I consider myself a moderately intelligent woman, yet in concept and in practice I don't understand forgiveness.

It seems like a make-believe thing. Like if you believe in Santa, he will bring you presents. If you believe in the Flying Spaghetti Monster, he will touch you with his noodly appendage. Like if you wish upon a flying star.....

I can't wrap my brain around the concept so I can't practice it in life.

I'm suddenly wondering if it is even a real thing, or just another supernatural belief we made up years ago and cling to out of a misguided longing to be divine.

This is kind of silly. I really feel the need to write today but I don't know what I should write about.

The BB household is fighting a stubborn cold, so I'm on my way to the store to stock up on chicken noodle soup and other comforts. When I come back I want to curl up in a blanky and just write until I can sleep.

So, sorry for being so self-indulgent, but I'm at a loss for what to write about. I decided to let the community decide by way of popular vote.

Here is what I'm considering:

My brother is a rapist.

He is a pedophile.

He's also a thief. A misogynist, a ticking time bomb. A short-tempered addict/alcoholic full of rage. He is the epitome of a nihilist.

There are dozens of men out there in the world who want nothing more than to strangle him, or otherwise physically harm him, because of what he did to their daughters. I was threatened countless times on his behalf. When I explained my own outrage and gave them directions to where he might be on any given day, they'd usually calm down and apologize to me for assuming....

I always told them where he was because I thought he needed a good pounding from the fathers of his victims. But as they'd leave, my stomach would churn and I'd fight back tears. My brother was going to be dead by the time I clocked out of my shift. I couldn't stand to think of him going through that much pain.

What can I say? He's my little brother.

And I love him.

Okay, I know this is going to come across as more than a little bit grumpy, but I am grumpy today so it is what it is.

But here is my simple plea: Please don't post diaries about topics that you don't fully understand unless you're willing to be corrected, and acknowledge those corrections.

The Minnesota Vikings have launched an independent investigation into former punter Chris Kluwe's allegations that he was fired for his activism.

According to the statement from the Viking's PR department:

Former Chief Justice of the Minnesota Supreme Court Eric Magnuson and former U.S. Department of Justice Trial Attorney Chris Madel will lead the investigation.

“It is extremely important for the Vikings organization to react immediately and comprehensively with an independent review of these allegations,” said Vikings Owner/President Mark Wilf.

......

“This is a highly sensitive matter that we as an organization will address with integrity,” said Vikings Vice President of Legal Affairs and Chief Administrative Officer Kevin Warren. “Eric and Chris have stellar reputations in both the local and national legal community. They have handled numerous cases involving a wide range of issues, and we are confident they will move swiftly and fairly in completing this investigation.”

Robins, Kaplan’s investigation has already begun and will include interviews with current and former members of the Vikings organization.

It's not looking good for Incognito.

First, some background for those of you who may not follow football:

Last year, Miami Dolphin's tackle Jonathan Martin left the team, later claiming that he faced bullying and other indignities from his teammates on and off the field.

Richie Incognito was, according to Martin, the "ringleader," for lack of a better word, of the bullying.

Surprising no one, Incognito claimed that the accusations were false, and although he did call Martin the N word, to judge [him] by that one word is wrong.

“It sounds like I’m a racist pig. It sounds like I’m a meathead. It sounds a lot of things that it’s not. And I wanted to clear the air just by saying I’m a good person,” Incognito said. “I’m embarrassed by my actions, but what I want people to know is the way Jonathan and the rest of the offensive line, and our teammates, how we communicate, it’s vulgar. . . . People don’t know how Jon and I communicate to one another.”

Incognito noted that many of his teammates, white and black, have said they support him.

“If I was a racist and I was bullying Jon Martin, when the press went in there and asked questions, that locker room would have said, ‘Listen, we saw this, we saw that.’ I’m proud of my guys for having my back and telling the truth,” Incognito said.

So the Dolphins said they were going to investigate and NFL fans expected nothing to come of it.

This morning I found myself watching old Roseanne episodes and remembered why everyone who knew us thought the show was an accurate depiction of my family back in the day. And I could not have been more like Darlene if I had tried.

Of course, the truth was that I had a crush on Darlene, and my mom later admitted she knew that but kept hoping that maybe I was just happy to see someone actually represent me on TV after so many years of us watching perfect families that we didn't relate to every weekday night.

So this morning while watching a few reruns, I was struck by a memory and posted it to my (usually quiet) facebook page.

I'm watching old Roseanne reruns for some reason this morning, and I had a funny memory that I'd forgotten about. When B and I first met, like the second day we were together, we we had been talking for hours about random shit and I thought it was funny that she reminded me of Darlene because I had such a crush on her when I was young. Later that day, we ended up talking about Roseanne and she told me I reminded her of Darlene. She had a childhood crush on her, too.

