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Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Kelly's Guide to A/C Free Living

You all probably know that I have been without air conditioning for four days in St. Louis, MO. Fun fact: St. Louis has some of the most extreme weather swings in the country. Fun fact deux: The heat index in St. Louis for the past few days has been 100 degrees.

It's been super fun.

Now, I'm no stranger to the A/C-less lifestyle. Here is a blog I wrote several years ago about my experience studying abroad during a heat wave: [Condition the air, Europe].

I've accumulated some tips to help get you through those hot, steamy nights. Not the fun kind of hot and steamy. The gross kind of hot and steamy where you wake up and think you peed yourself but it's actually just sweat and dear god you are literally on fire. 

  1. Take a cold ass shower. It's funny that I phrased it that way because this actually has two meanings. Firstly, your shower water should be cold af. It is everything you want it to be and more. Secondly, use said cold water to ensure the cleanliness of your nether regions. Swamp ass isn't cute. 
  2. Next, you should probably call your landlord. She hates you. And even though you usually passively aggressively imply that you also hate her, now is not the time for your childish pettiness. Be kind as fuck because your A/C is broken and you need that shit fixed ASAP. 
  3. Put a wash cloth in the freezer. Take out wash cloth after half an hour. Place on face. Revel in the magic.
  4. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT cook macaroni and cheese. You will regret this for the rest of your life, even though it is your favorite food. Gas stoves should under no circumstances be utilized when there is no air conditioning. Easy Mac could be the exception. I don't know for sure, but it could be.
  5. Have windows that work correctly. Take a pre-emptive strike against the vague possibility that your a/c could one day in the future break down, and ensure that the windows in your apartment/home are, you know, working and also close properly. Otherwise Satan's air slips in through all the cracks and your apartment becomes the eighth circle of hell.
  6. Sequester yourself in your bedroom. Sit on floor. Cry quietly to self while pointing fan at nether regions.
  7. Go for a drive. Go to a movie. Go stand in the freezer aisle of the grocery store. Find air conditioning and never let it go.
  8. Don't have a memory foam bed. If you do have a memory foam bed, you should probably not sleep on it because it will be hotter than Satan's balls on fire. In fact, you should just buy a new bed altogether because your memory foam bed has probably trapped all of your sweaty hot disgustingness and you will never be comfortable again. #catastrophizing
  9. Call brother and whine. Brothers are good for this. Brothers laugh at you but also listen to your whining with grace. This is an acceptable trade off. 
  10. Maybe don't do laundry at a laundromat where there is also no air conditioning. Dumb. This was a dumb choice that I made. 
  11. Do not sleep naked. Naked sleeping is a sticky situation. Would not recommend.
How did our forefathers do it? Mad respect, yo. Happy cooling.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Let's Talk About Sex...Offenses

I’m sitting here in front of a blank word document, terrified to write about the subject everyone’s been talking about. In fact, I do not know if this will ever see the light of day. The Internet, while it is a wonderful thing in so many aspects, has taken away many individuals’ ability to communicate in a civilized way. We have degraded ourselves to attacking and name calling and passively aggressively liking comments from others of the same opinion that make aggressive comments when we ourselves don’t want to be the scapegoat.

I’m shaking a bit as I begin to write this paragraph, out of fear of how these attackers and passive aggressive likers will react to my words should I choose to publish them. Despite my best efforts, I have a thin skin, and while I am passionately opinionated, I would rather have a calm conversation about two sides of an issue than throw something in your face and be attacked for it.

#BrockTurnerIsARapist

“This is what a rapist looks like”

“He is…not even a human at this point. He is a rapist.”

“I hope someone gets him while he’s in there.”

You all know what we’re talking about. These are only a very few of the numerous posts and comments I have seen regarding the “Stanford Rape Case.” The vast majority of comments and posts have been of a similar nature to the above quotes. I have spent several years providing therapy to and interacting with individuals with sex offenses, so I have a unique point of view on this topic that I feel needs to be heard.

Let’s look at some background.

Firstly, we must understand the subtlety of sexual offense charges. Brock Turner is in fact not, technically, a “rapist.” Rape involves penetration of a vagina by a penis. Turner was convicted of sexual assault, which can encompass a great many things, but in his case, it means that foreign objects and fingers were forcibly inserted into the victim’s vagina. They are both sex offenses, but they are not the same. In the same way, child molestation is not rape; possession of child pornography is not rape. All of these sexual offense charges have specific definitions.

