Did I Stutter? Part II

As sad as it may sound, isolating has kept me safe. I get a lot of shit for being a hipster hermit, watching reruns of the same show with my cat while drinking semi-carbonated water out of a glass jar originally meant for other food. Without alcohol, my life is boring, predictable, consistent, and safe. I've now lived in Brno for almost two years and I can confidently declare that the only person who I can really trust here is myself.

I don't mean "safe" in a sense that I'm actively avoiding danger. It's more of an inward escapism that alleviates me of dealing with the stress of the outside world. While it comes across as a tactic based on fear, I know what makes me comfortable. Being sober has treated me to memory, punctuality, and routine, so much that when something out of the ordinary occurs, no matter how slight, it's unsettling, almost jarring. Over a few weeks, I tried to let my guard down a bit while still watching my six. I went above and beyond my comfort level by abandoning my routine of leaving work, going to the corner market, and then going straight home and not leaving for the rest of the night.

This will do me good! 

I patted myself on the back that I was leaving my cocoon of comfort and calm. 

I actually made plans!

I matched with Matt on Tinder about a month ago. He seemed like someone I would get along with and have a lot to talk about. Originally from Florence, he used to own a restaurant and relocated to the Canary Islands after leaving the hospitality industry. For three years, Prague was his home and he had recently relocated to Brno for a job with IBM. His tattoos are just as stupid as mine and his English was pretty good so I could let the occasional idiom slip out without worrying too much.

We went out for coffee on a Wednesday and took a walk in our neighborhood, which I learned we'd be sharing. He was really unimpressed with the city; Prague has so much vibrance and tourists and street scams that it made Brno look like its quiet, academic younger sibling. I told him about why I ended up here, what the IBM campus was like, and how emotional it was to lose so many great musicians from Seattle. Matt seemed genuinely intrigued in what I had to say, and since it didn't go poorly, we decided to meet again the following week.

But before we could meet again, Matt insisted in pawning off a table on me that he couldn't bring to his furnished apartment in Brno. I tried to do this Japanese-style seating in my kitchen but it was impossible to work from home and maintain the rigid yet peaceful posture needed for eight and a half hours, so a normal table seemed to be the solution. It was free. He brought it up six flights of stairs and put it together for me. I was appreciative of the gesture. He met Gossamer. He saw me in a wife beater and basketball shorts. He knew where I lived.

The following Wednesday, a week after we had met for the first time, he had me over for dinner. He picked me up when I easily could have walked and was excited to tell me about the ingredients he got to make homemade margherita pizza. The 90 second drive to his flat was short lived and Chris Cornell's "Seasons" hadn't even ended yet. Before leaving my flat, I messaged my best friend in Brno to let her know whereabouts I would be since I wanted someone to know where I was because, you know, murder. When entering his flat, Matt showed me the view he had from his balcony. You could see vast parts of Brno that were covered by mid-summer pollution, everything from the cooling tower downtown to the panelak buildings in the suburbs. If I looked a little harder, I probably could have found my flat from his.

He gave me water and we talked more about music. He had me hook up one of my Spotify playlists so he could get to know my music preferences. For some reason, there's something about similar tastes in music that is paramount to all other interests like food, clothing, exercise, even films. I liked that he was impressed with my catalog of dad music I've been acquiring overtime. I watched him while he used flour, oregano, tomatoes, and rosemary for leftover focaccia. Matt knew I was diabetic and asked if there's anything he should know if something happened. Another nice gesture. I explained while he was getting used to the placement of things in his new kitchen.

After we had finished most of the pizza, he asked me if it was okay if he had a glass of wine. Earlier in the week, I had thanked him for being cool with me not drinking. Usually I get bombarded with 20 questions about my reasoning behind this choice but I was surprised he didn't expect me to owe him anything. It was another gesture I appreciated. I don't expect everyone to do this, but it's nice to know when someone has my personal interests in mind. After the food had settled, he grabbed me by my waist and kissed me, which was fine. It wasn't anything to write home about. We slow danced to the Velvet Underground for a bit. It was nice. Easy. Whatever.

He took my water and his glass of wine and set them aside. With my hands free, he started to unbuckle my pants. I shook my head and apologized for being "out of commission." I thought the nice part about being on my period that night was that I would have an easy excuse for not wanting to have sex. "You're on your period?" he asked me. After saying yes, his immediate response was to take off my shirt. Shrugging and putting my hands up because I literally didn't know what to do with them, his hands went back to my pants and stared to unbuckle them further. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," I mumbled while he kissed me. "Why not?" He kind of glided me towards his bed and knocked me onto it. I rolled over on my stomach to hide what I wasn't ready to show, nervously laughing.