Dorks like us have to stick together, I think. When you find your Darlene you have to hold on to her! And the crazy family comes with her....

With the obvious exception of Newt Gingrich, was there anyone more hated in the nineties than Courtney Love? If Yoko Ono broke up The Beatles, Courtney Love broke down Nirvana's door with a can of gas in one hand, a blowtorch in another, a burning cigarette hanging out of her mouth and a dirty syringe hanging haphazardly from her arm.

I'm here to ruin an icon, thanks.

Not The Beatles enthusiastic, no. It was more of a stoic, this is, like, really cool, laid back enthusiasm. Grunge had effectively arrived and was A Thing. The over-indulgence of '80's hair metal quickly became a joke, and budding guitarists no longer had to become Olympians on the fret board. They just had to know a few chords and feel shit.

And Nirvana, whether they liked it or not, became the face of the whole popular music sea change.

Kurt Cobain killed himself on April 5th, 1994, and it shocked, stunned, and saddened an entire generation and then some. Although they certainly weren't the first band to embrace heavy power chords while shunning the rock star image, they were, inexplicably, the first to become mainstream.

I have seven fewer this year than I did in 2013. One was yanked in early January after it abscessed (I'm sure plenty of you recall my endless whining about that), and six more were yanked On Wednesday. Two wisdom teeth, four teeth that could not be saved.

Egads. Not fun, of course.

I'm not sure why I have such awful teeth. When I was younger, I assumed it was because I was uninsured for most of my teens and never had regular cleanings or maintenance.

Then when I was a bit older, I assumed it was due to partying every night of the week and crashing without brushing or flossing.

So when I was about 23, I went to get my teeth fixed, once and for all. I figured since I wasn't the party animal I used to be and brushed and flossed twice daily, I don't have a sweet tooth, rarely drink soda, and was more or less healthy, it would be fixed and that would be that.

But it was not to be.

Posting this update at the top so everyone can see it: I'm home now. Had a lot of tests and shit done at the ER, some of which I won't know the results of until tomorrow. I'm sorry I can't give a full update. I was severely dehydrated and have some paperwork about how I need to have a follow up with my PCP. I am extremely tired, and I will answer all the personal kosmails I received tonight as soon as I am able. For now I just want to sleep. One thing is for certain: the extractions caused an extreme case of vertigo which I find hilarious for some reason.

I am so very sorry for worrying everyone so much. That was not my intent- I thought this all might be a normal reaction to my current circumstance and simply wanted to commiserate with peeps who've been in the same boat. I'm reading through the comments and really feel like an asshole for stressing out so many of you. And I especially feel terrible for the situation I put Thinking Fella in- but, seriously, is he not the coolest guy ever? I love that man and am so happy that we've become friends IRL.

Anyway, I'm really embarrassed by this whole thing and I want to delete this diary to save some face. I feel terrible for all the worry I've caused, but I think this diary quit being mine hours ago. It now belongs to everyone- a testament to what this community really is.

Thank you all, and please accept my sincerest apologies. I was blessed with the talent of having a way with words but in this case, I really have none. Just that I love you all, and I am truly sorry.

Going to sleep now that Thinking Fella will allow it :-)

--------------------------------------

Sorry to post such a non-substantive diary, but I feel really horrible right now. As I documented in my last diary, I had six teeth pulled on Wednesday. I hate narcotics so I didn't want to take any of the Vicodin that was prescribed to me, but my mom and gf ganged up on me to make me take one so that once the anesthetic wore off, I'd have a wall of defense.

I took maybe a total of four or five over the course of Wednesday afternoon and Thursday, but Thursday night I was crawling I out of my skin and remembered why I hate narcotics.

But today I feel really weird. When I stand up my whole face goes numb like it's falling asleep, and the room doesn't spin so much as tremble.

I am more exhausted than I remember ever being, but I can't sleep. I'm sitting next to an open window right now and it's pouring rain outside, but I'm hot.

I feel like my body is made of putty. I wanted to call my mom for advice, but then I remembered that I called her at about noon today. It took me almost half an hour to remember that conversation. I don't want to call her again because I don't want to worry her.

Gf is out of town working and everyone else is in Boise. My SIL lives nearby but her one year son just had minor surgery so I don't want to bother her.

has anyone else experie3nced this feeling? It's like I'm a helium balloon that's deflating. I don't know who to explain it, but I don't feel right.

Is this normal after having six teeth pulled? Maybe the anesthetic is wering off? The dentist injected me with nerve blockers, whatever that is, maybe this is the hangover?

