“20 minutes of action”

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The Stanford rapist’s dad describes him raping an unconscious woman behind a dumpster “20 minutes of action.” He called it action instead of calling it rape, but we all know what it was. The FBI defines rape as “Penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.” So why Brock Allen Turner is receiving only 6 months in prion – 3 with good behavior – is beyond me.

But this isn’t so much about him as it is about her. I feel for this woman so badly because I was this woman. I went to a house party. I drank too much. I had a man force himself on to me because apparently – men don’t know how to conduct themselves in the presence of alcohol and…

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I’m a fuckup Pt. 2

Completely random and not so random, I actually spelled the named wrong when I first set this shit up. I actually created the blog as Whisky not Whiskey, and just completed a panicked google search to make sure I could change it to the correct spelling. This is what I found.

Whiskey vs. whisky

The difference between whiskey and whisky is simple but important: whisky usually denotes Scotch whisky and Scotch-inspired liquors, and whiskey denotes the Irish and American liquors.

http://grammarist.com/usage/whiskey-whisky/

I love young and restless Jack. However the older gent is far easier to handle. Like a college guy vs a guy with a real job and responsibilities.
I love young and restless Jack. However the older gent is far easier to handle. Like a college guy vs a guy with a real job and responsibilities.

Well. Clearly I have to go with Whiskey, because I don’t drink that other shit. I like my whiskey like I like pretty much everything: brown, hard, and from the south (hehe). Speaking of whiskey, my favorite man has been and always will be Jack Daniels, followed closely my Mark (Makers) and Jim Beam if I’m feeling like making a few cheap mistakes. That’s not to say tequila doesn’t have a small blacked-out place in my heart (and memories).

Anywhooo, It’s actually really easy to change the title of the blog (thank God I didn’t buy that fucking domain) Blog title is perfect now. Crisis averted.

I’m a fuck up.

However you found my page. I’m glad (and terrified) you’re here. I’m Coco, I’m 26 and I live in metro Atlanta. I have done this blog thing a few times before, and have failed miserably finally come to the conclusion that my life can’t be put in a specific category, I like a lot of shit and I get bored easily. The first time I tried this whole blog thing, I focused on fitness and losing weight. Well, that was cool for a while, but then I lost the weight, got into a horrible relationship, lost some more weight, broke up with the loser, lost more weight, looked sickly, got into a great relationship,gained it back, and got depressed because I gained it. The latter is my somewhat current situation. But fuck talking about fitness, it was getting boring telling people how to lose weight when I’m sure that most were tired of hearing it from me and the rest of the world. Oh well.

Next I had the bright idea of a domestic blog, cooking, food, beauty, blah blah. I don’t know enough about most of those things to sustain a blog. I love food, and I love cooking, but I don’t think that I have that cutesy spark. You know, that, pintrest-y clean, pretty, awesome blog with all the cool pictures and shit. The ones you pin and never use. Seriously, my pins will probably never see the light of day again.

So here we are again, blogging. One thing I have realized is that, I have stories to tell, some funny, some sad, some gross, and some that make you question why I’m not dead, locked up, or able to keep my job. Lets just say I’m done and seen a lot of things, and I feel its my duty to the rest of you to own up to it, talk about it, and maybe keep you from making some of my mistakes or realizations about shit. Other shit will include recipes I like, crafts I may or may not attempt and general stuff that I like, sprinkled with ill humor and profanity. My friends know some of the things I’ll talk about, my family knows a bit and the honest truth is, some of it I have never said out loud. I guess to me it makes more since to open myself up to a world of stranger than to people who actually know me. Go figure.

I hope I don’t lose my job over this.

Here we are. This page won’t be cutesy or pin worthy, but I hope it makes you think. I hope it makes you laugh, and if you cry, that’s cool too because shit happens. Welcome to Whiskey and Whiteout.