“So what’s the difference?” You might think. “He still penetrated her, so I’m going to call him a rapist.”

The difference is in manner of thinking and risk level. In sex offender therapy, we refer to “thinking errors.” These are ingrained anti-social ways of thinking that deviate strongly from the norm and are indicative of criminal behavior. What type of sexual offender exhibits the most thinking errors? It varies, but typically we see the highest rate of thinking errors in sexual psychopaths (e.g., Ted Bundy) and pedophiles. These individuals are also at the highest risk level when assessing for actuarial risk. They are the most threatening to society as a whole because their ways of thinking are so pervasive and not at all amenable to change. Read: they are most likely to commit another sex offense.

“But wait a minute,” you may say, “These are sex offenders we’re talking about here. Anyone with a sex offense is a threat to society and should be locked up for good. They are a threat to our children and our loved ones.”

Sex offenders are the most stigmatized criminal population by far, somewhat deservingly so when considering the nature of the crime. But the data show us that sexual offenders are, in fact, NOT likely to commit another sex crime. The national recidivism rate for all criminals is between 65 and 75 percent, depending on the crime. That means that 65-75 percent of people who commit a crime will commit another crime in their lifetime. Sex offenders have a recidivism rate of between 35 and 45 percent, all the way down to less than 10 percent for juveniles and some first-time or lesser offenders. Interestingly enough, sex offenders are, generally speaking, not a threat to society.

Thirty-five to 45 percent is nothing to sneeze at, but when considering data across all types of crimes, it is important to keep this in mind. It is also to important to consider that, despite what most people think, sex offenders are among the most easily rehabilitated criminal populations. Cognitive-behavioral treatments have a huge success rate.

So who has the lowest recidivism rates out of all criminals? Sex offenders. Second lowest? Murderers. Who has the highest rate? Property criminals and drug offenders. Turns out, the worse the crime is, the less likely it is to happen again. Thank goodness.

So why are people so up in arms about the Brock Turner case? From what I can glean, there are four major reasons. Firstly, his own and his loved ones’ testimonies to keep him from a lengthy prison sentence were conceived as ridiculous by many. Secondly, his victim wrote a touching and heartfelt letter that went viral. Thirdly, the man didn’t receive any type of prison sentence – At. All. Finally, race and class of course confound all of these issues.

I will gloss over the first two, because to me they are not indicative of the larger issue at hand. I am of the opinion that testimonies from friends and family were weighted too strongly during this trial. While these individuals know Turner as a person, they are not knowledgeable about sex offenders and their patterns and therefore their information is largely irrelevant, I think, to the criminal issue at hand.

Unfortunately—and I think I’ll get a lot of shit for this—I feel the same way about the victim’s letter. Both sides were making emotionally-based arguments that, in my opinion, have little relevance a court room. Do victims need a voice? Let me not stutter when I say this: ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY.

BUT.

The victim’s subjective view of his/her perpetrator does not take into account the objective risk of the perpetrator. We must consider what is best for society as a whole, especially when prisons and jails are so expensive (another issue for another time, but still relevant).

According to the family/friends, Turner is an otherwise perfect dude who is amazing at all he does. According to the victim, he is a piece of shit that should never see the light of day again and he is wholly a villain.

Most people agree with the second assessment, but in fact, like most things in life, he falls somewhere in between.

Moving on. Although it was not explicitly stated (I don’t think, but correct me if I’m wrong), the judge is using what I would call “shock incarceration” or “shock treatment,” which is an entirely ridiculous way to address the issue. Turner appears to be of a mid-level risk (it could be mid-low or mid-high depending on variables of which I am unaware). I cannot say this for certain, as I know very little about Turner’s ways of thinking and personality, but this is based on risk factors that are observable.

In my opinion, Turner should have received a prison sentence with required sex offender therapy where he could address any thinking errors or other issues that did not arise in court. Do I think he is of imminent risk to society? I don’t think so, but I don’t know. Should he still have been sentenced despite his possible low risk? Duh. It’s a fucking felony.

Finally, let’s talk about how this dude is rich and white and talented. It’s common knowledge that the justice system is biased against African Americans, especially males. It’s disgusting and hateful, and it has made me very sad throughout all the years that I have worked in corrections. How about poverty or wealth? You bet it plays a part. His swimming scores don’t make a damn bit of difference to me, and I don’t think they did to the courts either, but people keep bringing it up as another reason why he got off….so, there you go.

But here the thing: Brock Turner still a person. In social work, we like to talk about “person first” language (e.g., an individual with schizophrenia as opposed to a schizophrenic). Were his crimes heinous? Absolutely. Is he a disgusting person? It’s very possible. Is he no longer human because of what he did? No. He is a human who needs some help, and a human who got a bullshit non-sentence, but he is a human nonetheless. He is a human who committed a sex crime.

Here’s the other thing: Brock Turner not the reason the justice system is failing. He is a scapegoat. Is the justice system shitty? In some ways, yes. Is it biased? YES. YES YES YES. Is it Turner’s fault that the justice system is this way? No. Let’s choose to fight for African American males as opposed to against white males. It will be much more productive.

Here’s the final thing, and perhaps more of a personal grievance: Wishing ill on Brock Turner because of his crimes is unproductive and disrespectful. I feel many will disagree with me on this, because again, the stigmatization and fear surrounding sex offenders is high, but hoping that he will get raped in jail just because he didn’t get a sentence that is satisfying to you makes no sense. If you’re pissed off about the sentence (or lack thereof), GOOD. I agree. Let’s search for change at a higher level and make a difference for all offenders as opposed to choosing one to defame. Let’s ensure that all individuals get appropriate sentences, black or white, rich or poor.

There are so many issues in this case that I could go on and on for days. Race, class, location, type of crime, stigma, labeling, misunderstanding, myths, fears. I feel I am only scratching the surface here, but I wanted to give a more fully rounded view of this case instead of merely smearing Turner’s picture all over the Internet.

As a woman, despite my knowledge and experience in this arena, cases like this make me a little bit more scared to live in this world. As a social worker and sex offender therapist…I would fucking KILL to work with this dude. And that would make me a human with a murder charge.



Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Tweaking in Class: OOTD Log

It's been one of those days.

Every Tuesday, I have an evening class at the University of Missouri St. Louis (UMSL) in the criminology department. Yay crime! UMSL, located in Florissant, MO, is about a 20 to 30-minute drive during rush hour from my apartment in Clayton. Here's a map to help you visualize.



Not a bad drive, really. So I'm driving along, listening to the album Bloom and Breathe by gates (what else is new) and I get to the I-70 interchange, where traffic is suddenly bananas.

I'll spare you the boring details about construction and the highway being closed but the basic story is that everyone on I-70 was being re-routed to Natural Bridge Road, where I had gotten off to avoid the traffic on the highway.

Except that the traffic was everywhere and there was literally no escape. There was no other way for me to turn around and get to UMSL. It was too late.

It took me 45 minutes to go 3/4 of a mile. I listened to the entirety of Bloom and Breathe, air drumming like a boss the whole time, well aware but giving no fucks about how crazy I looked.

I left my apartment at 4:50 p.m. and arrived in class more than an hour later. And to put the cherry on top of this shit-show sundae, I looked like a drug addict.

Why?

Well, I've been helping out a photographer friend by doing makeup for her photoshoots, and I was practicing a look I will be doing for a shoot this weekend. This look involves multiple shades of red eyeshadow blended out in a giant circle around my eyes. Despite my best efforts to prevent it, the red still stained the skin around my eyes in a delightfully raw, sickly halo, and so I looked like I was straight up tweaking walking into class.

Goin' up on a Tuesday.

Thursday, March 17, 2016

The Borrowers Stole My Parsley

So, dreams. Everyone has them. Not the "I want to be an astronaut when I grow up" type of dream, but the "Holy shit a clown is chasing me and I can't run" type of dream. The kind of dream you have when you're sleeping.

Only one out of four of the above things I wrote was actually a sentence. #CreativeLiberty

I have a lot of shockingly fucked up dreams. Like, really weird, inexplicable stuff. But I also have a lot of really hilarious dreams. Let's focus on the funny ones, shall we? The following are actual, unadulterated quotes from my dream journal, dated between 2009 and the present.

