Another Lying Young Woman Ruins Young Men's Lives with a False Rape Accusation

I'm so happy this is my own blog and not broadcast TV where I could be fined for spewing profanity or using vulgarity, especially when I want to talk about someone who seriously pissed me off. Censorship inhibits free expression.


First I would like to know what Fox anchorman Ernie Anastos was talking about when he told a weatherman on his network to "Keep fucking that chicken." At least NBC's Sue Simmons used a variation of the word "fuck" in a more comprehensible manner when she simply asked someone on air, "What the fuck are you doing?" (More on that in a second.)


Apparently, the recent profane slip-up was not Ernie's first offense. But I doubt he'd truly give a shit because fining him would be a slap on the wrist just like it must have been a few years back when Janet Jackson had that wardrobe malfunction onstage with Justin Timberlake and the FCC came down on them. If Ernie keeps this up though, he should have a blog if he doesn't already so he can curse to his heart's content like I do on here and then go back to work at Fox with a mouth as clean as a whistle.


I want to talk about a media item that "seriously pissed me off," to quote myself in a previous paragraph, a criminal case that never should have been. 

I'm talking about that young woman who made the local news in the metropolitan New York area and CNN for accusing five men of raping her in a dormitory bathroom at Hofstra. When I initially saw this in Newsday along with articles about Annie Le, the Yale University graduate student who was found murdered on the day she would have married Jonathan Widawsky, a Huntington, Long Island resident, memories of past rape incidents on the Hofstra campus echoed in my mind. The school is surrounded by pockets of high crime, so it didn't surprise me in the least.

When I was a law student at Hofstra, we received a notice that an unidentified man kidnapped a woman from the parking lot by the building where business classes are held and subsequently raped her. My mother immediately panicked because I used to visit my then boyfriend who rented a room in one of the houses not far from that lot.

Shortly after my graduation, I was dating a police officer who informed me that not too long ago there was another rape on the campus. A freshman was unpacking her things and moving into a dorm with her boyfriend's help when a man snatched her away and raped her. That suspect was later apprehended while he was held in the Nassau County Correctional Center on an unrelated charge.

I don't recall whether or not the first alleged rapist was caught, but I do remember the relief I felt when they found and convicted the man who raped the freshman. So naturally, I was relieved that the District Attorney's office had immediately apprehended four suspects in what we as the public believed was a rape committed against a young college student.

The men's photos along with their names and addresses were plastered all over the pages of every local newspaper any New Yorker could think of.  One of them was a Hofstra student. To the lay person without legal training, it was justifiable punishment, the humiliation of having the world see your face after you committed a vile criminal act like sexual assault.  According to the victim, five men had tied her up and raped her.  While four of them were booked, the investigation continued as police were still looking for the fifth suspect who was still at large.

And then the fifth alleged rapist came forward but not to turn himself in.

He produced a cell phone video of the alleged rapists in action.  It featured one of the culprits having sex with the so-called victim.  Upon this discovery, the young woman recanted her accusations.  What really had occurred was a six person orgy among college-aged adults, completely consensual between all parties. It was obvious that no crime had occurred, so the accused were released.

But, five innocent men had been unfairly scrutinized. And there may still be some people with doubts about their innocence. An accusation, no matter how ridiculous, still raises an eyebrow.

This mischievous little brat should be charged with a crime and ordered to pay monetary damages to the five men she victimized.  Suspension from school is not enough, just a vacation from the stress she had brought on herself. What the fuck were you doing, young lady? You had everyone in hysterics.

I don't know if this is true, but someone told me this young lady lied about being raped because in reality she was cheating on her boyfriend five times over in one night and was afraid he would find out.  According to this unconfirmed oral report, her boyfriend found her after the alleged rape looking as though she had hot sex. It was then, this person told me, that she decided to lie about being raped. And then came the report to the DA's office. (You see, this is one of the reasons I'm pissed off about not being appreciated by guys. I never have and never would in the future cheat on a boyfriend or husband, let alone commit a crime to cover up my fault.)

One day the papers quoted Nassau County District Attorney Kathleen Rice as saying that this was a troubled young woman. It almost sounded like she just pitied her for being young and stupid like so many college students are. A day or two later, an official at the DA's office said that charges against the false accuser were "likely."