Matt climbed on top of me from behind and pinned my wrists down while grinding on top of my ass. Initially I was annoyed. 

Fuck...c'mon, dude.

I started to blank out a bit, intentionally losing focus to mentally be anywhere else. I tried to lose myself in my own playlist, anything other than what was happening to me. After a few minutes he let up a bit and I rolled over to buckle my pants and find my shirt, but not before he took my hands and did that stupid thing where he thinks I need a sudden anatomy lesson and made me feel him. 

Okay. There that is.

"This is what you do to me," he said. 

Technically, that's what you did to you but whatever.

I told him I needed to go home because I had work the next day and that we should slow it down. Initially he seemed taken aback but he adjusted his tone. "Yeah, that's fine. I just really like you." He wasn't due to start at IBM for another week so he was spending most of his time unpacking and getting to know the area. For a minute, I felt lucky that for at least a few days, I had a schedule and he didn't. He wrapped up the rest of the pizza he made and gave it to me to take home. He dropped me off and I went upstairs. Gossamer thought it was weird I had returned home from work and then left again, so he gave me an earful and I spent some time on the floor with him. When I went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, I saw that my makeup on the left half of my face was smudged and blotchy from my head laying motionless on Matt's bed. I froze, looked at myself. 

Did that really happen? Is there a word for...that?

I messaged my best friend and told her I was back home. Everything aside, things went okay. Matt and I had tentative plans to hang out the next day. At lunch we exchanged texts through WhatsApp:

Me: Hey I think I'm going to go home after work. I'm pretty tired and I really just want to sleep.

Matt: I can take you home.

Me: No that's okay. It's not a big deal, I'm just not feeling super hot.

Matt: You can sleep at my flat?

Me: No I'll be okay, I'll be more comfortable at home.

Matt: Are you sure?

Me: Yeah I am. Sorry.

Matt: So when can I see you next?

Me: What about tomorrow or Saturday?

Matt: :( okay.

This took place on a Thursday. Still on my period and having the smallest amount of patience, I wanted to take care of me first before being summoned to hang out by an unhappy face emoji. I went home and napped for four or five hours. When I woke up, I had texts asking me if I was okay. I told him I was fine and that I was napping, like I had said earlier. He asked if he could see me the next day, but I told him I was going to wait and see how I felt.

On Friday morning he messaged me asking for my last name with no further message. "Donehue," I messaged back. We had talked about this when I was at his flat but I figured he might have just wanted to see it written down. A few hours go by and at lunch I get a phone call. It's the front desk at another building at IBM.

Receptionist: Hi we have a package here for you.

Me [chewing my food]: What package?

Receptionist: There is a package here for you.

Me: I'm not expecting any package. What is it?

Receptionist: Can you come to FG?

Me: Can I come in like 15 minutes? I'm in the middle of eating my lunch.

Receptionist: No, the courier will be gone by then.

Me: ...so I need to come now? I'm not expecting a package, what is it?

Receptionist: It's a present.

Me [actually laughing out loud trying not to choke on food]: Okay, I'll be there in a minute.

I stuffed a few more M&Ms in my mouth and left the building to walk to the other side of campus. I was pissed but mildly intrigued. After taking insulin, I have a small window to eat and this was really cutting into my "eating lunch at my desk while catching up on John Oliver commentary" time. I turned to go up the stairs to FG and he's waiting there for me with flowers. I wasn't really happy to see him, and honestly, my first thought was what the fuck? 

He kisses me and tells me he couldn't wait until Saturday to see me. I smelled the flowers and laughed. 

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

He gave me a "ciao" and he walked back to his car while I carried a bouquet of flowers back to my desk, my very empty desk that is void of flowers or anything that indicates a person with a personality even sits there.

I got more pissed as the afternoon went on. He showed up at my office while I'm trying to get my Last Week Tonight on and why do I feel like he has no sense of boundaries now? I tried to figure out what the fuck to do with these sudden flowers so I ended up cutting the top off of a 1.5 liter bottle and filling it with water. There. A vase brought to you by Slovakia's "best" mineral water.

I get off work and go home to resume my normal schedule, or at least the schedule that I feel comfortable with on a boring Friday night, but not without a text from Matt.

Matt: What's my name in your phone?

Me: Matt T. Why?

Matt: Why T?

Me: Because Tinder haha.

Matt: Oh, I see :'-(

Me: What?

Matt: Who knows how many other Matt Ts you have in your phone.

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost scheduled an optometry appointment.

Me: C'mon, don't do that.

Matt: Okay.

Saturday. I could sleep in and ignore any notifications from my phone. But Matt texted me again.

Matt: Carbonara tonight?

Me: Is it okay if I'm honest for a sec? I feel like this is going too quick for me. I don't really know how to handle the extra affection and I think it's best if we slowed down a bit, especially if we're going to be working at the same place.

Matt: So...no carbonara?

Me: I think we should save it for a later date if that's okay.

Matt: What can I say? Okay.

Matt: My turn to be honest? I don't believe in slow downs and pauses. You don't know me and you're probably right, I was running too fast: it was just because I really liked you, I thought there was something special between us, and still honestly speaking, you played your part in this running game. But as I said, it was too easy with you and I was expecting something like this to happen, sooner or later. So no, no later date (first and last time I buy flowers for someone)

Not that I expect men to be manly all the time, but holy shit, what a pussy. This was maybe the third or fourth time I had mentioned either slowing down, stopping, or expressing that my boundaries are being pushed. A few days later I got a message that read "I know it might sound stupid, but I miss you." I didn't respond and it took everything to withhold a "yeah, it does sound pretty fucking stupid" comment. A few days after that, I got a message that read "Did you block me or just ignoring?" That's when I responded: "I'm only going to say this once or else there are going to be problems: leave me the fuck alone." Nothing since.

During this pushback from him, Matt started work at IBM. The last thing I wanted was to run into this guy, so I started searching for him on the internal instant chat system to see if he was online or not. 

Where was he? And why do I feel like shit for being at my job, the job I really like? Is what happened with him really affecting me like this?

Yeah. It was.

I posted on Facebook briefly about how Matt wasn't respecting the limitations I had put in place. David, a guy whom I contacted about doing some video work for a project for his job two years earlier, messaged me to make sure he wasn't the guy who had pushed my boundaries. David and I hung out once last year, but he advised me that it was "probably a good idea if I didn't tell anyone we were hanging out." Getting into that kind of bullshit wasn't for me, even though he would repeatedly pester me to hang out "even if nothing were to happen." We talked on occasion for the last 12 months and we saw each other a few times at pub quizzes or at local shows. He messaged me when Patrick died to send his condolences, which I appreciated but didn't appropriately respond since I was dead and numb.

But this time around, he asked if we could hang out. I wasn't about to let some dipshit from Italy ruin what could be the end of my extroverted streak, so I agreed to hang out. Well, more specifically, I said I was up for tea and video games. Thinking back to what had taken place before, I told him I was "out of commission" and wasn't really up for anything sexual, even though I wasn't on my period. It was one less thing to think about and the understanding seemed to be mutual, so I went on my way prepared with a pair of basketball shorts and a toothbrush just in case.

Hailing from one of the English cities that was almost completely destroyed during WWII, David is British as fuck. It might just be an American thing but every person from the UK sounds horrifically polite unless they're literally screaming "cunt" at someone. He appears relatively harmless, slightly bumbling with thick glasses and useless knowledge for trivia like me. We got along for the most part because we each had this stupid cache of Wikipedia articles memorized from nights of difficulty sleeping.

During the discussion of our separate acquired nonsense, we played old Nintendo games and drank beverages that were more suitable for hot weather and not a damp cement bunker in foggy, war-torn England. He asked if he could be honest with me. He kissed me and told me he really liked me. I actually think he said "I'm quite find of you" and stated with his accent, it was hard not to laugh. The poshness of the English accent seemed to balance out the awkward everything else and it genuinely seemed like a non-threatening situation for a moment. We talked about "what we were looking for" in terms of dating, and at this bizarre juncture, I wasn't even really sure. That's when he propositioned the idea of getting ready for bed. Okay...sure.

I brushed my teeth and tried to look in the bathroom mirror that was too tall for me. I wasn't even that excited. I felt more obligated than anything else. I mean what else are you to do with someone who is quite fond of you? I rolled my eyes and thought about being at home, comfortable with Gossamer and reruns of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. I returned from the bathroom with clean teeth and wearing a pair of basketball shorts. David was on his bed.

"You're wearing basketball shorts?"

"Yeah, I can't really do anything so I'm trying to be comfortable."

"You don't have to wear those."

"Well, I'm going to."

I sat as close to the edge of the bed as possible, checking my phone and looking for any excuse to not be a part of whatever was about to take place. I stalled as long as I could, even messaging the guy I would rather have been spending time with to see if I had a last minute out. I shrugged and put down my phone on the nightstand on which he had placed a glass of water for me. Turning towards him slightly, I crossed my arms in front of my body and recoiled my legs closer to myself like a dead spider. 

Why the fuck am I here? Are you allowed to leave after brushing your teeth?

David gave me the "you don't have to be all the way over there" bullshit, so I uncrossed my arms and reiterated what I thought we both already knew. "Yeah, sorry I can't do anything tonight." He started to kiss me anyway and I tried not to move from where I was. I definitely wasn't kissing him "back" and just sort of went through the motions of trying not to make any motion at all. He put his hand in my basketball shorts and I turned my hips away. He looked at me confused. "Why won't you kiss me?" For a guy who could retain information about the infinitesimal minutiae of midnight Wikipedia articles, he sure had a hard time reading the boundaries I put in place. "I'd be more into this if I wasn't on my period," I stammered, then realized if we hung out in the future, I'd need to be on my "period" permanently.

He shrugged my concerns aside and took off my wife beater. Laying their topless, he started talking about all the things he wanted to do to me. And I'll just say it: with an English accent, it sounded fucking ridiculous. I was getting more annoyed than anything when he bypassed my basketball shorts and underwear. I shook my head between his kisses and sat up. After sitting up, I could tell my blood sugar was low and the only thing to remedy the situation was Pepsi, the fully caffeinated Pepsi I had stupidly bought even though I don't drink caffeine. I chugged it for a bit to not die while sitting on the edge of the bed. David rolled over to his phone and I went back to the bathroom to stare in the mirror that was too tall for me after putting my wife beater back on.

I paced a bit to let my blood sugar rise and vaped in his bathroom. I really, really didn't want to be there. In David's apartment, you had to have a key to not only leave his flat but also leave the building it was in, so you either need keys or someone to let you out. I decided that if he addressed what happened, I would address my concerns, too, and ask if I could leave, which is such a stupid thing to have to ask about based on the security dynamics of the entire flat. I flushed the toilet without using it and tepidly returned to a darkened bedroom. 

Okay. I guess I'm here.

For the next six hours, I tried to sleep. I stared at the wall across from me. I tried to get lost in Reddit like I usually do before bed. I lied there, uncomfortable and fidgety, nervous and scared. 

How could this have happened twice in two weeks?

The words didn't even materialize, the words that could categorize what happened to me on paper. It was just this or that and never assault. It wasn't violent. It wasn't some random break-in to my apartment by a crazed serial rapist at 3am. So was that really what it was?

I finally fell asleep around 7am. I could hear birds out and people milling around in other parts of the building. I woke up a few hours later and carefully replayed the events from the night before. I hadn't moved when I felt an arm go around my waist with a heavy morning sigh. Since I was silent and motionless, he couldn't have known I was awake. He put the hand that was on my waist back into my underwear when I immediately grabbed them to hold them in place. Now it appeared as though I didn't even need to be conscious to be violated. Cool. Good. Good talk.

He shoved up my wife beater and then pulled me onto him to kiss me. While I was frozen with a ton of questions, he then took my hand, just like Matt had done, and placed it on him as if this was the right way to entice me at this moment. I pulled back.

"I suppose it's not a good idea for a guy to do that to a woman," he said.

"It's never a good idea for a guy to do that to a woman."

I sat there for a minute while he asked me what I had planned for the day. Thank goodness having a cat at home always gives me an out for everything. "I need to go grocery shopping and get home to Gossamer." I got my things ready and was prepared to leave, but David took his time making tea, trying to talk to me, fully knowing that I would need his permission or his keys, whichever was more accessible, to leave his apartment. A lot of nodding and nervous laughing ensued while I inched towards his door with every forced chuckle.

He unlocked his flat and led me to the front of the building. Before unlocking the front door, he apologized for "the weirdness." I accepted his vague as fuck apology and gave him a vague as fuck response. "Yeah me too." 

Wait. Why was I apologizing? Did I do something wrong?

I was agitated. I caught the tram home and tried to resemble some physical normalcy in the window reflection. Hair is flat and make up is smudged. Again. Feeling angry and pretty confused. Again. On the way home, I messaged the guy with whom I'd rather be spending my time. He was confused when I tried to explain I went to bed at 7am, but I didn't really go into much more detail than that.

After I got home I messaged my best friend in Brno and told her what had happened. "Twice in two weeks" I told her. I thought I was being smart, pretending to be on my period in hopes it would deter the shitty behavior I encountered before. But all it did was create a bigger challenge and reaffirm what I knew at the beginning: I can't trust anyone here. This is why I stay at home.

Twice? 

The mathematical odds seemed stacked against me. Even once was too many. I was seething and grinding my teeth for most of the day and crying on and off. I could have avoided both of those situations. I could have done a lot of things. I felt gross. I wanted to shower but I sat and uselessly stared. Twice?

The next day was Monday so I worked from home like I usually do. I already had a head start on my tasks for August so I didn't have as much to do, leaving me with a lot of time to ruminate. 

Where does one buy mace in the Czech Republic? Is it even legal for me to have? At least there's a space between my fingers for each one of my keys. Would the impact of that even stop someone? Has anyone used that self-defense technique successfully? Can I carry a knife in an ankle holster or something? Too many questions. But then I saw all of these as a sign of weakness. I was quiet and I felt like a victim, but I didn't want to feel like a victim.

I messaged David using the most diplomatic language I could summon. I explained I was uncomfortable with what happened and that I felt I was careful in establishing boundaries early on, all of which he completely ignored and received as an invitation to try anything but.

"I apologize. By the time I had realized, it was too late."

What the fuck is this "by the time I had realized" bullshit? By WHAT time? By the time you realized you had touched me without my consent multiple times, you realized you might be in the wrong? I told you before I even left the house, motherfucker.

I blocked him on all social media I knew about and packed up my things to return to the office the following day.

Returning to work meant being at work while Matt was at work. It took me two weeks but I finally was placing him in the light he needed to be in order to make sense of the events that took place. I was afraid. 

Twice? 

On my way in and out of the office, I'm usually wearing headphones and sunglasses. Not to hide or anything; it's just average commuter attire the 30-somethings in Brno wear while on the move. Now I was wearing them as protection. No one could talk to me or see me. Everyone else was an obstacle, an annoyance, a threat.

I'm most productive in the morning at my job so I was able to keep my mind busy for a few hours while catching up on some Last Podcast on the Left episodes and clips from the US late night talkshows from the evening before. But sometime around lunch, I started to get hyper vigilant. Every time I went to the bathroom or to refill my water bottle, my movements around the office felt like I was sneaking around in a secret crisis. It was exhausting, running in my head even when I was staring at spreadsheets and to-do lists. I felt sick, nauseous, panicking to the point of tears I had to feign as allergies. 

Why do I feel unsafe sitting in a desk chair? 

After work I put on my disguise and waited at the bus stop. All I wanted to do was to get home so I could openly cry. Now whenever I return home to my flat after being out, I look for Matt's car. I'm afraid he's waiting there because he doesn't believe in "slowing down."

I never wanted to go back to work because it ultimately felt like it could be unsafe. The following day I confided in a coworker about what happened with both Matt and David. He offered some verbal muscle that I declined, but I felt like someone in the office had to know. Matt works on the IBM campus with me. Not in the same department or building, but my level of safety started to feel compromised if I was keeping the matter to myself. My coworker was understanding and told me I should report it. 

Report it?

I did some research on what it would mean for me to approach the Czech police. In the eyes of Czech law, I would have the same rights as a Czech citizen, and if the incident did go before a court, they would provide me a translator in my native language. It was nice to know that even as a foreigner, I would be protected. But I hadn't really gotten that far. I hadn't even really told my parents where exactly my stress was coming from. If anything, I wanted to be more transparent about it and more open to those following my life here. Some are under the impression I'm on vacation 24/7 simply because I live in Europe, and this sure as fuck didn't really feel like a vacation.

A few days later, I made a post on Facebook regarding what happened in a few choice words and my condition as a result. Retaining all of the information and my emotions for 8.5 hours a day was taking a toll and I wanted people to know what happened, even if it didn't involve all of the details. I received an outpouring of support and I didn't feel so alone. In this post was the first time I had written or seen the words "sexual assault," mostly because it didn't feel like assault. But on paper, or screen, that's what it was.

Being open has helped. I'm still attempting to reach a therapist or a service that also speaks English. I emailed two places but have yet to hear back, but after spending two years in Brno, this waiting period for responses is common. My family knows what happened. My friends know what happened. With the exception of two guys, one of whom told me he was there for me and then asked me "what time can I pick you up tomorrow" as if I hadn't said anything about boundaries at all (not that I want to be in a car alone with another man at this point anyway), and another guy who told me I complain too much for an immigrant and that I should go back to my "shithole country," the response has been positive. I'm no longer in shock or numb. I'm...fine.

Man, apparently you gotta be careful about what you put on the internet!

So one of the guys who sexually assaulted me last summer, let's call him "Matt," didn't see this blogpost until like last week. He got his jimmies rustled real bad and he sent me the following email (I'm also going to attach a screenshot because everything on the internet is forever):

"Dear Liz,

a friend of mine a couple of days ago came across your blog searching on Google my name and surname + IBM Brno and he sent me the link to the post about me. I must say that what I read about me and our encounter has shocked and deeply saddened me.

First of all, I would like to sincerely apologise if I caused you any harm or unpleasant feelings, that was never my intention. I liked you and enjoyed spending time with you. I have thought until now that what happened between us then was all consensual and good fun. It really never crossed my mind that you would experience these feelings you have talked about in your post (and certainly not that you call our encounter “sexual assault”). I admit this could be in part my ignorance; never in my life have I had another girl accuse me of being insensitive or disrespectful and although I might enjoy a bit of rough play, I never did anything against anyone will. I know there is no way to make this up to you (if there is, let me know), but I will certainly keep this in mind and be more careful about other people’s feelings and boundaries in the future. 

That being said, what really saddened me is that instead of being direct with me you have decided to share it on your blog, together with snippets of our private conversations and my name. I understand this was your way of dealing with this situation, however I think you have not taken into account that I am also a person with feelings (not just an anonymous guy from Tinder), with friends and family and one that highly values privacy. Not to mention that this blog post has a potential of compromising my future relationships and career. If this was your way of “revenge”, you have certainly succeeded. The difference is that my actions were not led by anger nor intention to hurt you. 

I must admit that my first thought when seeing your blog was to contact a lawyer and have it put down. And to be honest, I know in this case I have a better legal standing (in Czech law at least). However, morally, I still feel terrible about what my actions have caused to you. That is why I decided to contact you first to disclose my feelings and perhaps strike an honest conversation. Still if you could try to see things from my side and perhaps forgive me, I would like to ask you politely to delete the post, or at least remove my name and surname.   

PS: I also never realised that you would be uncomfortable at work because of me. I actually left IBM,  Brno and Czech Republic a couple of months ago, so you don’t have to worry about seeing me again.

Sincerely,

Matteo."

First off, I love that Matt tried to go Law & Order on my ass. So cute!

If he actually had any sort of criminal law experience, he'd know that sending this email is now considered harassment after I've asked him to stop contacting me numerous times. Actually some might even consider it "intimidation."

You might notice that he basically admits to what he did. Rookie move!

He apologized, indicating a notion of guilt and remorse because he didn't realize how his actions made me feel. He acknowledges that his actions made me feel uncomfortable, but it's super sad that Matt thinks it isn't assault, though.

Sexual assault is an act in which a person intentionally sexually touches another person (Matt) or coerces (Matt), or physically forces a person to engage in a sexual act against their will" (you getting this, Matt?) He showed up at my job unannounced, he continued to message me when I asked him to stop.

He also legally threatened me while simultaneously apologizing. That's textbook abusive behavior no matter what country you're from. Seems like a hot shot lawyer like Matt would know that, too.

So that was a week ago. Today in the late afternoon I get this little friendly greeting from Google with a link to what used to be my blogpost:

"Hello,

Google has been notified that content in your blog contains allegedly infringing content that may violate the rights of others and the laws of their country. The infringing content that has been made unavailable can be found at the end of this message. For more information about this removal and how it affects your blog, please visit (link).

The notice that we received, with any personally identifying information removed, will be posted online by a service called Lumen at www.lumendatabase.org. You can search for the notice associated with the removal of your content by going to the Lumen page, and entering in the URL of the blog post that was removed. If you have legal questions about this notification, you should consult your legal advisor."

I didn't even have to follow the link to know Matt was behind this and it wasn't any coincidence. I finish up my day and head home to investigate a little further to right before I was writing this post. So I followed the link to see what exactly it entails.

There goes Matt again, making assumptions that I never filed a report so I guess it didn't happen, even though the original post was from six months ago.

It's so weird how so much can happen in six months! 

During the course of this entire bullshit saga, Matt changed his story from "I don't slow down" to "I'm sorry I didn't realize my actions hurt you" to "what happened wasn't sexual assault." It wasn't until he was publicly named that he started to turn this entire thing around. I wonder what his next excuse will be. 

I love how he doesn't think I won't continue to share all this on the internet. Remember that Seinfeld episode where Jerry continues to give Sally Weaver (Susan's college roommate) ammunition for her stand up show simply by continuing to talk to her? It turns out the show about nothing is really about something! I think my favorite part of all this is how Matt thinks that just because he points out there was no report, no legal documents, or no eyewitnesses that it didn't happen. I must have just written that incredibly sobering and detailed post and reached out to my Brno friends based on absolutely nothing. But honestly I'm just trying to point out what women go through when men are confronted with their own shitty behavior. Also not to mention I told multiple people what happened right after the incident. But I guess that never happened either, according to Senior Detective Matt.

What a dipshit!

So Matt fucked up and he resorts to talking with Google because his criminal behavior finally caught up with him. And fuck Google for calling my account of what happened to me "defamatory" all because I chose to out the person who sexually assaulted me. (hey Matt if you're still reading this, sexual assault is an act in which a person intentionally sexually touches another person or coerces, or physically forces a person to engage in a sexual act against their will). Just wanted to reiterate because Matt likes to blur the definition of it when he's the subject of committing the act itself.

Ruh roh!

Shame on Google for taking the post down without investigating. If this post suddenly disappears in the future, you'll know that some pussy ass bitch can't handle the consequences of his actions. If you don't want your name dragged through my your own mud, don't fucking touch me.

Bleach Mode

Last post of the decade! WooOoOOOoooO!

Nope. That's not what this is gonna be. Life didn't really get better, it just got different. The last two entries here were super depressing so hopefully some kind of a yearly wrap up will bring out the better instances of 2019 instead of the two that really destroyed me.

In 2019, I only had to go to immigration one time. One. Time. Last year I think I had to go eight or nine times to the decrepit little office on the outskirts of Brno where the clientele mostly looks like the third class cabin from the Titanic. Lots of phrase books, interpreters, people getting handcuffed, some people who just said "fuck it" and went down with the bureaucratic ship. After solidifying my position with IBM, I got to drop off my contract with a shit-eating grin and not care so much that I was getting yelled at in Czech. Again.

Getting yelled at in loud Czech is a common facet of an immigration office visit. Most employees there can actually speak English, but they won't. Passively armed with the pseudo-Czech I know, I was able to slide my IBM contract under the glass and give a woman who has zero time for me a quick smile. Pieces of paper were stamped and I signed where I was pointed to sign and I left. Twenty minutes, in and out, and I'm good for another two years. Usually this process takes a lot longer.

I'm not going to say my position at IBM is easy. The job itself is actually quite simple, but the communication with my team and other technical teams based around the EU can be challenging. I spend my time double, sometimes triple checking the phrasing of emails or the instructions on a task just to make sure the air quality of my snark is perfectly clear. A lot of my time is spent in Excel or IMing other folks on my team because we all have our headphones in but refuse to have a real conversation with the person sitting across from us. I really can't complain. I have good relationships with my superiors and I've only been late once in the last 11 months. I'm a 10 minute bus ride from the office and I can work from home two days a week if everything isn't really crazy, but January 2020 is going to be really crazy.

I also got to visit Seattle and Tucson in November like I did last year. I'm the only one on my team not taking any vacation during Christmas so instead I took two weeks during my birthday and Thanksgiving to go home. This trip was fraught with travel-inducing headaches but I was able to schedule time with the people I wanted to see and I got to headline my first club back home. I think when I come home next year I'm going to try to record my first album, but that's gonna depend on how much stage time I can get in Bratislava or Olomouc or wherever I end up performing beforehand. I have the material, but like last year, I was spending a fair amount of time on stage figuring out what jokes actually worked in Bratislava but not Portland, OR. I have a new closer in the US, but not in Brno unless I want to waste time explaining who the Zodiac Killer is (or isn't.)

