On Savage Love podcast #239, a guy called in with a relationship problem (um, this is the general point of the podcast). His conundrum was that he's a relatively attractive guy, dating a relatively attractive girl and having a relatively great time of it. What's the problem, you ask? Well, he was worried that his girlfriend--whom he loves, finds funny and smart and all of that--isn't hot enough. She's cute and pretty, but not hot.
You know what, buddy? Screw you.
Of course, you have to be attracted to your partner. This guy is--she's cute and pretty, he says. And yes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and we all have types. And yes, beauty is culturally determined to some degree. And yes, some people are what I call "objectively hot"--Johnny Depp isn't my type (nor is Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt or Ryan Reynolds), but I can appreciate on an purely aesthetic basis that these men are attractive. But this guy is upset that his funny, smart, nice, cute, pretty girlfriend isn't one of those hot girls that get gawked at by other men or approached by modeling agencies.
Get over yourself.
I will allow that being super model hot might have a few drawbacks: people are probably intimidated by you. Men might not approach you, for fear that you are a) out of their league b) a bitch or c) both. There are stereotypes that hot girls are mean and/or dumb, and maybe people can't get past your looks to take the rest of you seriously. But, um, my sympathies end there.
Most of us walking around on this earth are some shade of average. I don't mean this as an insult; it's a statistical fact. (This, of course, is not about how women tend to low rate themselves no matter what.) The albeit complicated notion of hotness means that there are some super hot people, some just generally attractive people, and some not so attractive people. (Again, taking all of the aforementioned--culture, type, etc.--into account. I get that.) But this guy seems to think that those of us in the "average" category--those of us who are "just" cute and/or pretty aren't good enough for his admittedly average self.
Listen up, jackass.
Let me tell you a secret about all of us who rate low on your "hot" continuum. Unless something horrid befell us later in life, we've probably known our entire lives that we're not in that miniscule segment of the population that is qualified to grace the pages of a magazine. Once I got out of the awkward middle and high school stages, I recognized that with a decent haircut, a little makeup, etc. that I could be cute or pretty, but I'll never be hot. I have moments of feeling or looking more hot than other times, but I'm not hot-hot. The end.
But, I'll let you in on a secret: because I knew that boys would never give me much more than a second glance based solely on my looks, I had to develop this little thing we like to call a personality. I am the first person to admit I'm not movie star gorgeous, but I am smart, kind, generous, caring and easy to talk to. I'm no comedian, but I have moments of being quite funny, and, perhaps more importantly, have a decent sense of other's humor. I have a variety of interests, am an avid reader, keep up with politics, current events, sports, and pop culture. I'm a good friend, a loving daughter and a nurturing partner. I don't like cooking for me, but I'll do it for you (and enjoy it). I'm independent--I won't drag you to the mall to go shoe shopping and can handle going to the movies alone. I'm currently broke, but I'm financially responsible--I've paid every single bill on time and in full for my entire life. I root for the underdog. I'm punctual, remember names, faces and birthdays, buy gifts for no reason, dance while I clean and sing in the car. I hardly ever get sick, adore animals, give good advice and let people into my lane on the highway. For my age, I'm relatively well-traveled. And, despite having just written an entire paragraph that sounds like a profile for Match.com, I'm generally quite humble and self-deprecating and freely admit my faults.
I'm not saying that "hot" girls can't be or aren't these things. I'm sure lots of them are, just like I'm sure lots of "average" or "ugly" girls are mean, bitchy, self-involved, stingy, clingy or stupid.
But, just as Dan told you, Caller, beauty fades. We're all going to get wrinkly and feel the effects of gravity. We'll all go grey, probably gain weight, get crow's feet. We might suffer health issues that involve surgery and leave scars. I, like most women in our 30s, already have cellulite and it isn't going to improve as I age. My mom, who looks absolutely fantastic for her sixty-six years and is supremely active, has parts that sag,wiggle and droop; I will, too. Sure, we could get liposuction, breast implants, collagen implants, face lifts, Botox and monthly root touch-ups. But generally speaking, the only real pieces of us that will still be the same when we're retired are the parts you don't look at. When I'm old, I'll still hold the door open for people, spend hours trying to rescue a sick kitten, thank the bus driver when I exit, send my friends homemade cards and leave little notes for my wrinkly boyfriend to find under his daily glass of prune juice.
Average sounds pretty good to me.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Aural Intensity
They say that scent is the sense most strongly related to memory. Hmm, I don't know. I have a decent sense of smell--I can sniff out a boxwood tree from a mile away because they're so putrid and vile--but I have never once gotten a whiff of something, pleasant or otherwise, and been mentally transported back to some other time and place.
For me, this proverbial trip down memory lane comes with music. When I hear certain songs, I am instantly brought back to a time and place from the days of yore. (At 32, am I allowed to call something 'yore'? I wonder.) I used to chaperone dances at GV, and the DJ would invariably play some "old school" songs to break up the monotony of the current hip-hop and top 40. When those songs came on, I would, without fail, turn to a colleague standing next to me on Grind Patrol and say "this song came out when I was [insert age or grade here]!" The next Monday in class, I might tease my seniors about grinding to music that they played at my middle school dances. (Ok, so I wasn't actually allowed to go to middle school dances, but they don't know that.) Although I probably wouldn't bat a thousand, I can with some degree of certainty tell you what year and maybe season a song came out if I have an emotional tie to it like that.
Of course, a lot of these songs (some of which are not good songs, mind you) for one reason or another, remind me of guys I dated. I can't hear "Shoop" without thinking of High School Boyfriend 1, who bought me Salt N Pepa's album Very Necessary and a bottle of Clinique's Sunflowers perfume as a little present that he gave me in the parking lot of my high school one day when he came to surprise me after school. HSBF2 and I used to play guitar and sing, and one of our favorites was "Give a Little Bit" by Supertramp. "Mo' Money" was a popular song my freshman year of college, and I remember spending Friday nights at Sig Ep dance parties with CBF1 and our friends; I can also remember-sadly-where I was when the Backstreet Boys' video to "Larger Than Life" debuted on MTV, because he and I were sitting in the Hard Rock Cafe in Tel Aviv. CBF2 sang in the coed a cappella group and had "Be With You" as his solo, and my senior year, my a cappella solo was Alanis Morrisette's "You Already Won Me Over," which I sang to my then-boyfriend, CBF3. Several months later, he came to visit me in California, and when I picked him up from the airport and turned on the car, it was playing on the radio. RWBF1 made me this fantastic mixed CD as a gift, and songs like "Bonnie and Clyde" by Jay-Z and "Born Too Late" by a little indie band from Pittsburgh take me back to my first year of teaching and living on my own in Philly, dating a guy across the bridge in NJ. Nickelback's pathetic-attempt-at-satire "Rock Star" always makes me smile, because STBEH and I used to sing it in the car; there's a line about quesadillas, and getting takeout from Chipotle was never the same.
Lest you think me nothing but boy crazy, not every song-memory I have is romantically linked. PDiddy's remix of Sting's "I'll be Watching You" brings me back to the summer after I graduated high school, driving around town with Brittany; "California Love" by the late Tupac is a favorite for me and Kristen, because nearly every time we'd have an impromptu sleepover in her basement, we'd fall asleep watching MTV and wake up to that video playing at some ridiculous hour of the night. Back in 7th grade, Kristi and I taped--yes, taped--"Jump Around" from the radio and painstakingly did the play-pause-play-pause game in order to write down the lyrics so we could learn them all. (Seriously, tapes?) My volleyball team made several warm-up mixes that we played before games, and countless songs remind me of the nerves I felt before every match, coupled with the absolute joy of getting to know 20+ kids in that capacity. I even remember which Christina Aquilera song one of my Philly kids choreographed for their dance show, and how shocked--I mean, cartoon eyeballs bugging out of my head shocked--I was when one of my favorite female students got on stage as a dead-ringer for the pop star.
Music ties us to a time and place, even if sometimes it's seemingly meaningless (can you hear "What is Love?" without doing the head nod? Doubt it.) Books may allow us to escape into another world, but music brings us back to portions of our own worlds. At this very moment, I'm on the couch, snuggling with my favorite pup, watching a VH1 90s one-hit-wonder retrospective, reliving all of the memories--painful, joyful or otherwise--from middle school, high school and parts of college. And it never stops--years from now, I'll look back on this time in my life, and think fondly about the significance of "Bust Your Windows" and "Sunday Kind of Love." There are songs that don't exist yet that will make me think of people I haven't met yet.
Nietzsche said that without music, life would be a mistake. I say, all of our mistakes come with music.
And for some, the mistake is the music. But enough about Vanilla Ice.
For me, this proverbial trip down memory lane comes with music. When I hear certain songs, I am instantly brought back to a time and place from the days of yore. (At 32, am I allowed to call something 'yore'? I wonder.) I used to chaperone dances at GV, and the DJ would invariably play some "old school" songs to break up the monotony of the current hip-hop and top 40. When those songs came on, I would, without fail, turn to a colleague standing next to me on Grind Patrol and say "this song came out when I was [insert age or grade here]!" The next Monday in class, I might tease my seniors about grinding to music that they played at my middle school dances. (Ok, so I wasn't actually allowed to go to middle school dances, but they don't know that.) Although I probably wouldn't bat a thousand, I can with some degree of certainty tell you what year and maybe season a song came out if I have an emotional tie to it like that.