My lovely dream journal that I bought in Turkey

"Get on train to Nazi Jew resort. If we speak in British accents, they won't kill us. They like the British."

"America has an obesity problem. You don't want to use the obese bathroom."

"I have to sing karaoke songs that I don't know in a powerpuff girls skirt."

"Tents may be insulated...???"

"Guts round. Round of what? Don't know."

"I switch clothes with a dead girl because I like her wedding dress."

"Jesus stops helping at the end so you need to grill 6 hot dogs."

"I want to wear a top out of the store but the mirror yelled at me to take it off."

"The Borrowers stole my parsley and I need it."

"I hit her in the face with my new Covergirl Lash Blast mascara and it breaks and I'm pissed cause I just bought it."

"The president's dog dies and I have to go to a banquet."

"Mom and I go to Starbucks and I get some coffee thing even though they recommended their new guacamole shake."

"Ryan Seacrest is having sex with our toy pigs."

"Someone has saran wrapped and rolled a bunch of mansions. I am amazed by this feat."

"It is actually a toe penis."

"A lot of partying at this club called HAWT."

"I watched Iggy Azalea perform and ate a steak with garlic fries. The steak was deep fried."

"Man gives dog eggs when he does tricks."

Sometimes I wish Freud were still alive so I could be like, "Hey Sigmund, what does it mean when a celebrity host is having sex with my toy pigs that don't even exist in real life?" And he'd be all, "This represents your unconscious sexual urges toward animals and short men."

Dreams are fun.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Thoughts while watching HGTV

House Hunters: Where people seem to think that carpet and wall paint are unchangeable.

House Hunters International: Where people appear confused by the fact that dwellings in other countries differ from those in America.

Property Brothers: Where people seem surprised that the brothers show them gigantic expensive houses even though the show is in its zillionth season and literally everyone knows the gimmick.

Fixer Upper: Where you pay more attention to how adorable Chip and Joanna are than anything happening to the houses.

Love it or List it: Where people have giant expectations for tiny budgets and there is nothing better than Hillary and David's banter.

Love it or List it, Too: Where you start to miss Hillary and David real fast.

Rehab Addict: Where her accent starts to grate on you real hard about 15 minutes in.

Flip or Flop: Where you never cease to be amazed by the shitty condition in which people leave foreclosed houses.

Extreme Homes: Where you get really excited because this show is so cool and it's NEVER ON.

Designed to Sell: Where people have to sell houses that look really really nice when the designer is done with them and it just makes your heart hurt.

Selling New York: Where people pay $30 million for what you could buy for $3 million in literally any other city.

Property Virgins: Where people expect granite counter tops, a pool, an open floor plan, and new construction in their first house. For $100,000.

Monday, December 21, 2015

Help! I've fallen, and I can't get up!

To begin, let's just briefly recount Kelly's issues with back injury:

1. In the summer before my second year of college, I tore a bunch of my spinal muscles because I picked up a kid that I was babysitting and twisted around weirdly. Got some muscle relaxers, did some physical therapy, it all turned out okay.

2. The summer after my third year of college, I was struck by a vehicle as I was walking to class. I walked away from that just fine (relatively), but it likely caused some soft tissue damage leading to...

3. The following fall semester, I had what I was told was a slipped disk, though after speaking with my dad and another doctor (and remembering that the medical care in Auburn is beyond shitty), I have come to the conclusion that it was actually the same thing that happened to me yesterday, just less severe.

Yesterday morning, I woke up and was having some pain in my lower back. It happens every once in a while since that "disk injury" a few years ago. I wasn't terribly worried about it, but it just kept getting worse and worse throughout the day. It probably didn't help that we were driving to and from Knoxville to see a play, so I was sitting down for about six hours.

When we got home, I lay down on the floor, put a pillow with a heating pad under my lower back, and put my feet on a chair with my knees at right angles. I was told by the Auburn disk doctor that this was a good position for your back. And I gotta say, I had zero pain for the 20–30 minutes that I was laying like that. Woohoo!

So after about a half an hour, I decided I should get up to take a shower. You know, hygiene and all that. So I gently rolled onto my side. It hurt a little when I did that. Then I tried to push myself up, and oh my LANTA, something was very, very wrong. I tried pushing myself up with just my arms. I tried twisting my torso so I could put both my arms under me and get more power, all the while feeling like I had a fleet of microscopic Roman soldiers jabbing their spears into my spine.

Eventually the pain got so bad that I started crying a little bit, and at that point I called my dad, who was watching football in the basement. Once he got upstairs he told me to try moving in several different directions to see how we could get me up. Every single movement was AGONY. I cannot adequately describe how badly this hurt.

So at this point I'm sobbing and hysterical. Finally he gets me to roll (literally, just like flop over) onto my back, and he and my mom pulled me up to standing (this whole ordeal took about half an hour, by the way). Once I was standing, I couldn't breathe; I couldn't move; I couldn't speak; I just stood there gasping for air like a dumb fish. A big dumb fish. It was terrifying and unreasonably painful. Like, I cannot adequately get across just how much pain I was in.

Dad called the ER, and we drove down there (Side note: super proud of myself for being able to hobble to the car in my state). My parents are trying to ask me things in the car about where it hurts and all the things a concerned parent should ask, and I responded in two words or less, sounding like what I would imagine people sound like when they just got done running a marathon.

Dat hospital bracelet doe
I had also taken a 5mg of valium, because when I say I was hysterical, I was fucking HYSTERICAL. I was shaking partly from the pain, but also partly because I was panicking myself half to death. And even with 5 mg of valium in my system, my pulse was still at 98, and my blood pressure was...um, real high. Like I'm not even going to say it because it's embarrassing.

Anxiety is fun.

So what actually happened is that I tore a ligament between my iliac crest and sacrum, so the joint moved ever so slightly out of place and got all inflamed, and shit went down. You know the rest.

Dat joint doe
I received two shots with three medications altogether that went into my muscles and made my arms quite sore. 

Dat needle bruise doe
I have also received a lovely cocktail of medications including steroids, muscle relaxers, and what is essentially souped up ibu profen.

Dat medication cocktail doe
Apparently this is going to happen to me a few more times in my life, so I should probably go ahead and just get one of those life alert buttons. You know, the ones from the commercials where 90-year-old grandmas say, "Help! I've fallen, and I can't get up!"

Because I'm 90.

Saturday, December 5, 2015

1st year vs. 2nd year Grad Students

Currently, I'm halfway through my second year of graduate school, which means I am 3/4 finished, which means I have one semester left until graduation.

I'm a little excited.

I've been reflecting on my time in graduate school and how much I've changed in such a short amount of time. To demonstrate this change, I've come up with several situations and the differences in how a first-year grad student would react vs. how a second-year student would react. Enjoy.


Presentations
1st year: How on earth am I supposed to fill 30 minutes?

2nd year: How on earth am I supposed to fit all of this information in 30 minutes?


Group Papers
1st year: Ugh, how annoying, I would rather just write it myself.

2nd year: Oh thank god, I only have to write a third of this.


Grad school in general
1st year: I’m so happy to be in grad school!

2nd year: WHEN DOES IT END.


Mornings
1st year: I should probably look professional even when I’m in class, you know, just in case.

2nd year: Do you think they’ll be able to tell these are my pajamas? How important is it to wear a bra? How long has it been since I washed my hair?


Food
1st year: I should pack my lunch. It’s healthier and cheaper.

2nd year: A coffee and a cake pop is an acceptable meal, right?


Internships
1st year: Foundation practicum was pretty fun. I learned a lot. 

2nd year: OH GOD. This could be my future job. Must act professionally. Don't fuck up. You could work here in six months. Keep it together. I am so hireable. LOOK AT HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO HIRE ME. PAY ME MONEY. 


Alarms
1st year: Okay I need time to eat, get dressed, make myself look presentable...I’ll just set an alarm for an hour before I have to leave.

2nd year: *snooze* *snooze* *snooze* Shit.


Networking
1st year: Everyone could be a potential connection! Go to all of the events! Meet all of the people! Form many bonds!

2nd year: Oh, I'm so sorry, I can't go to that event. I'm super busy. *Puts on sweatpants* *Pours glass of wine* *Watches Netflix*