Experts have said that Rice is in a difficult position. She would want to charge this young lady to show that people should not knowingly report a crime when none had occurred, that it's a crime in and of itself to do so. On the other hand, they said, she may fear that by charging the young woman it will prevent false accusers from coming clean and in the long run lead to wrongful convictions.

I don't think it's about weighing the pros and cons of charging in this case. It's more political.

This couldn't have come at a worse time for the District Attorney. We are less than two months away from an election for the position she now holds. Right now, it will be difficult for the public to believe that Rice's decision is anything but political.  Within a day or so of Rice describing the accuser as troubled, Joy Watson, the former head of the Sex Crimes Bureau under former DA Denis Dillon and Rice's opponent in this year's race, criticized her for not actively seeking to press charges.

It was perfect campaign ammunition. Ideally, it should be solely at Rice's discretion. She has nothing to lose by charging the young woman. She certainly would not be wrong in doing so. Her position was in contrast to that of the now disbarred former Durham DA Mike Nifong who charged three innocent men in the Duke Lacrosse false rape accusation case a few years ago after he knew of exculpatory evidence.

I remember how the media focused like a laser on one of the accused players Colin Finnerty. He was a bright young man from my hometown Garden City, NY who graduated from Chaminade High School with honors and athletic accolades, the kind you would want your daughter to bring home from college as a fiance.

Immediately, there were reports that Finnerty was arrested in Maryland on an unrelated charge. The papers showed a photo of his parents' upscale home. They portrayed him and his friends as privileged spoiled brats and right away the public was led to believe some snotty rich frat boys with silver spoons in their mouths thought they were above the law.

And Mike Nifong was there, fighting for the little guy, it appeared, making it known that money wasn't going to keep him from prosecuting spoiled young punks who dared to victimize Crystal Mangum, an impoverished, underprivileged young woman who worked as a stripper to pay her way through college at a less prestigious institution nearby.

Nifong was up for re-election that year and trying to win votes from community members he felt would be sympathetic toward Mangum's plight as the victim of a barbaric act by privileged men from an elite university. He was willing to risk his license to practice law for a chance to hold on to political power. And in doing so, he lost everything - rightfully so.

I regret that Mangum was not prosecuted for her false accusations against the lacrosse players. It's a general consensus that these three men were innocent, but they will always remember what it feels like to be negatively scrutinized. I recently heard from a relative of a member of the lacrosse team who expressed to me that Mangum put her family through hell.

And to add insult to injury, the bitch wanted to publish a memoir in 2008! I say let her write it and use the proceeds to pay back the three men and their families for the pain she caused!


This is not an endorsement of Kathleen Rice, but I must say I commend her for her integrity, for not continuing to pursue charges against the five men in the Hofstra case for the sake of political gain in an election yearupon the discovery of exculpatory evidence, quite a difference from Nifong's crooked behavior.

Old Fools Try to Seduce Much Younger Women

Egos never fade with age, not when people are born into the gender that boasts the most testosterone. Not having a biological clock and enjoying a higher pay scale are factors that afford men a whole new batch of spring chickens when the old cows have aged, their faces blemished with crow's feet, their boobs sagging and their libidos significantly diminished.

I've had so many dates, boyfriends and experiences with men of all ages and heard so many stories from other women that I really don't give a shit who thinks I'm a man hater for criticizing men's bad behavior. I'm not a man hater (there is sure to be a great man out there who is available and who hasn't found me yet), but if you observed these old geezers you would understand my disdain for their actions.

I sometimes wonder if my life would have fared better romantically had I not been so repulsed by the much older men who had pursued me in my twenties and even recently in my thirties. I guess it was the close relationship I had with my father that made me not want to view older men in a sexual manner.

Then again, I rejected men of all ages throughout my twenties. I once wore a fake engagement ring to work to fend off an entire floor of young stockbrokers who would make flirtatious catcalls at me every day at lunch hour. As my luck would have it (as always in courtship situations), one of the stockbrokers was related to a jeweler and could tell my rock was fake. So he could see I had just faked an engagement, much like other women may fake an orgasm.

Either that or my fiance was a cheap mofo who gave me a crappy ring and whom I would leave in a heartbeat for a man who drove a $100,000 car at 28 and could give me platinum - if he would ever even let it get that far. He was only trying to get laid, I'm sure. And as far as the old men were concerned (and probably the young ones, too), it made no difference if I were married, engaged or otherwise unavailable. Men are always going to try to get what they want at any age from any woman of any age - single or not.

I was in the tail end of my twenties when I was admitted to the practice of law in the State of New York - the year was 2005 to be exact. Inevitably, I would make my first court appearance on a motion. To render me assistance so I could one day go on my own, as well as offer moral support, I would have an experienced attorney accompanying me.

Unfortunately for me, I would have to fend for myself as my mentor would have a family medical emergency that naturally took priority over a court appearance, especially when another attorney was there. So I had to navigate choppy waters - a judge who was in a bad mood because of the submission of sloppy papers and some unscrupulous attorneys. A lot for a fledgling attorney's first time.

My first encounter in the judge's court room made me think I had not only my work but my whole career cut out for me. The judge was yelling at every other attorney whose case the clerk called. He told one respectful bespectacled female attorney with curly ash brown hair to "save (her) breath" when she mumbled softly. She seemed so meek she may as well have been a librarian instead of a litigator, but she managed to ire His Honor. A fifty-something male attorney with graying light brown curly hair, a mustache and glasses stormed out of the room after being reemed upon submission of his one and only motion for the day in that judge's chambers. When it was my turn, the judge was surprisingly pleasant. I had no opposition and was out in a few minutes.


Upon making my way out of the court room and into the vestibule that led out to the hallway, the fiftysomething male attorney surprisingly joined me. It so happened he had been waiting outside for me. He walked alongside me as though it had been predetermined that we were leaving together. He quickly chirped something I couldn't believe I was hearing.


"What?" I asked him.


"Do you want to go to lunch?" he asked again with a predatory leer.

I gaped at him, completely caught off guard.

"Are you married, engaged," he began, "Does it really matter?"

"I'm in a relationship," I told him curtly.

"I think you're hot. I love your outfit," he rambled on, ignoring my obvious rejection.

I now got a taste of what it's like to be hit on by an attorney from Bill Clinton's generation.  It was the end of innocence. I was in my twenties then but felt as though I were ten again only this time one of my girl friends' Dads was trying to pick me up.  Another attorney at my office reasoned that a man his age was hitting on a twentysomething in an attempt to reassure himself that he was still sexy after all these years. His attempt backfired because I just felt he was an old fool to blog about.

In my thirties, I've managed to attract wackier and more mature prospects to reject. Whenever I go into the city for a court appearance, a co-op closing or a networking event or just a night out, I always manage to have some guy approach me at the event, on the Long Island Railroad or on a subway train. If we have a great conversation, I agree to give them my number, but I wish some of them would never have approached me to begin with, like the oversexed older attorney I met in Queens Supreme during my first court appearance ever. I mean, I didn't even talk to the guy and right away his first words to me were to ask me out. You saw that!

On that note, I would like to revisit the notion that men are visual.


When I go to the Bronx, I usually take the LIRR to Brooklyn and catch the 4 so I don't have to get off and wait in a stuffy station for the shuttle crosstown at 42nd.  It's a long ride up there and back. On some days like the one in question I have to take the 4 for a co-op closing on Manhattan's Upper East Side. And on this particular day I managed to find a seat on the ride downtown toward Brooklyn with scores of women on their lunch hours and across from a ragged looking man with long wavy brown hair and a washed out T-shirt who was staring lustfully at me the whole time.


The man looked peculiar with piercing brown eyes and a sinister grin. He could have been a rocker from a now defunct 80's metal band, bankrupt from having spent all his millions on nose candy and reduced to riding the subway with a bunch of average everyday women like us - a far cry from the limos that once catered to him and his beautiful groupies. I was in elementary school when he would have been in his glory days as a thirtysomething rock star.

He continued to leer at me as the attractive young woman sitting next to me tried to hold back her urge to grimace. The middle-aged woman with a slightly graying bobbed hairdo across from me looked over at him and then shot me a glance as if to warn me. As we skipped past the stops between 42nd and 14th Streets, I heard the man mumble something to me in a British accent.


"What?" I asked, dumbfounded.


"I said," he continued in a frustrated tone, "There are a lot of romantic places to go here. Let me take you."


"I have a boyfriend," I snapped back hastily.


"Your loss," he muttered bitterly to me and stormed out of the sliding doors onto the 14th Street station platform.  It was a loss I would take like the good dating sport I was - always picking up the pieces after a rejection or a revolting sexual advance from a sleaze like him. Upon the jilted man's exit and the train's subsequent departure to continue on to Brooklyn, the women on the train collectively began to laugh.


"Oh my God! I couldn't believe it," I sighed and shuddered on the bench. I garnered sympathy from all of the women in our car, most particularly these two who had been watching my little ordeal and were cringing the entire time.


"What was his problem?" asked the young woman.


"Only in New York," said the middle-aged woman with a laugh.


"What a weirdo!" I exclaimed, "He was staring at me and drooling the whole time."


"I noticed that," said the middle-aged woman as she shook her head.


I didn't have a conversation with the coked up, washed out rocker. We most certainly did not introduce ourselves to each other. And damned if he were EVER to get my phone number! All he did was look at me and decide he was going to ask me to accompany him to some "romantic" places in downtown Manhattan. Weirdo! I'd expect that if someone were to ask me out, we would first have a substantial conversation lasting more than five minutes or so.


This adds credence to Greg Behrendt's claim that if a man really wants to be with a woman, be it in a relationship, as a fuck buddy or for a one-night stand, he will (or at the very least try to) make it happen. He is never too "busy" for a woman he truly likes to whatever degree it may be. So much for all those poor women who have what they feel is a wonderful date with a man only to have him never call again and resurface later on in a serious relationship with another woman. 


This tool wanted to haul my ass over to the "romantic restaurants" at the next subway stop, and he didn't even know my name. He was obviously "that into" me. That's what it's supposed to look like. He wasn't too busy for me even though he had somewhere to go. I just wasn't interested because he was a freak and not the good kind of freak. If I were to risk being fired for staying out too long for a midday date, I wouldn't take that chance for this reject. Both genders can play the rejection game at any age.


But the next guy almost made me commit a felony - partly out of frustration from being romanced and blown off by three young men in a row and on the one hand because I wasn't keen on the idea of having geriatric sex. In Newsday, I found an ad in the singles section for a party that boasted the potential to attract "thousands of professionals." The ad read such that I forgot I was going to a singles party and instead planted the notion in my head that I would be networking with professionals and just might meet someone great if I were lucky.


For the event at Tavern on the Green in Manhattan, I donned a fitted, half-sleeved gray dress that looked better than it had when I got it a year earlier because I'd lost a significant amount of weight. As I slinked by from one end of the restaurant to the the next I passed two elderly men. One held the other as if to cradle him.  He apparently had too much to drink or whatever he was doing, and his friend had been the more alert of the two.

The 28 to 49 pitch for the party had been false advertising much to my disappointment. There were no business cards exchanged and no hors d'oevres, just a meat market of graying people bumping and grinding fully clothed and a lot of liquor.


"Hey, sexy," shouted the less coherent of the two elderly men as he looked my way. I walked on.


The other side of the restaurant failed in my book of prospects for a polarly opposite reason - a bunch of much younger couples, perhaps college kids on their break from school who wanted to feel more mature hanging out at a ritzy place like Tavern on the Green. I met a few cool kids, but I really had to get going. As I wandered through the winding hallway, I bumped into the two elderly men again.


"Lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely," ranted the drunk 90 year old as he tried to pull my arm. He had apparently been high on Cialis or Viagra, whichever was his hard on drug of choice.


I shoved him away and walked on faster and faster. What guy uses "lovely" anymore to describe a woman he finds attractive? That's so 1940s. And if he doesn't call you "hot,' the more respectful alternative is to say you are "beautiful." (More on that later.)


It was then that I remembered it is a felony in New York and probably many other states to beat up someone over the age of 65. I guess one of the perks of being a dirty old man with age as a weapon is that if you desire a young chick your granddaughter's age you can just grab her and if she puts up a fight you can charge her under that statute. It's a situation where the courts apply strict liability. She doesn't even have to know you are over the minimum age to be found guilty. Her entire life is ruined.

That's what she gets for not giving you what you want. It was great for my sake that I had room to run away otherwise I might have done something to him I would regret later. There goes to show my claim in an early entry that men control the heterosexual dating franchise. It's at every age.  


No amount of money could make me marry a man that decrepit and infirm who is being disrespectful.  I credit the late Anna Nicole Smith who married J. Howard Marshall when she was 26 and he was 89 for having a strong stomach, despite her obvious desire for his multi-million dollar fortune. Apparently, she met her elderly husband when she was working as a stripper and he grabbed her silicone-filled breast during her performance. How romantic! It's been my experience that when a guy wants to treat me like that he disappears and I never hear from him again. And some bitch keeps him around long enough so he will die and leave everything to her!


As I was leaving Tavern on the Green fed up with yet another lousy singles encounter, I came across a group of sixtysomething divorced or widowed men who looked like they could be members of the mob.  They acted as though they'd be sympathetic to my plight. I could have been the daughter of one of them.



"What happened," a gray-haired man asked in a Brooklyn accent," you didn't have a good time?"

"No, I did not." I simply answered.

"You're never going to come again?" the other asked.

"Absolutely not," I said, "I don't want to be around these people."

"What happened?" the first guy asked, "Dirty old men?"

"Hell, yeah," I said, "This 90 year old tried to hit on me and I had to push him back. I wouldn't give him the time of day."

"How old are you?" the guy asked, "You look about 27."

"I'm 32," I said.

"You look great. I'm 62. Would you go out with a guy like me?" he asked. Here we go again.

"You're my mother's age," I snapped back and walked out never looking back. I wouldn't go out with him, but I'll admit he'd be better than the 90 year old for sure.

What if you did marry a wealthy old fool? He could easily turn out like the crochety old buffoon my friend encountered at Fairway, the gourmet grocery store in Plainview. We were out one day on our lunch hour. We're both attorneys representing banks in foreclosure actions, so given the economic climate of the times we are under a lot of stress.  So, we're looking for sustenance at the deli and my friend figures she will catch up on some grocery shopping in the meantime. She's retrieving rolls for later on from the roll bin near the bakery when she accidentally bumps into an old man who is fighting for a bagel.

"Do you think you own this place? Get out of my way!" he shouts in a rage, his eyebrows furrowed under his reading glasses, "Do you think you're the queen?"  My friend is the sweetest, most modest young woman you can imagine. She's so down-to-earth, hardly the kind who would think she was the "queen." Very different from some of the callous bitches I've encountered who men (like this old goat) treat like queens after blowing off some nice girls.

"Calm down," I yell as loud as I can in his direction. He probably didn't hear me, the senile old fool.

Eager to escape his geriatric rage, my friend grabs the first cart near her and as her luck would have it she enrages him even more.

"You're taking my cart," he fumes, "What are you, the queen?"

I grab her cart and push it toward her to aid her escape from this lunatic. You see? Ladies, avoid these old farts at all costs just like their younger counterparts from my previous blog entry.

Men to Pass Up at All Costs

I cannot fathom where certain men get off thinking they can blow us off, that we are not good enough for them. They should first reflect on their own shortcomings and maybe then they'd actually appreciate a good woman over a whore who serves no greater purpose than a good lay.


I especially despise the man with nothing to bring to the table who acts as though he could reject a woman who isn't even attracted to him in the first place. I mean, I wasn't even paying you any attention and before I know it you think you've turned me down, retard! Back in high school, I hung out at a billiards place with my girl friends and these really sleazy looking low-lifes -would-be high school dropouts - were giving us all dirty looks. One guy approached me and asked if I liked his friend. I told him I didn't.

"You're not even my type," the friend sneered and continued to stare disdainfully at me. "That girl over there is my type," he said, pointing to a girl with big, curly black hair who was shooting pool at the next table.

I laughed. She had nothing on me in any department. "Why are you looking at me that way?" I asked him, "You aren't MY type."

"Okay," he shrugged with a smile, as if he believed I was lying. "What is your type?"

"Well-dressed, educated, athletic," I said with conviction. His smile of disdain wouldn't fade. We were young. I had no way of knowing for sure where life would take this young man - or me. But he carried himself like the kind of guy who would end up a sleazy contractor who convinced people to pay him to do a shitty job making unnecessary repairs to their chimney ("Cops: Babylon brothers charged with shoddy chimney work," Alfonso A. Castillo, Newsday, September 6, 2009).

Even if it's quite obvious that a guy's station in life leaves much to be desired, it doesn't prevent him from displaying his arrogance as an adult. On a humid Saturday evening, I had taken the train in from Long Island to Penn Station. Having regretted wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt on a hot early September day, I didn't feel like waiting on a stuffy underground platform and maneuvering around the subway system in downtown Manhattan. I instead preferred an air-conditioned cab.

So, I think I'll get ahead of the game by getting into one of those cars in a long line of empty cabs waiting for eager passengers coming from the station. And, I randomly stop at the first one in front of me and say "Webster Hall." I was heading over to "The Awesome 80's Prom" and wishing I'd taken out my leggings for the night. The slender cabby with an unidentifiable foreign accent told me to go on the line with the others. Resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to take me, I went ahead. I then caught sight of a hot, busty blonde who could easily have been on her way to a shift at Flashdancers or a nude centerfold shoot. She got a cab ahead of everyone else, and she wasn't even in line.

I joined the line of passengers and stumbled upon the same cabbie from before a few seconds later. He shot me an arrogant smirk and signaled to the back seat where I saw the gorgeous blonde. "She's with me. So long, sucker," he wanted to tell me.

Now what is wrong with this picture? I'll tell you. Men are too visual. And this guy has watched so many American movies depicting the proverbial dumb blonde he thinks that ready and willing blondes are a dime a dozen in this country. When you become too visual, you lose sight of common sense. He stood more to benefit from taking me with my chestnut tresses. I'm an attorney. I'm more likely to tip generously for excellent service.

Blondie, as hot as she may be, is more interested in taking the sucker's money. And, I highly doubt that his cabbie's annual salary, including any gratuitous tips, could satisfy her appetite for a shopping spree at Barney's. All she wanted from him was a ride to her wealthy sugar daddy's Upper East Side condo so she could hop on his wealthy ass. On duty on the job was the closest the cab-driving clown would get to a woman that fine.

He wasn't any more likely to get laid with her than he was with me. I found him repulsive but was too modest to admit it, so I can only imagine what a woman with every reason to be conceited might think of him, if she even spared him a thought at all.

Nevertheless, this poor fool was going to take a chance, wishfully thinking that this fine lady would hook up with him if only he made his move. If he didn't have such poor insight, he'd hold a more lucrative post, one that would help him attract beautiful women. I almost wished I could have caught that ride with her just so I could watch this cocky S.O.B. humiliate himself before Blondie rejected his advances. Instead of a hefty tip financed by billables, she would reward him with a much deserved slap in the face.

Some men find me as appealing as the Manhattan cabbie found the would-be Playboy bunny, albeit not necessarily the kind of men I want to notice me. And they always have a tiny bit of power on their turf, so I don't want to fuck with them too much. At the Roosevelt Field mall one day, I was toting several bags and trying to grab a quick bite at the Greek stand in the food court when a counter boy was responding to my every food and drink order in a raspy voice as he leered into my eyes. I wrinkled up my nose and shot him an angry look, but that wasn't cooling him down. I didn't want to tell him off right away because I was afraid he would spit on my food. Finally, once my food was safely in my hands I told him, "Leave me the fuck alone." He continued to smile as I was walking away and scowling back at him. Some guys just won't take even the most in-your-face hint.

And what woman in her right mind could help but resist incarcerated men (unless they are wrongfully convicted or accused)? Some years ago I interned with the Nassau County District Attorney's Office. One day they took us on a field trip to the county jail to observe the inmates' daily routines and hear the less dangerous convicts share their experiences. As we toured one of the wings, I came across a large section of young men in killer shape (no pun intended)- flat, muscular abs and well-toned biceps.

Their physical appeal could not overcome for me the fact that they'd been in there for the most heinous crimes imaginable according to the corrections officers who accompanied us. Some of them shouted out sexually explicit comments at myself and other women in the group. I would have flipped them off if I didn't have to risk having shit flung at me, a misfortune the corrections officers said they faced on a daily basis.

Now as an attorney heading to court, I especially relish walking by the corrections buses on the way. When those assholes yell obscenities at me, I can curse to my heart's content because the barricades separating them from me have tinier openings, so the shit won't make it through. It's so exhilirating!