Tiger's Wood

Something smelled fishy from the start. Tiger Woods crashed his car into a fire hydrant right outside his home at 2:30 in the morning, and his wife bashed in one of the windows of his Escalade with a golf club to pull him to safety.

Huh??

First of all, Escalades are huge cars. I don't really see how Tiger could have been "trapped" inside that ginormous vehicle. Besides, how much damage could he have done to the car from just backing out of the driveway into the fire hydrant? From the get-go, I suspected a domestic-violence situation, especially given the early-morning hour and the fact that his wife was brandishing a five-iron. Yes, I said brandishing, as I suspect she was planning to use that golf club as a weapon with which to beat her golf-legend-of-a-husband.

Poetry, Mrs. Woods. Pure poetry. (Click here for the musical version.)

Now ask yourself, why would a woman chase her husband out of the house, wielding a golf club, at 2:30 in the morning and create such fear and panic in him that he accelerates in reverse out of the driveway and crashes the family's SUV? The only thing that could cause a woman to go that ballistic is . . . another woman!

This is how I think it went down: I think Tiger Dear snuck out of bed around 2:15 a.m., thinking his wife was sound asleep, and dialed up his mistress on his cell phone to make plans for their get-together next week at the golf tournament. But the wife wasn't asleep. She overheard the conversation and went nuts. She grabbed the closest thing to a weapon that she could find -- a golf club, as they must have hundreds of those lying around the house -- and chased his cheatin' ass out the front door.

At a party Saturday night, I proposed that very scenario even before all the facts started trickling in. I told everyone that I thought he had a mistress, and the wife must have found out about it. What was interesting is the reaction I got from the men in the room. They suddenly turned on Tiger's wife, despite the fact the she is a supermodel -- every man's dream wife, right?

"Well, her husband brings home millions," they said in his defense. "She should be happy about that, but she probably nags him all the time and he just got sick of it."

I guess all those PGA titles and piles of cash somehow give the world's greatest golfer a hall pass in life. Just like it was beyond comprehension that the Heisman-tropy-winning O.J. could have ever murdered his ex-wife.

What really burned me today is an interview I saw on Fox News. I don't even know who the interviewee was, but the reporter asked him if he thought Tiger might have a mistress. And this guy had the nerve to say that if Tiger did have a mistress, it's going to make him even more popular because now other men would see how "human" Tiger really is.

Give me a break! I guess when you're the world's greatest athlete, and you have all the fame and fortune you could ever dream of, and you're married to a beautiful supermodel with whom you have two perfect children . . . it's just not enough for one man.

It's only "human" that he would be bored and want more.

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Leave The Moms Alone!

I kid you not, the morning after I wrote my "Road Kill Of Another Kind" post, I was taking my daughter to school and saw not one officer pulling over a mom in a minivan, but THREE . . . all at the same time, right there in front of the middle school.

It looked like a sting operation!

I understand the profit motive, the explanation that Jouda touched on, that the recession is stretching everyone's budget, including the city's. But why squeeze it out of moms? In many cases, we're the keepers of the family till, and these days, the till is pretty empty. As moms trying to battle through a recession and climbing unemployment rates, we do our best to make sure that there's enough money for three meals a day for the entire family, gas in the car, heat and electricity, and maybe an occasional Happy Meal. I assure you that we don't have the funds to be paying $250 traffic tickets for going just a few miles over the speed limit.

Can't the city make money in another, more humane way? Oh, I don't know, like cutting down on the number of traffic cops patrolling in front of a middle school?

Road Kill Of Another Kind

Speaking of road kill . . . I have discovered that I am living under martial law in my new town. Cops are EVERYWHERE! Especially everywhere where you don't want them to be, like parked surreptitiously behind trees in the morning when you're driving your kids to school and need to break a few rules of the road to get them to class on time.

I fired off this picture last week. When I first saw this traffic cop, I was in the right lane, coming from the other direction, and when I made the turn, he startled me because there he was all of a sudden, off his bike and hiding behind a tree with his radar gun.

Isn't that entrapment or something?

What I'm ticked about is that these cops are going after moms in mini vans who are maybe driving a few miles over the speed limit. Big whoop! It's not like anyone is really speeding because there are so many cars going to the same place, the same school, there's no room to go very fast. Simple physics.

About a month ago, I was ticketed on this very street for driving only five miles over the limit. FIVE MILES! Down in Orange County, you were driving too SLOWLY if you were driving only five miles over the speed limit.

This highly patrolled, small town is going to take some getting used to for this former Southern Californian who was used to breaking traffic laws and getting away with it.

Here's another shot of the Enforcer. Looks like he's going to fire on me with a real gun for taking this picture, doesn't it?

Road Kill

One thing’s for certain when you move to a small town: You can expect to see more dead animals in the road. It’s simple math. The less populated a city is with two-legged creatures, the more living space there is for the four-legged variety.

About the second week I moved here, I noticed a dead raccoon on the side of the road right around the corner from my home. Poor guy, I thought. Poor BIG guy. Not sure what he had been scavenging when he was alive, but I’m certain this bruiser of a raccoon didn’t die hungry.

Surely, someone would pick up his carcass – HEAVE-HO! -- and dispose of it properly, I thought. Hey, don’t look at me . . . . eeewwww!! I’m a city gal at heart. We don’t do that kind of thing. But there must be some designated city worker in this small, critter-filled town whose only job is to harvest road kill, right?

Well, we’re going on two and a half months later, and believe it or not, that dead raccoon is STILL lying face-down on the side of the road! But thanks to the marvelous science of decomposition, it’s not so big anymore. (EEWWWW!) My stomach turns every time we pass it when I think about how many seasons that carcass has endured.

What amazes me is that no one seems to care. Complete indifference. Where’s animal control? Where are the city health inspectors, because surely it must be a health hazard by now? I see people walking right by the shrinking dead raccoon, lots of joggers, too. The people who own the home on the hill above the rotting raccoon wheel their trash out to the side of the road, faithfully, every week, and position their can within feet of that poor ’coon. I mean, would it kill them to just grab his formerly bushy tail and HEAVE-HO him into their trash can? What’s wrong with these rural folks?? Have they no respect for their road kill?

It must smell something awful by now. I wouldn’t know. I keep the windows rolled up tight when I pass by. But I must confess: I do look. I can’t help myself. It’s that weird car-crash-mentality thing. No one wants to see dead bodies, but when you pass a car wreck, you can’t help but stare, half-expecting (and half-hoping, right, all you sickos??) to see a head roll.

Today, there was a dead squirrel in the middle of the road in our housing tract. We may as well dress him up with garland and holly because I suspect he’s going to be there for a while. Quite possibly until the ’coons come home.

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SMILE!

I rarely check my Facebook account. I don't like all that responsibility. But it's amazing what I find when I do finally poke my head in. Here's a fun little video I discovered there from a friend who sent it to me this morning:

Welcome Home, Soldier!

I found this on my lawn this morning. Sometimes, words aren't necessary. This picture says it all.




In case you couldn't read the sign, here it is real close:

Love Shouldn't Hurt

Your home is supposed to be a safe place, a refuge from the stresses and storms of life. You shut your front door at night and gather around the warmth of kinship to relax, refuel and recharge. It feels so good to be home.

But for one out of every four women in this country, home is anything but safe. When she closes her door – reluctantly -- to the protection of the outside world, it triggers fear and a growing dread. She’s alone with the enemy -- her loved one, the one who is supposed to love her. But instead of kisses and hugs she gets fists and bruises. She cries and withdraws, he cools down and later is remorseful. They reconcile, there’s a honeymoon period and he promises never to hit her again. Then one day, out of nowhere, the vicious cycle of abuse starts all over again in her black-and-blue world: He didn’t like her dinner, or how long she was out shopping or the tone in her voice.

It’s a life lived on eggshells, a house of cards that could come crashing down at any moment.

Ashamed to face the truth, she becomes a great pretender in a doomed drama. And nobody, but the traumatized children, knows about it.

“It’s very difficult to reach out to victims because the core nature of domestic violence is isolation. Women are locked in by fear, shame, guilt and the traumatic bond between husband and wife,” says Vivian Clecak, founder of Human Options, a multi-service agency in Orange County, California, dedicated to the prevention of domestic violence, and the treatment and intervention for victims (humanoptions.org).

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, though it’s a cause that deserves our attention year-round. Violence against women and children in their own homes happens all the time. Every nine seconds a woman is battered in this country. And in at least 30% of the cases, children are assaulted, too. What’s more, domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women ages 15 to 44 -- more than rapes, muggings and car accidents combined.

True, every couple fights. But domestic violence is darker and cuts much deeper. It’s a pattern of physical, sexual and psychological attacks fueled by the abuser’s pathological need to control. “The cycle of abuse often starts verbally. Calling her stupid, treating her with disrespect, demeaning her,” Clecak explains. “It’s a slow, subtle wearing down of her personhood.

It’s not just a “trailer park” crime, either, as many would believe. Domestic violence is an equal opportunity destroyer, invading every ethnic, religious and economic strata of society. Yet, so much of it is hidden. Couldn’t possibly happen in your nice neighborhood? “The more affluent you are, the more hidden it is,” says Clecak: “A wealthy woman has more shame because she has a social position and children who also have a social identity.”

Sadly, it’s our young ones who really suffer. “We know that children are traumatized by the violence even if they’re never hit,” says Clecak. An astounding 33% of calls to Human Options’ hotline come from children. Too often, domestic violence is a searing torch passed to the next generation.

The good news is, education and outreach are working. “The most interesting thing about domestic violence in the last 20 years is the number of abusers murdered by their victims is way down,” claims Clecak. Homicides against victims is on the decline, too. Women are getting out of abusive relationships sooner. They now have places to turn for emergency shelter and transitional housing.

Changing the tide of domestic violence is a long, hard journey because it’s deeply rooted in society. “It comes from a long tradition of patriarchy that women are property.” In many cultures, it’s OK to beat your wife. But make no mistake . . . it’s a crime in this country.
The first step is always the hardest. If you’re in an abusive relationship, call a local shelter. “The most important thing a woman needs is to know she’s not alone, she’s not to blame.” Clecak makes a final plea.

It’s not going to get any better. You know that. So get help now while you and your children can still get out.

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