turned her into something like The Tasmanian Devil on Angel Dust.

After hearing two more weeks of incredibly detailed testimony, I’m getting a little weary of watching Jodi Arias, her fencing with Juan Martinez, his teeth gritting like a mad dog’s, and I’ve become tired at looking at The Bride of Frankenstein and her sister the cop, with the Hitler comb-over. Let’s get this redirect done in a day or two at the most, let’s let Juan Martinez out of his doghouse, and on to the jury’s questions for Jodi. That could be a pivotal point in the trial, since there are a lot of missing puzzle pieces to put into place.

Then we’ll get to hear from the forensic psychologist, which should be an adventure in abnormal psych.

Final note: If Joe Arpaio doesn’t give Jodi Arias food and water during this trial, a basic civil right, I will fucking report him for violations of the Geneva Conventions*, The U.N. Conventions on Human Rights, and the United States Constitution. Also, the little fucker’s looking for a Habanero pie in the face if I ever have the opportunity.

* If Americans are subject to The Patriot Act, then the fucking Geneva Conventions cover our rights. The Patriot Act effectively enforced martial law.

Thoughts on the Jodi Arias trial….   36 comments

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.

But 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.

Please feel free to leave your opinions. In fact, I encourage and welcome your comments. All comments, however, are subject to approval before publishing. COMMENT SPAMMERS WILL BE FOUND AND EXECUTED.

%d bloggers like this: