From Russia with Love and Sexual Harassment

Ever wonder about mail order Russian brides? Why Olga, Inga and the like are willing to sell their souls to middle-aged, over weight, folically challenged men across the globe in order to skedaddle out of the former communist regime? Could it be the cold weather that has them scampering West, or lofty notions of mansions and private jets that sends them to the nearest intercontinental dating agency? Perhaps those are underlying factors. More likely however is that they choose to stray from their homeland in an effort to avoid legal sexual harassment as recently deemed “necessary for the survival of the human race ” by an unnamed Russian judge.

In a late July article posted on Telegraph.co.uk it was reported that a Russian judge threw out a sexual harassment case filed by a 22-year-old female executive who refused to have sexual relations with her 47-year-old male boss. The judge claimed that “the employer had acted gallantly rather than criminally” therefore, evidence withstanding the case was dismissed. What? Since when is it a noble gesture for anyone to force another into sexually submitting without consent? I realize that comparing Eastern and Western philosophies is liken to apples and oranges, but these ideals and commonplace practices are nothing short of repression and eerily similar to slavery.

Equal opportunity and feminism aside, anyone who subscribes to the belief that “if we had no sexual harassment we would have no children,” is a complete lunatic! I can only suspect that the Russian judge who uttered this reckless statement is a direct descendant of Joseph Stalin. No wonder the lovely vodka swilling, babushka wearing ladies are willing to sacrifice themselves to the rapidly declining dollar…at least they’ll only be subjected to the grimy hands of one man rather than the entire Board of Directors.

The Telegraph also reported that in a recent survey “100  percent of Russian female professionals said they had been subjected to sexual harassment by their bosses, 32 percent said they had intercourse with them at least once and another 7 percent claimed to have been raped.”  Ponder the lives of those women for a moment…upon returning home from a long hard day at the office, she’s asked how her day was. She wearily replies, “I was up for a promotion so I had to blow the Junior Executive, have sex with the Vice President and take it in the ass by the C.E.O. My raise will be effective next week as long as I gang-bang the President and the Advisory Committee. Oh, and by the way, I think I’m pregnant. Would you like stroganoff or borscht for dinner?”

What kind of world do we live in where this type of archaic, neanderthal behavior is not only a routine occurrence, but it is also made legal by elected government officials? What’s next, Russia…female castration? Stoning in the courtyard, perhaps?

The good ‘ol US of A may not be perfect, but at least we attempt to protect victims and punish criminals. And no matter which country you reside in no elected official should ever encourage such a heinous offense or have the right to force a woman to reproduce against her will…period, end of story.

Free Russia. Save a Bride!

Am I the only one in a tizzy over this nonsense? Do you believe that workplace sexual harassment is essential to the survival of the human race or is it an illegal act being justified by their legal system? And what about importing a spouse…Yeah or Nah?

Florida Blows

Florida living has many perks. I mean it is Florida!! It is sunny and you are never more than three hours from the beach. Our winter is almost non-existent and there are years we wear shorts at Christmas. It doesn’t get much better than that!

But then there are the storms. If any of you have been following the news today you know that in my area (An Island located in Extreme North West Florida) is about to get a ton of rain and a Tropical Storm named Fey. Or is it Fay? I have no idea. I have watched the weather channel for fifteen consecutive hours and can tell you which directions the front is coming and the current temperature of the ocean, but not sure of the spelling of the storm.

It goes to shows what this type of situation can do to a gals mind.

I want everyone to know that I realize this type of weather is no laughing matter. Anyone who watched TV or was in the area during Katrina knows this. But, when you are in an area that dodges around seven named storms every summer, you must have a sense of humor about the situation. If not you will go insane.

Some folks actually throw “Hurricane Parties.” After boarding up the house invite some friends over and then drink until the storm passes or until you have to shuffle to the local High School aka Shelter. Unless you have a generator. Then you are the most popular kids in this zip code. Everyone is coming over. And they want microwave popcorn and to play some Wii.

There is even a drink, aptly named, “The Hurricane”

This is not how I choose to spend my pre-disaster time, at least not since Katrina. It showed all of us that hurricanes are a constant unknown. And it is best to be alert and prepared instead of drunk and incapacitated.

Will it hit? What category will it be? Will it stall? Will it strengthen? Will it turn? Will we need to evacuate??? Where will we go?? We never know ANY of this until around 2 hours before it actually hits. And even if it doesn’t hit and just grazes us, we live on an island 15 miles long, give or take. The electricity goes out when the tide changes. Needless to say, we will be down for a WHILE.

So, 3-5 days BEFORE anything happens you have to be prepared for the worst. This means prepared to live without anything for days on end.

Have you ever been packing for a weekend trip and packed way too much because who knows what you may do Saturday night and what mood you’ll be in to pick an outfit, etc. etc. So you pack EVERYTHING?

Imagine having to pack one car load of everything you may need or want out of everything you own. Wind, floods and tornadoes are the biggest worries in regards to destruction. Because of those side effects you could come home and find you have nothing left. Sometimes, not even walls.

Or it will pass by and just rain some.

It is just that kind of emotional rollercoaster. And frankly it is a pain in the ass.

Last year was pretty tame, so I was unprepared for this season. I went to “SUPER WALMART” fought the masses and got what you see here.

Sarahh’s guide to hurricane preparedness!

And yes. That is Beefaroni and Bean Dip.

When it is all said and done all you can do is hope that you avoid the worst and can survive the part you don’t want to think about, yet have all the Vienna sausages in the world to get your through, just in case.

Here’s to hoping no Vienna’s this weekend.

What kind of natural disasters happen around you? Twisters? Earthquakes? How do you deal with the possibility of disaster? Do you party or do you panic?

Patience is a virtue, Mr. Edwards

All ye doubters of the rectitude of the National Enquirer have been left with egg on your face; egg on your face I say! The good folks over at the king of tabloids have been crying for our attention for months…claiming that they had a legitimate story about John Edwards and his illegitimate love child.

And now some truth has indeed come out, as truth has a tendency of doing…and John Edwards has admitted to having an affair with this woman:

Who is she? We shall get to that in a moment…but let me explain first why I am even bothering to talk about it. It is not the act itself that really raises my ire. My issue is quite simply the hypocrisy of it all.

There’s nothing quite as decidedly sweet as a little hypocrisy, is there? It lingers on the palate, appeasing both our sense of destruction and our need for gossip. It is a big part of the fabric of America; our socially accepted ritual of voyeurism. And we are delivered our tasty little nuggets of tomfoolery by a very willing and able press corps.

A journalistic inquiry that compels a public figure to eat crow is really the modern day alternative to community stoning; the stuff a good Monday morning is made of! While admittedly public admissions of hypocrisy are not quite as fun or interactive as the rock tossing employed by our relatives of yesteryear… the method does have its perks. While pelting in its heyday was reserved almost exclusively for common women, today’s alternative allows us to blur the gender line and emotionally injure everyone, whether they be phallically challenged or not.

It seems though that today, this particular cocktail of embarrassment and shame is reserved mostly for the power-drunk political bucks that rove the grasses just off Capitol Hill. Yes, aspiring politician after politician have managed to get their dicks so inescapably caught in the ringer that political castration soon followed suite. Way to follow the pack, Johnny boy.

See, here’s a man whose presidential bid rested solidly on the ideals of integrity and compassion. This divide between his righteous indignation and his behavior is akin to finding out Gandhi having McDonalds smuggled into his residence while fasting for the rights of India. Ok, well maybe that’s a tad bit over stated…Gandhi and John Edwards are not quite on the same plane of relevance…as a matter of a fact John Edwards will be lucky if two years from now he’s on anybody’s mental rickshaw of relevance. But still, the duplicitous bastard pisses me off.