I don't know, just feeling kind of lost and a little bit afraid right now.

Last night I was on the phone with my mom, and she told me a funny story about my nieces, who are both terrified of bugs of all kinds except roly polies. They love roly polies, otherwise known as pill bugs or potato bugs. All kids do, really. Since I don't know if these exist everywhere or only in dry climates, here is a picture:

Courtesy of http://luviov.wikispaces.com/...

Well, some of them do. Again, I don't know how this works in other areas but in this part of the country, after a heavy rain the sidewalks and streets are littered with fried worms. They can't get back to the soil before they dry out and die.

So the girls were outside playing, and there was a worm in their driveway that they decided to save. It was making its way back to the grass, but there wasn't enough time! When they picked it up my mom told them to throw it in the garden.

"All by itself?" They shrieked. "Where is the rest of his family?"

My mom told them she didn't know, and the worm probably didn't care.

The girls thought that was preposterous. They put the worm in the garden, then decided to go find his family. At first, they got four other worms. A mom and dad and a brother and sister. But that wasn't enough. "Wait! What if he has other brothers and sisters?" So they spent a good deal of time finding additional siblings.

The rain started up again and my mom told them to come inside, but they were not happy with their findings. What about the grandma and grandpa and aunts and uncles and cousins?

In the end, the girls spent three hours outside hunting for worms, each bringing back a handful after every scouting trip to keep the original worm company. My mother, who doesn't mind bugs that much but HATES worms, opened the door to call the girls inside again and found a huge mound of worms in her garden.

When she told them to come inside, the youngest protested, "But we haven't found his whole family yet!"

My mom told her the worm would be fine, but they were not entirely convinced. They came inside anyway and spent another fifteen minutes staring out the window at the reunited worm family, still worried about all the other displaced worms out there.

December 17th, 2005, I walked into the Boise Humane Society to find a dog, a companion, an alternative to anti-depressants. I brought my three oldest nephews with me so that I could make sure that whatever dog I picked picked me would be good with a few rambunctious kids.

We walked through the seemingly endless rows of kennels. Lot of sweet dogs, lots of eyes staring up at me asking to be taken home. My nephews kept gravitating towards the puppies and urging me to take a little puppy home. "No," I told them. "Those puppies will be be swooped up and taken to new homes in no time. I want a dog. A dog that wouldn't get a good life otherwise."

They sulked a bit, and we continued to walk around the kennels. My girlfriend at the time was mystified by my method. There are hundreds of dogs with sad eyes that need a good home, she kept saying. Why can't we just grab the first one we saw, save him, and spare ourselves the heartache of looking at all those other sad eyes?

She had never been to a pound before. She didn't understand. I tried to explain that they pick us, but she thought I was crazy.

I was about to call the search off until another day and gather everyone up back in the car when something tugged at me. No, not this aisle, no, not this one- this one.

I walked until I came upon the kennel that was calling my name to see a fat, silver Pit Bull. He was cute and seemed nice enough but, no, that wasn't him. I stood there for a moment, confused.

Then, from behind the other side of that kennel a dog approached meekly towards me, his head bowed, his eyes pleading. How had I not seen this dog throughout any of my other trips down these aisles?

"This is him," I announced. Everyone stared at me in disbelief. This meager, timid, skinny and scarred dog? The one that was obviously a stray and was standing by the kennel door with his head hung low? Really?

I went to get a leash from the clerk so I could take him out to the play area with the kids. He has to be good with kids. There are a lot of them at my house on any given weekend.

He walked down the hall leaning against my leg, until we got him outside. All the kids parted to make way for him to run. The timid, weak dog of a second ago took off running, jumping, and prancing around, stopping whenever he came near one of the kids to give them some love.

My ex and I stood back and watched. She laughed at his dancing and prancing and said, "That's a good dog."

"Yep," I said. "He's ours!"

Soon after, we all piled into our friend's van (she and her daughters had joined us for the occasion) and headed home. The unnamed but adorable dog didn't hesitate when he got in the van. He jumped right up on my lap, curled into a ball, and licked my hand the whole way home.

UPDATE: I AM NOT GOING TO HARM MYSELF. I just wanted to write so that I can process how I feel. I don't want anyone to worry, so please don't.

The weather has been beautiful. Revitalizing, even, if not for me.

Seems to be working for everyone else.

I can't shake the demons. They are clawing at my soul, threatening to take away everything.

I'm on my couch chain-smoking and drinking. Beautiful day outside. Beautiful. But this beauty belongs to someone, everyone else. Not me.

This is not for me.

