Grab her by the pussy like a bowling ball: how one mans absurdity is another woman's reality

Listening to Bill Burrs podcast with guest Joe Rogan-- released yesterday. They talk about Trumps famous ‘grab her by the pussy' line and defend Billy Bush. Bill Burr says,

“I understand women flipping out about it, as far as obviously, it would be them, but what they don't know is how guys talk when they're not there."

Joe Rogan laughs and agrees, "We say it for fun, we don't say it because we really want to go grab someone by the pussy and pick them up like a bowling ball, we say it because it's funny.....completely ridiculous and inappropriate."

In one sickening instant it hit me*: that’s literally happened to me. The phrase everyone is laughing about, ‘grab her by the pussy’. I bear the brunt of that joke. How ridiculous I must be.

Let’s set the scene: I was visiting my college friend in Brooklyn in July--I was in the middle of a messy breakup of an 8 year relationship and needed to be around friends. I was 26. We were at a local block party when we learned Andrew WK was to play the Bushwick Block Party nearby. I was a big fan of his and knew I would enjoy the music of the opening acts as well—it was such a happy surprise. That’s why neither of us was wearing the right clothing. He was wearing clean white sneakers (little did he know it was going to get muddy); I was wearing a skirt (little did I know it was going to get rapey).

I had already broken my nose twice in mosh pits, so I knew better than to join in. I was standing just behind it, in front of the crowd (I am short), and was enjoying the show, when someone grabbed me by the pussy…..like a bowling ball**. How this was accomplished, I have no fucking idea. Yes, I was wearing underwear-- it didn’t seem to matter. Maybe he was a pussy finding wizard, or maybe he’s just done this before.

Before I move on to the following sequence of events, I need to make sure everyone understands how important the ‘HOW!?’ element is to this story. A second prior to this event, I would have told you there was no way that could have physically happened--the science just wouldn’t hold up. It’s like getting raped by a unicorn and your first thought is “UNICORNS EXIST!?”

So you could imagine my shock. I was having a great day. That afternoon I was hanging out with an old friend enjoying free samples of Coquita in the backyard of a neighbor’s house. We were block party hopping and wound up at the most epic block party of them all. Entry was free, there was tons of beer and snacks and good music. It was random chance that I had even come to visit that day—what a happy accident! Oh wait, until a dirty strangers hand turned up inside me, bending the fabric of space (really though, HOW?!).

Reaction #1: Escape. I tried to get away. But I couldn’t. You know why? Cause this man’s fingers were tethering me to him. That’s right. I was like a dog on a leash, well, maybe not a leash. Is there a name for the restraint when it's in your pussy rather than around your neck? I looked it up—it is literally called a vaginal leash. Anyway, let me restart. I tried to get away but I couldn’t because this man’s fingers were grabbing me by the pussy like a motherfucking bowling ball.

Reaction #2: Escape (yeah, still). New plan: I jumped into the mosh pit. He followed (remember? Cause of the VAGINAL LEASH.) Eventually we were separated (shudder…literally).

There are ways to act in a pit to defend yourself from getting knocked around too much. I did the opposite of all those things. It worked. The man was no longer inside me, and eventually I worked my way out. Upon my exit a guy grabbed me, looked me in the eye and asked, “Are you okay?” I was afraid that he was The Man looking for a way back in (pun intended). All I wanted was to get away. I nodded quickly, broke away from him, and walked as fast as I fucking could to find my friend. I told him what happened (I was too traumatized to pretend otherwise). We tried to ignore it. I had no words anyway. We stayed to see Andrew WK. I numbed my mind with beers but his party boy mentality didn’t find a footing with me anymore. He wasn’t singing to me. I wasn’t one of them. I had no place there: a girl in a skirt.

The police broke it up in the middle of the ‘Party Hard’ anthem and sent everyone home. Fine with me. Although I was drunk enough to have some real difficulty getting on the bike I was borrowing (it belonged to a motherfucking giraffe, and as previously mentioned, I am short). Cops were watching me and growing ‘concerned’. I was getting belligerent. “I can do it!” I yelled, each time adding more gusto to my sloppy mounting technique, falling back onto the pavement with increasing levels of failure. My friend walked over and ushered me away, convincing me to simply walk the bike out and reassuring the cops that I was being taken care of by a helpful, sober man.

On the way home he kept looking at his muddied sneakers and cursing. I tried to be supportive of his loss. The price you pay when you don’t dress right.

Question: Why didn’t I turn and look at The Man? Why didn’t I punch him, or scream? I can tell you this: There were two directions open to me. One was away from him, and one was toward him. Every fiber of my being wanted out (yes, pun still intended). When you find yourself in a situation like that, that is a life or death situation. You don’t get to decide, your body decides for you. There was something inside of me that felt like if I turned and looked him in the eye, I would be trapped there forever. I didn’t want to go deeper in. I didn’t want to engage. I didn’t want to punish him and I didn’t want to hurt him. I wanted to be free.

Bill Burr and Joe Rogan are respected. Shit, I respect them. And I like comedy. I don' think jokes or speech should be banned. But simply saying, "I'm going to grab her by the pussy", isn't farcical, and it's not absurd.....because that shit actually happens. If you want to be funny, you have to write a joke. As is, I'm not seeing the joke--I'm just seeing a believable statement. I guess the jokes on me.

*Because you shove those memories deep, deep down and crush them with the pressure of a thousand oceans, like the deep sea crushes a sinking divers head

**(Anyone else sing the cadence of ‘eat the booty like groceries’ in their head when they read that? Just me?).

Update: Trump is now president. America has officially endorsed sexual assault. Boys are screaming 'Grab her by the pussy' down their school corridors as a victory chant. There once was hope that the girls born in the next 4 years would not know what it was like to live in a world where a woman could not reach the highest office of the land--and have a role model--an example to point at . Not only is that dream dead, but it has been replaced with the stomach-turning truth that a man who proudly admits to non-consensual sexual acts can, and will, set the tone of how females desserve to be treated in the upcoming years.