The idiot cheated on his wife. What’s that? You say a lot of politicians cheat on their wives? True… but how many of them have the big brass balls and the complete lack of scruples to cheat on their spouses when they have cancer? John Edwards seems uniquely disconnected and unaffected by sentimentality, which probably would have made him a wonderful leader come to think of it, but I digress.

Yes, John Edwards, the man o’ morals, had an affair with some 42-year old videographer he met in a bar, while his wife was trying to battle cancer no less. Edwards’ campaign hired the woman, she traveled with Edwards, making videos, and then she suddenly left the campaign, reportedly midway through 2006, and the videos all disappeared off the Edwards website shortly after. Then the story gets interesting…

His lil’ fling ended up pregnant, not long after she stopped working with the campaign. Edwards insists he is not the father, though he has yet to take a paternity test. Apparently the thought of losing her meal ticket’s got baby-mama a lil’ gun-shy; she won’t allow the test. You see, she has managed to procure herself a lovely little mansion to call her own out in Santa Barbara Ca, that she is sharing with the young aid that they paid claims to be the baby daddy! Aww, like a family! Anyhow, I don’t think she wants to risk all that to be on Maury Povich.

John Edwards of course denied that he knew of any monetary consideration for either his mistress or former campaign aide but did stipulate that one of his donors or handlers might have. Uh huh. And then like magic his former chief aid came forward to admit that he provided money to move Ms. Hunter out of Edwards’ state, without Edwards’ knowledge, of course.

Did I mention Mrs. Edwards was busy dying of cancer during this circus?

Edwards did supposedly tell his wife awhile ago, but he neglected to tell the rest of America. He didn’t figure he needed to…it was The National Enquirer with the story. And they are “tabloid trash” and “an example of the reason the American public has trouble trusting the media.” So he denied the story…for months.

When he finally did come out to us, he did so on a day when most media had left for Beijing…near the end of a news cycle on a Friday…no doubt anticipating a slow weekend filled with distractions and new news stories. For shame, Jonathan, for shame!

This is a man who put his ideals on a pedestal and put his wife in the corner. Elizabeth Edwards has made good on her vow to stand beside Senator Edwards until death do us part. And ol’ Johnny-Come-Lately couldn’t even wait until after the casket dropped to plow some random haggish bar straggler? How tacky…

Patience truly is a virtue…that John Edwards doesn’t possess. And because of his inability to suffer a little penis-neglect he will not become Attorney General, he will not speak at the Democratic Convention and he will not hold public office again. Hopefully his wife will make him miserable for the remainder of her time on earth, but it’s unlikely. Elizabeth Edwards is a far cry from her husband, and a damn sight better then an insincere wind-bag like him ever deserved.

So…you think I am being too hard on him? Or do you think he is as big of a hypocritical jackass as I do? And while we are chatting up in here…whatddaya think of Eve’s facelift??!

And I used to enjoy chocolate cake…

Today’s blog was inspired by the following statements made by a lovely British gentleman by the name of Nick Eriksen. Eriksen, a senior BNP official and London Assembly election candidate, posted the following on his blog:

“I’ve never understood why so many men have allowed themselves to be brainwashed by the feminazi myth machine into believing that rape is such a serious crime… Rape is simply sex. Women enjoy sex, so rape cannot be such a terrible physical ordeal…To suggest that rape, when conducted without violence, is a serious crime is like suggesting force-feeding a woman chocolate cake is a heinous offence… A woman would be more inconvenienced by having her handbag snatched.”

When I stumbled across some commentary on this subject last week the above remarks absolutely sickened me. I immediately filed the man who made such remarks away as a male chauvinist with an archaic thought process who was completely out of touch with the world and women particularly. I tried to forget about it…to not allow it to effect me.

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Here piggy, piggy, piggy

The Presidential candidates are even starting to utter the word, and whether we like it or not, we can no longer ignore the fact that the United States is now officially in a recession. Now, I am not an economic wizard or a financial analyst, rather a self-employed, sometimes fiscally irresponsible American who could potentially find herself knee deep in debt with no light at the end of the tunnel.

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