Thus, the end of my leave from work ends and I contemplate going back. I was fortunate to be covered under FMLA. I don't know what I'll go back to when I go back, but I know that I'll still have a job and still make as much as usual.

But I'm not sure that my job is really protected. And I know I don't want to go back.

BOISE -- A federal appeals court has temporarily put plans for Idaho same-sex weddings on hold while it considers the state's request for a longer stay.
...

But the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals on Thursday put the weddings on hold while it considers a request for a longer stay while the governor and attorney general appeal the case.

Yup. I love men. I'm a militant feminist, I'm a lesbian, I'm a woman in a male-dominated industry, but I love men.

Yes, I've dealt with some misogynistic asshats.

Yes, I've been sexually assaulted.

Yes, I've been paid less than my male peers doing the same job.

Yes, I still fucking tremble when a man raises his voice; I fear for my safety.

Yes, I play the guitar like a fucking well-oiled machine but have still heard, too many times, "WOW! For a girl......"

And Yes, men still call me "a girl" even though I'm a fucking woman.

But I love men.

My cousin, a veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, lost his life unexpectedly several years ago. He was not on active duty when he died and that somehow made his death even more confounding. His older brother was stationed in Iraq when it happened, fuming at the contractors who did a terrible job of the same work that he did for a lot more money and quite a bit less skill, and his younger brother, who was stationed in Afghanistan at the same time but remained tight-lipped about any of his feelings regarding anything related to his duty, were granted leave to attend the funeral.

My late cousin and I were never particularly close, but his oldest brother and I were for many years because I was only a year older than him and that's how cousins roll. We used to spend many summer days at grandma and grandpa's house playing "army" in their backyard. I don't attach any special significance to that in this context: that's what kids did when I was a little girl. Maybe they still do, I don't know.

What I do know is that when we were pretending to be soldiers way back when, war was not something that had any special meaning to it. It was something that happened in the past, not something that happens today. It was something we don't do because it's not a good thing.

But the myth of the soldier, the bravado and sheer toughness, is too much to not mimic and want to become when one is young and impressionable. Hell, I carried a Commando doll with me for a few years, dreaming of one day becoming as awesome as Arnold Schwarzenegger, confident that by the time I grew up women would be just as studly as men were allowed to be.

Anyway, before my cousin's death I was a faithful reader and recommender of the IGTNT series, but I haven't clicked on one of those diaries since that day.

Now, I want to be clear that I admire and respect the writers of that series and I know that it was borne of and has been continued for noble reasons.

But what happened the day that I got the news was a gut-wrenching experience. There was a WYFP diary posted later that night, and I commented that my fucking problem was that my cousin had died.

I posted the comment, shed a few more tears, and then stopped.

It immediately felt wrong to me that I had posted about it here, on this site, a specifically partisan/political site. I asked for the comment to be hidden and, to this day, that is (to my knowledge) the only comment I've ever made that was hidden.

I didn't want to exploit to his death and I immediately regretted that I had spoken of it here.

I have shared a lot of my inner life on this site, but that was a line I could not cross. Or rather, it was a line I DID cross and then wanted to take it back. So I did.

Kind of.

Since that day many years ago I have not clicked on a single IGTNT diary. It just feelswrong to me even though I know that every person writing those tributes is doing it for noble reasons.

I've been in a discussion in another diary about the reality of our party as it exists today. So that I'm not accused of misrepresenting what the discussion was, I'll link to the comment where it started and outline the subsequent comment thread here:

I don't want Hillary for personal AND political reasons.  Politically, I simply don't believe that she's the best face of our party, especially at this time when we need a strong push to the left.

Personally, geez, I'm 35 and I don't suffer from Clinton nostalgia. They've been around for most of my life. I'm tired of them. People my age have really known nothing outside of the Bush and Clinton dynasties. So it's just deflating to think of more.

What I want to address is the pushback I was getting from numerous other commenters about my decision to leave the party if HRC is the nominee.

To me, this is not controversial. Let me direct you to the comment I made regarding this decision, again, in the interest of full disclosure:

Well, as I stated downthread

I'm one of the progressives that stayed home in '12.[ed note: this should have stated '10, I did vote in '12 due to the Luna Law proposals] The only real election at the time in my district was between Walt Minnick and Raul Labrador. Minnick was beyond Blue Dog, he is a conservative. He stood with the opposing party on nearly everything, and, most egregiously, he ran what I believe was a racist campaign against Labrador.

So, I disagree that BDs are better than republicans and I wish that, as a party, we would quit allowing that attitude. When push comes to shove, the BDs are republicans. They're what republicans used to be when Democrats were Democrats. We have moved the center so far to the right that conservatives get Democratic nominations. That, to me, is what is truly untenable.

