The "prize" no woman wants

The whole world has now learned of (and jeered at) Wisconsin District Attorney Kenneth Kratz's "poor judgment."  It's taken a year, but now each and every one of his dozens of text messages to domestic abuse victim Stephanie Van Groll, part of an intense three-day campaign to get in her pants, have come to light. 

Kratz was supposed to be prosecuting the 26-year-old's boyfriend for domestic violence.  Instead, he regaled her with texted propositions, including these:

"Are you the kind of girl that likes secret contact with an older married elected DA ... the riskier the better?"

"Your low self-esteem and you fear you can't play in my big sandbox? Or???"

And my personal favorite: "I'm the atty. I have the $350,000 house. I have the 6-figure career. You may be the tall, young, hot nymph but I am the prize!"

Dear lord, if that's a prize, I may never eat Crackerjacks again. 

Shockingly, Kratz has been divorced three times since the mid-'90's. On top of his healthy self-esteem, the cretin apparently has no idea what women actually want.  A $350,000 house is nice, but only if there's not a wife currently living in it.  Six figures, you say?  How much is left after three divorces, assuming Wisconsin's joint marital property laws and the likelihood of child support?  I think a job at McDonald's could probably provide as much financial security, and I hear Ronald doesn't require lap dances or call you yucky things like "hot nymph."
 
I sincerely hope that none of you encounter similar blechxts, but knowing how attractive and intelligent the Snarklet readership is, we should make like Boy Scouts and Be Prepared.  It is only prudent that we formulate some basic responses that could be pre-programmed into our phones now (and perhaps shared with younger, more nymph-like siblings).  Please consider the following ideas and share your own suggestions under "Comments."
 
"Thanks, but I'm holding out for an internship with Letterman."
 
"UR icky. Leave me alone."
 
And the line that works in a surprising number of situations where scumbags attempt to over-inflate their attractiveness by calling attention to their financial assets: "Sorry about your penis!"  
 
Oh, and hell yeah.  Get over yourself Kratz, you're in the same category as Lindsey Lohan and the other losers.

Mortality bites

It's rare that mortality lands a square punch with me.  Death is one of those facts that I acknowledge with a sidelong glance.  Don't make eye contact, and maybe I won't be obliged to have a conversation. 

And yet it has been dogging me in small ways over the past several weeks.  Reminders of a beloved grandpa.  Questions from my kindergartner.  A conversation with a friend about becoming a widow (or widower), and whether remarriage is a prospect worth any consideration.  (We decided men should absolutely remarry. Women, maybe not.)  But these were glancing blows... uncomfortable momentary dialogues.  The intestinal flutter that a truly morbid thought can inspire.  But not ever really real. 

And then I got the text that my friend's father, who has been fighting cancer for over a year, died.  I tell you truly that the only thing that scares me more than my own death is losing a loved one.  I mean an utterly essential beloved: A child, a husband, a parent. 

This friend is a pretty tough woman.  She's not particularly into girl talk.  She's funny and sarcastic and totally together.  I don't think in ten years I ever once saw her cry.  Until her dad got sick. 

And now he's gone.  Her kid, just a year older than my daughter, just lost an amazing grandpa.  He's not going to be at her wedding or see her graduate college or even see what a beautiful girl she'll become.  My friend doesn't get to hug her dad again, or laugh with him.  And she was lucky - - she had a really great dad. 

I guess this is one of the reasons we have friends.  We learn from each other's experiences.  I will watch her walk through this unthinkable time, and be there for her to lean on if I can.  And because she'll have done it, I'll have the strength of knowing it's possible when it's my turn to face loss without the luxury of averting my eyes.   

On becoming a mistress

I was utterly surprised to learn about a rumor at my new workplace: That I slept my way to the top!  How delicious to be the focus of such juicy gossip! 

Dear snarkies, bear in mind that this is no glamorous, enviable job.  It's nice, to be sure, but it's not as though I'm making six figures or punching in at ten every morning.  I work hard, I make average bank, and up until recently, I've been a pretty anonymous worker bee.  I've been singled out for extra attention because someone who did not get my job has elected to sue my employer.  His argument is that I, a mere thirty-something girl, could not possibly be as qualified as he.  Because I work for an organization that's often in the press, his lawsuit made the news in a modest way... spawning the mistress theory. 

I won't waste your time with a laundry list of professional accomplishments (it's tempting though).  Nor will I deign to step up onto the soapbox of feminist indignity (I did that over cocktails with my friends last week).

My mother-in-law was furious!  "All they have to do is look at the pictures in your office to see what a great looking husband you've got!"  Really.  That was her reaction.  To come to the defense of her virile and indisputably attractive son.  Oye.

My friend Julie pointed out that I could possibly leverage this rumor into actually becoming a mistress, thereby cutting my house payment down to nothing and maybe getting some good lingerie in the bargain.  I'll have to talk it over with my husband. 

I have elected to stoically look for the silver lining in the situation.  And I found it: This rumor officially means I am still hot.

After all, no one gripes about tired-looking Susie with the wart on her chin sleeping her way up the ladder. I will cling to this rumor as a sort of unofficial poll of my peers that declares: "She is attractive enough that someone powerful and influential would like to take her to bed."  I'm nearly 40 with two small children.  I just traded up to the more powerful and effective wrinkle "serum" because the regular cream wasn't cutting it anymore.  This rumor is just what I needed to keep a little spring in my step!

I can already imagine, few years hence, when a new ridiculous lawsuit is filed and the rumors - - disappointingly - - will say instead that I bribed my way into a great job.  Or that it was nepotism.  Or blackmail.  I'll be able to look back at this time fondly and think to myself, "those were the days."

Mind games with Martha

So almost two years ago I filled out an online form, applying to become one of the coveted "Martha's Circle" blogs.  Yeah, THAT Martha.  Don't worry, snarklebuddies, it wasn't on behalf of this, my secretly-more-beloved blog.  It was for my initial online odyssey, a charming little corner of the Internet devoted to crafts and parties and handmade invitations and recipes.  I tell you, it was perfect for Martha's stupid effing Circle.

I never heard back.  My free time dwindled and my focus shifted gears to this blog.  And it was no big deal.

Except last week, I got an unexpected email from Martha!  (Well, one of her preppy minions, anyway.)

"You're currently being considered for Martha's Circle.  We apologize for the delay in evaluating your blog." 

Interesting.  So, they'll get there and discover that the most recent post was in April.  And, I can't imagine a blog with such a lapse in content will make the coveted cut.  Oh well.

I can't help but wonder if it was all just a test of our perfectionism.  If indeed it was a test, and not just the result of a huge backlog and harried, overworked staff, I applaud Martha for her devious brilliance.  What better way to blow the chaff from the golden, glowing wheat?  Those bloggers whose hearts are really in their work would have been happily puttering away all these months, continuing to devise clever new things to do with excess garden produce and showcasing delightfully charming invitations for baby christenings, irregardless of her notice.  Those lovely souls deserve to be part of The Circle more than I... who so quickly and easily slipped from grace and stumbled onto this path of sarcastic, sometimes unkind commentary instead.  Ahhh Martha.  Well played.