In Tucson I spent time with my dad, step-mom, and uncle for some nuclear family time. My uncle gave me my favorite gift and it came with an unknown story. Before getting a job building Boeing planes during WWII, my grandfather practiced his machinery skills with small projects. He made a silver ring in an Art Deco style that my uncle has had for a number of years, and at Thanksgiving he passed it on to me. I haven't taken it off since I got it. In a way it's incredibly reflective of my grandfather's personality: simple, nothing flashy, but purposeful.

When I returned home to Brno, I came home to Gossamer, a cat I adopted in May after Patrick died. Gossamer's very different but equally cheerful and entertaining. His name was initially "Ragy," translating to "rags" in Czech. I sat around with him for a day before deciding on Gossamer, the delicately named big red hairy monster from Looney Tunes. He's a younger cat, definitely in his terrible twos. He's got a lot of energy but he has calmed down to snuggle since the weather got colder.

The woman who fostered him got him fixed and cleaned up and medicated after he had been on the street for an undetermined amount of time. When he was found at my neighborhood Tesco, he looked like he had just gotten sober so I knew we'd get along. She thinks he's a flame-point ragdoll because of his markings and serious floof and size. It's hard to imagine such a cat to be alone on the street. I'll never know his full story, but some people I've talked to actually don't think he was homeless and that perhaps he was abandoned, or a family moved and didn't take him. It makes me really sad to think about, but I'm happy I can give him a good life and all the little crinkled up paper he can handle.

Right now I'm writing this and Gossamer is playing with his new favorite toy, a condensed ball of his own hair. He's a little crosseyed and it makes me chuckle. He can't not look like that. Sometimes I ask him if he's a nerd and he has to look at me with his goofy expression. He's an amazing cat, a good companion. He likes stealing my glasses off of my face, headbutting me, and waiting outside my shower to get little drinks out of my drain.

One thing I'm going to try to do more in 2020 is travel because I'm a white woman in her 30s. It probably sounds ridiculous for a person living in Europe to say that, but it's true. Most of the travel I did this year was mostly little 18-24 hour trips for comedy, there and back in one night. These were mostly jaunts to Poland, and while I love Poland, I was technically at these places for work and wasn't taking the time really needing to relax or experience anything culturally significant. So I put down some money, something I hardly do because I'm...what's a good way to say this, thrifty as fuck, and I bought at ticket to Pearl Jam and the Pixies in Italy next summer.

After doing some research, it turned out the show at the Ferrari autodrome was the cheapest option because all of the tickets are general admission. The shows in Vienna, Budapest, even Krakow were more expensive and they didn't give me the option of exploring uncharted territory, so off to Bologna I'll go next July. I'm happy because I'll be doing some traveling just for me. Not for stand up or holiday obligations, but just for me. The concert is on a Sunday night so I'm debating about taking the whole week off and doing some exploring in the Balkans or something. I dunno, I have six months to figure it out but that doesn't mean I can't start the incessant, impulsive planning meant for late spring.

Now that I have some decent job security, I've been able to be more flexible with my appearance. I spent half the year platinum blonde and half the year bright pink. I got my hand tattooed and I put my septum piercing back in. I'm basically the person 23-year-old Liz wanted to be. I honestly don't notice myself looking that alternative except for when older Czech people stare me down with the same eyes that have witnessed multiple political revolutions. My look definitely isn't conducive to the semi-conservative atmosphere in Brno. In Prague or Vienna, I'm more anonymous, part of a seamless crowd. Now if I see people staring at me, I stare back at them because I'm no longer a shy, language-less foreigner.

So here's the official nonsense count for 2019:

Three notebooks/jokebooks

Six pairs of headphones

Two vaporizers

Three hair colors

Two bouts of serious depression

Six flights

One break from Facebook

Seven countries visited

Two new medications

Eight phone chargers

Five vet visits

Three books read

One minor heartbreak

Two refrigerators

Two new flavors of Skittles

One political demonstration

Zero hospital visits

Pretty good overall. The 2020 election will most likely decide where I'll be spending my time in 2021. But if I have to stay here, it's not the worst thing in the world. I'd actually prefer that. In terms of "resolutions," which aren't really resolutions but a romanticized list of things I'd like to accomplish once I get my shit together, there's only a few:

Write poetry more regularly

Pay more attention to gut instincts

Take some kind of Czech language course that isn't just Slavic memes

Continue good control of my blood sugar and a1C (6.3!)

This isn't too crazy of a list. I think I'm intentionally setting the bar low knowing I'm in a funk right now and I've yet to come completely out of it. I have the whole year to work on it once we stop hibernating.