So about six months ago, my granddaughter, Evie, started correcting me. Like big time. We were at the park, navigating one of those Swiss Family Robinson jungle gyms when she scrambled up the inside of a rope tunnel, hooked her little feet over the top and proceeded to dangle upside down, squealing “Lookit me Nini! Lookit me Nini! Lookit lookit lookit lookit me!!”
Natch, my heart bursted with pride – which means little when you’re the type of granny who throws house parties the first time your g-babe makes a poo in the potty. Oh yes. I did that. Twice.
So as I’m watching her swing to and fro by her toes, praying she doesn’t slip and fall on her face (but positioning myself under her in case she does) I blurted “What a brave little girl you are!”
And she says “I’m a boy, Nini. A brave little boy.“
Hmm. Okay. Evie’s a boy. What ever. Moving on.
Since then, Evie has corrected, reprimanded and reminded me countless times that she is a boy. This little three year old has got me feeling like the biggest dumbass in her universe, you know? And that SUCKS. Not that she sees herself as a boy – but that I can’t seem to get my head around referring to her as a boy – if that makes sense.
Which it clearly does not because ya’ll, I am the biggest, most accepting, non judgmental person on the planet. Or thought I was, anyway. I don’t care if you’re black/white/green/spotted/gay/straight/fluid/trans/fat/slim/tall/short and if I’ve left anything out I apologize. All that matters to me is content of character – that’s how I’ve always been, you know? I can accept that Evie sees herself as a boy – the problem isn’t Evie, it’s me. Why can’t I make the reference? What’s wrong with me????
Because she is only three years old, does she really know if she’s a boy or girl? Or is she simply pretending to be a boy because her two best friends, are boys? When do you, like, know know? Cause ya’ll when I was three I wanted to be a Kangaroo. Hopped all over the place like a Kangaroo. But I hopped around knowing I was girl Kangaroo. Even when I had an early physical relationship with another girl, I knew I was a girl. I have never not known that.
Evie has always been a rough & tumble, mud stomping, tree climbing, thrill seeking, outdoorsy kinda kid. Her broken arm didn’t stop her from sledding down a snowy hill on Christmas, or somersaulting across our living room floor. She’s fearless. She’s a badass. It’s not a stretch to imagine her someday backflipping off an ATV with a chainsaw. I mean seriously – she’s that extreme.
So the other day when I was with her, we played a little game. I wanted to see if she knew the difference between boys and girls. It went like this:
Me “Is Mommy a boy or a girl?”
Evie “A girl”.
Me “Is Daddy a boy or a girl?”
Evie “Daddy’s a really big boy” (He’s 6′ 6″)
Me “Is Sissy a boy or a girl?”
Evie “She’s a girly girl”.
Me “Is baby Cora a girl or a boy?”
Evie “She’s a girl and I’m her big brother. Just like I’m Sissy’s little brother AND your very brave grandson”.
So today I have a grandson. Next week might be a Kangaroo. Who knows? Who cares? She’s free to be who ever she want’s to be and I’m just gonna let her be, you know?
I was a typical dumbass 16 year old doing typical dumbass 16 year old shit when Ann Rule’s “Stranger Beside Me” came out. Reading about the victims, some who were my age and younger, totally freaked me out. That’s an understatement. I went full on paranoid – of every male. Everywhere. Thanks to Ted, to this very this day I carry an array of Kubatons.
So my curiosity got the best of me when I decided to watch Netflix’s “Conversations With A Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes”. And I gotta say – I have never bought into this Phantom Prince Handsome Intelligent Stranger crap the media always uses to describe this despicable piece of shit. I never have. And I think I’ve read, devoured, viewed and studied EVERYTHING about this monster. I even wrote papers about him in sociology and psychology classes. You know, when I was in college. Something Ted flunked – TWICE. Just sayin. No I was not beguiled by him. I was trying, very diligently, to wrap my brain around how a seemingly normal person could murder complete strangers. And how to make sure it never, ever, happened to me.
Thing is, there was nothing normal about Ted. Handsome, articulate or intelligent HE WAS NOT. His grades were mediocre (he flunked psychology and law), he was a nail biting nose picker with crooked teeth and a pointy nose. He had a speech impediment and was a petty thief. He sleached off his girlfriend. He lived in a rooming house and drove a VW bug, for fucks sake.
Dude had no game. At all
But it’s the girls I think about the most, you know? They had families and friends who loved them, they had lives and were full of hopes and dreams like all of us and yet we know very little about them. Why are their stories not being told? Why do we focus so much on the animal and not the victims?
Lynda Ann Healy January 4, 1974
Lynda had parents who loved her, a brother and sister who adored her – and her last day of life was spent shopping for a special dinner she was preparing for their visit. Turns out the Monster was a bagger at the same Safeway market Lynda shopped at. They lived in the same neighborhood. Attended the same university.
Lynda is pretty much known as the first victim of the Monster. She was 21 years old, a senior majoring in Psychology at the University of Washington in Seattle, and lived in an off campus house with several roommates. She wanted to be a teacher.
She was also the ski reporter for a local radio station.
Kathleen McChesney, a detective with the King County Police who would later investigate the disappearance, said she remembered the morning Lynda vanished because she was a regular listener of her morning ski report and recalled someone on air saying Lynda hadn’t come in to work that day.
“That was very unusual because she was a person you relied on five days a week to tell you what was going on in the mountains,” McChesney said in the docu-series.
While sleeping, Lynda was beaten into a coma, undressed, redressed and carried away from her basement bedroom by the Monster.
Donna Gail Manson March 12, 1974
Donna was a free spirited student at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington. She came from a musical family – her mother, Marie, loved music, which she taught at the Bellevue school district. Her father, Lyle, received his Masters in Music Education from Central Washington University in Ellensburg and was a musical teacher with Seattle schools. Lyle and Marie also spent several years with the Seattle Philharmonic Orchestra.
Their only daughter, Donna, was a tiny girl, barely 100 pounds, introverted, kinda gothy before goth was a thing. She hitch hiked, got high, played the flute, wrote poetry, struggled with depression and dabbled in the occult. Only 19 years old, she was always up for adventure, sometimes disappearing for days at a time without telling anyone. So when she vanished while walking from her dorm to a jazz concert across campus – 6 days passed before anyone reported her disappearance. Her body has never been found.
Susan Elaine Rancourt April 14, 1974
Susan was an 18 year old freshman at Central Washington University in Ellensburg when she was snatched by the Monster, who’s ‘game’ was wrapping his arm in a flimsy sling, dropping his books all over the place and begging for help loading them into his car.
Susan is remembered by all who knew her as a very nice, extremely trusting person who would help anyone in need – but we’ll never know if she went on her own, or was taken by complete surprise. Oddly enough after she vanished, several students came forward with stories of being approached by the bumbling Monster, whom they described as creepy, disheveled & “black eyed“. Seems they sensed the evil in their midst and lived to tell their tales. I, myself, see absolutely nothing wrong with rudely rebuffing the advances of a creep for the sake of survival – fuck you and your broken arm, I’m out.
But then – I don’t trust anybody.
Below is a heartbreaking clip of Susan’s mother, Vivian, and sister, Judy (courtesy of 194fish)
Roberta Kathleen Parks May 6, 1974
Kathy was a 21 year old majoring in Religion at Oregon State University in Corvallis, Oregon, 260 miles south of Seattle, when the Monster got her.
On the night Kathy vanished, she was super bummed. She’d received a call that morning from her sister, telling her of their father’s near fatal heart attack. Her boyfriend in Louisiana was growing impatient with her indecision about their future. And she was failing geography.
Kathy was a bit of a broody girl who enjoyed going on solo late night walks to clear her head. It was during one of these midnight strolls that she crossed paths with the Monster.
Brenda Carol Ball May 31, 1974
At 22, Brenda was the oldest of the Monster’s Pacific Northwest victims. She was also also a free spirit who enjoyed hanging out at the Flame Tavern, a seedy little beer joint in Burien, Washington.
On Memorial Day weekend of 1974, she’d gone to the Flame alone. She lived in the area and knew it like the back of her hand. She had no cause for concern and, on that Friday evening, she appeared her usual good-natured self to others at the bar.
She stayed until 2:00 a.m., closing time, and had a tough time finding a ride home. But Brenda was a hitchhiker and while some patrons stated they’d seen her thumbing for rides during the early morning of Saturday, June 1, others mentioned seeing her chatting with the Monster who wore a sling on his arm. Then she was gone.
She was known to be an impulsive adventurer; it was assumed she’d met up with other friends or taken off elsewhere for the weekend. Because her life was mostly unstructured and largely unconventional, nearly three weeks passed before her roommates reported her missing.
Georgann Hawkins June 11, 1974
I’ve always thought that Georgann’s disappearance was Seattle’s wake up call about the Monster in their midst – even though the missing women were still considered just that – missing. Back in the 1970’s, police agencies weren’t big on sharing information with each other and besides, they didn’t have high tech gear like computers, the internet, DNA or even fax machines. Rotary phones and hard scrabble detective work was about it.
Goergann, a student at the University of Washington and a member of Kappa Alpha Theta, walked to her boyfriend’s dormitory on the night of June 10, 1974. His residence was six houses down from her sorority house. Her roommate became worried when George (as she was known) never made back to their room. When the police were called and there was still no sign of George, immediate action was taken, mainly because of the disappearances of other young girls in the area.
During her senior year of High School, George was named a Princesses the court of the Daffodil Festival (a yearly regional festival and royalty leadership program that promotes education, public spirit, and being involved with the community of Washington).
Being dubbed a “Daffodil Princesses”, meant George frequently traveled around the state of Washington to attend public events, meeting young children, signing autographs, riding parade floats, and giving speeches. One of the biggest highpoints of her reign as a Daffodil Princess was when she took a trip to the state Legislature and addressed the Washington lawmakers.
George last saw her mother in May of 1974 when she visited for Mother’s Day. She had planned to spend the summer of 1974 working for Pierce County in Tacoma so she could support herself during the school year.
During his death row confessions, the Monster claimed that he saw George walking behind her sorority house during the early morning hours of June 11. Wearing his fake cast, he asked her for assistance with his briefcase – then cracked her skull with a crowbar.
Janice Anne Blackburn Ott and Denise Marie Naslund July 14, 1974
Okay THIS is the event that put the Monster on National Alert. What’s crazy to me is that it’s always been written up how “bold” the Monster was by managing to snatch two women within hours of each other. In broad daylight. Where over 40,000 people were enjoying a rare and glorious sunshiny day at Lake Sammamish State Park. Stupid, yes. Bold? Not so much.
Janice, a newlywed married less than a year, lived with her roommate in Issaquah while her husband, Jim, was completing Med school in California. She was known for her bubbly personality, sunny disposition and cruising around town on her yellow 10 speed.
Janice arrived at the lake around noonish, peddled her bike to an empty spot near the lake, stripped down to her bikini and was in the midst of catching some rays when the Monster caught her eye. They chatted for a few minutes (he invited her to go sail boating with him) then, for what ever reason, Jan decided to up and leave with him. She was never seen again.
A few hours later, 18 year old Denise was stirring from a drug induced nap. Sunnin’ at the lake with her boyfriend, she was feeling a bit snippish, saying nothing to him when she abruptly got up and headed for the restrooms, never to return.
It’s ridiculously easy to vanish in a crowd because nobody’s paying much attention to two women willingly walking out of the park with a Monster in a sling.
Here’s some old footage from that day – just to get an idea of the crowd size. You can even see the Monster’s VW!
Yeah it’s easy to smack our heads and wonder “what in fucks sake were these girls thinking, leaving the park with a perfect stranger???” Well times were different in the 70’s. Way different. It was all about free love, sex, drugs and expression. Besides, with out the internet, news traveled very slowly, there’s a good chance neither girl was even aware of the other missing women. Even if they were – nobody ever thinks something like that could happen to them.
So what did happen to them? Well I’m about to get real graphic so be forewarned –
He beat them. Split their heads open. He raped them. Sodomized them. Cut off their heads. Fucked their dead and rotting corpses. Repeatedly. Even maggots couldn’t deter him. He took great pleasure inflicting these horrors upon them. He discarded their broken bodies in the woods. He destroyed their families. He brought unimaginable pain, anguish and utter devastation to countless people who loved these women.
The Monster went on to murder over 30 more women in 7 different states. He was capture in Florida after killing two sorority sister and a 12 year old child.
I remember Ted crying and sniveling like a little bitch in the days leading up to his 1989 execution – trying to trade body locations (many of his victims have never been found) for a few extra years of life. Governor Martinez didn’t budge and Florida flipped the switch. Zapped ol Ted like a housefly.
Ted Is Dead. That’s What I Said. Here’s His Head. And Legs.
So when watching this new crop of Bundy flicks – try to remember the vile, predatory monster he really truly was. He got away with it NOT because he was handsome, or witty, or even half assed articulate, but by smashing women on the back of their heads, stuffing them in his car and whisking them off to remote locations.
Okay ya’ll I just wanna clarify. I am not about taking away everyone’s guns. We own several guns cause we love target shooting. You know, shooting pumpkins, cans, water jugs, things that don’t bleed. We don’t keep them in the house because 1) we have children running through here all the time and children + loaded guns = unimaginable tragedy 2) an unloaded gun, or a locked, secured gun = NO protection at all when faced with the very unlikelihood of some surprise, random intruder and 3) we’re not paranoid about all kinds of criminals chomping at the bit to rape and rob us. There are other options for protecting home and family and we’ve got that in place.
That said, I am 100% against weapons of mass destruction. Assault rifles, semi automatics, 20+ round clips and magazines designed to slaughter a large amount of human beings in a matter of minutes. I’m all for shutting down gun shows and ending private gun sales. For not allowing ANYONE on the terrorist watch list to buy a weapon. That all gun transactions be handled by a licensed firearms dealer and have a paper trail. That background checks be extensive and thorough. That each purchase of a gun includes training by a licensed firearms expert. As a gun owner, I have no problem with any of this. Yes, people are still going to kill people. With guns. That’s a given. People are gonna drive drunk, blow up buildings, stab their spouses and poison their mothers. But at least, maybe, Orlando, Columbine, Charleston, Virginia Tech, San Bernardino, etc, will become a sad, bloody memory….and not the NEW NORMAL.
Growing up in an insane asylum isn’t necessarily all bad. Just ’cause our families were / are addicted, depraved and batshit doesn’t mean we can’t rustle up a few rainbows and unicorns, right? Here’s a few life skills I learned from being the scapegoated daughter of a deeply disturbed mother, a weak willed, enabling, alcoholic father & two sisters so ferociously fucked in the head they don’t know their asses from…… their asses.
You learn wicked culinary skills. Many ‘mothers’ with NPD are notorious slackers when it comes to providing basic necessities. Like food. She hasn’t the time to deal with petty issues like breakfast, lunch & dinner. Mine was anorexic – she didn’t need food so neither did we. Matters not that we were still growing – she was doing us a favor by keeping us thin. So you get creative. To this day, I can take an egg, a can of vegetables, a few hotdog buns & a little sugar and whip it into five different entrées.
Count on nothing. This is narc momma’s favorite blood sport – making promises then ripping the rug out from under you.
When my sister, who’s big into numerology, turned 14 on July 7, 1977 (7/7/77) she was so excited I thought she’d burst wide open all over the place. Our mother decided to celebrate this monumental once in a lifetime occurrence by allowing our father to take Sis to a Dodger game. For weeks all my sister talked about was going to see the Dodgers. On the morning of her birthday, she was up, running around with her baseball mitt, bouncing off the walls with sheer joy until – our father showed up. Cause that’s when our mother announced “I’ve changed my mind. You’re not taking her anywhere. No Dodger game for you, Suzi Q”. Worse than that – our father didn’t even question it. He simply said “Okie Doakie.”then spent my sister’s birthday consoling our mother about how horrible we are. No reason given because there was none to give – my sister had done nothing wrong.
As my sister cried, begged, pleaded, to no avail – our mother sat there, smirking, savoring every second of her vile cruelty. So I learned to count on nothing – that way, I’m either rarely disappointed – or pleasantly surprised. It’s a win win.
Depend on nobody. When you hail from a tribe that’ll slit their own throats before treating each other with honesty, support, compassion, love, encouragement, forgiveness, empathy, fairness, respect – you learn to do without. Which means at some point you’ve gotta to figure how these things work cause in the real world? With out these things? We’re nothing more than soulless shells of toxicity. Scapegoats are, by our very nature, loaded with compassion – we feel empathy – we have an innate sense of justice and truth which is why we are targeted by the Narc – they possess none of these things. And it’s their nature to destroy that which they lack the capacity to understand. The harder we fight for independence, the more desperate the narc becomes in trying to thwart us. When my mother told me I was stupid, I got a degree. When she threatened to sabotage my wedding, I shacked up. When she gave me the silent treatment – I learned to enjoy the peace. When she, in yet another fit of rage, deposited my father’s cremains in a garbage bag and drove 30 miles in the middle of the night to dump it on my porch – I bought an urn.
We are totally down with ‘yo mama’ jokes. They say “Yo mama so crazy she taped a piece of paper on the TV so she could watch paperview!” and you snap back with a witty “Yeah? Well my mama so crazy she thinks Hamburger Helper comes with a friend!” Classic badass.