I am only loyal to those who are loyal to me. I'm 35 years old. I've never, ever had a chance to be in a Union, and unions were the reason my grandparents were able to provide for their family and live comfortably. Yet today we have far too many Democrats all too willing to crush Unions even more than they already are.

When I was a child, my dad went to school full time and my mom worked to provide for us. Can you imagine two twenty-somethings today being able to provide for four kids on the salary of a high-school dropout? People struggle to get by on TWO salaries in supposedly "middle-income" jobs.

This is the world I know. The only world I've ever known. To put this in perspective, because I think a lot of the people here forget this, consider my life, what has happened over the course of it. Carter was defeated when I was a baby. I grew up with Reagan, then Bush, then Clinton, then Bush, now Obama and people are seriously contemplating putting another Clinton in office.

And what has happened over that time frame? Wages are worse than stagnant. Our debt is sky-high and our savings are nil. This is not because we are lazy. Democrats talk about cutting our social safety net. People have been unemployed for years and have been cutoff. Sorry! Sucks to be you.

Meanwhile, the stock market is thriving so the rich keep getting richer and the poor are just dirt fucking poor.

This is the only life as an American that I have ever known, and my party loyalty reflects that. I'm tired of it. I am tired of being in the trenches, suffering, and the party that is supposed to stand for people like me has completely sold me out.

Clinton's welfare reform almost destroyed my family when I was a teen, because even by then , after the Reagan era, it wasn't possible for my mom to support all of us financially after the divorce. So what to many seems like a slow decline was rather rapid, in my view, and there were very few Democrats who cared or noticed.

P.S. I am not a crackpot.

by BoiseBlue on Sun Jun 29, 2014 at 12:38:19 PM MST

It's a diary about the democratic party, and HRC being the face of it.

Hold on to your hats- I used to live in a deeeeeeeep blue district where Democrats ran unopposed.

Holy crap! That doesn't happen in red states! That impossible!

Nope.

It's true.

I was a Democrat in a Democratic area. No work was needed in District 19, so I focused my energy on District 18, a purple district that had a republican representing it back in the day.

BAM! District 18 is now blue. Not deep blue, but reliably blue. We got Phylis King elected after a few years of struggle. And it was a struggle.

Phylis worked her ass off, literally going door to door personally and making her case. When she knocked on my door I told her "don't waste any more time here- we're voting for you. Now, how can we help?"

Data entry, phone calls. Lots of mundane shit that was a time suck.

But we did it. And King is now mostly safe from a challenge. She's awesome and I'm proud to have worked for her.

Why am I telling you this?

Because the arguments over NN15 have exposed the marginalization of red states in a way that I never could before, and I want to rip the proverbial band-aid off that wound and expose the shit out of it.

I have been quite open about this affliction with all of you. Some days it shows more than others. I've received a ton of support from so many of you. You keep an eye on me, you notice changes in my writing, you "feel" something is off about me on occasion.

I have always been moved by this support. I regret some of my postings about the issue. I regret the way I've behaved here on a number of occasions because I was in such a hole and lashed out online. I regret that once, when I was in a particularly dark place, I unpublished nearly all of my diaries. That one especially perturbs me.

And in a way, that sums up my existence as a whole. A string of regrets, behavior that I can't control and that I fear defines me. As a logical person I know that I am more than the sum of my mistakes. But my demons are very particular about the way they turn off my lights. They convince me that I am unloved, unworthy, nothing but a fuck up who has only by chance survived this long and I don't deserve that fortune.

You all know far more about me than most people offline do. I can be vulnerable and honest with all of you. I can't extend that to the people that see me on a daily basis.

I remember a diary (sorry I haven't been able to find it to give it proper attribution) that asked what would people here be most surprised to know about us in the real world. I answered that most people here would probably be shocked by how professional I am in real life. The first thing everyone always says about me is that I'm smart. "Scary" smart to some people. "Funny" usually follows that. I get "pretty" a lot but I don't acknowledge that.

And when I hear people describe me in positive terms, I disregard them. I have never been able to accept these terms without thinking "If they really knew me....."

If it seems contradictory when I state that I am a very logical person yet unable to view myself positively, it is. I do not like myself; I try to love myself and usually fail. I know I am intelligent and witty and attractive, but none of those things register as a positive. It's just a nice little mask my demons gave me to constantly change the subject.

I know that it's hard for people to understand depression if they've never experienced it. I even understand why some people think that suicide is cowardly or selfish. I don't agree with it, but I understand it. It's often impossible to explain this existence to people. I have yet to be able to do that successfully.