Of course, a lot of these songs (some of which are not good songs, mind you) for one reason or another, remind me of guys I dated. I can't hear "Shoop" without thinking of High School Boyfriend 1, who bought me Salt N Pepa's album Very Necessary and a bottle of Clinique's Sunflowers perfume as a little present that he gave me in the parking lot of my high school one day when he came to surprise me after school. HSBF2 and I used to play guitar and sing, and one of our favorites was "Give a Little Bit" by Supertramp. "Mo' Money" was a popular song my freshman year of college, and I remember spending Friday nights at Sig Ep dance parties with CBF1 and our friends; I can also remember-sadly-where I was when the Backstreet Boys' video to "Larger Than Life" debuted on MTV, because he and I were sitting in the Hard Rock Cafe in Tel Aviv. CBF2 sang in the coed a cappella group and had "Be With You" as his solo, and my senior year, my a cappella solo was Alanis Morrisette's "You Already Won Me Over," which I sang to my then-boyfriend, CBF3. Several months later, he came to visit me in California, and when I picked him up from the airport and turned on the car, it was playing on the radio. RWBF1 made me this fantastic mixed CD as a gift, and songs like "Bonnie and Clyde" by Jay-Z and "Born Too Late" by a little indie band from Pittsburgh take me back to my first year of teaching and living on my own in Philly, dating a guy across the bridge in NJ. Nickelback's pathetic-attempt-at-satire "Rock Star" always makes me smile, because STBEH and I used to sing it in the car; there's a line about quesadillas, and getting takeout from Chipotle was never the same.
Lest you think me nothing but boy crazy, not every song-memory I have is romantically linked. PDiddy's remix of Sting's "I'll be Watching You" brings me back to the summer after I graduated high school, driving around town with Brittany; "California Love" by the late Tupac is a favorite for me and Kristen, because nearly every time we'd have an impromptu sleepover in her basement, we'd fall asleep watching MTV and wake up to that video playing at some ridiculous hour of the night. Back in 7th grade, Kristi and I taped--yes, taped--"Jump Around" from the radio and painstakingly did the play-pause-play-pause game in order to write down the lyrics so we could learn them all. (Seriously, tapes?) My volleyball team made several warm-up mixes that we played before games, and countless songs remind me of the nerves I felt before every match, coupled with the absolute joy of getting to know 20+ kids in that capacity. I even remember which Christina Aquilera song one of my Philly kids choreographed for their dance show, and how shocked--I mean, cartoon eyeballs bugging out of my head shocked--I was when one of my favorite female students got on stage as a dead-ringer for the pop star.
Music ties us to a time and place, even if sometimes it's seemingly meaningless (can you hear "What is Love?" without doing the head nod? Doubt it.) Books may allow us to escape into another world, but music brings us back to portions of our own worlds. At this very moment, I'm on the couch, snuggling with my favorite pup, watching a VH1 90s one-hit-wonder retrospective, reliving all of the memories--painful, joyful or otherwise--from middle school, high school and parts of college. And it never stops--years from now, I'll look back on this time in my life, and think fondly about the significance of "Bust Your Windows" and "Sunday Kind of Love." There are songs that don't exist yet that will make me think of people I haven't met yet.
Nietzsche said that without music, life would be a mistake. I say, all of our mistakes come with music.
And for some, the mistake is the music. But enough about Vanilla Ice.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
I do know what I don't know...
This week's episode of How I Met your Mother featured a subplot about gaps in knowledge--things that "everyone knows" that you are horribly unaware of, mislead to believe or unable to do. On the show, some of the gaps included not knowing how to use a screwdriver/tools, believing the North Pole to be only a fictional place, and pronouncing the word chameleon 'cham-eh-LEE-on', as well as the inability to wink. A friend of mine and I had an email exchange about whether "skills" and "knowledge" should be categorized under the same heading, but for now, we'll go with it.
This got me thinking to what glaring holes exist in my information base.
We all have bits that somehow escaped us or that we were horribly misinformed about. The aforementioned email friend admitted that he thought Novicaine was a spray until he was eighteen, because at a cavity-ridden age five he clamped his mouth shut, and in a moment of desperation the dentist lied. Another friend had never heard of TurboTax--doing your taxes online? What? In the 21st century? Preposterous. My mom lacks the entire "how to operate computers and/or the Internet" filing cabinet in her brain.
We also all know weird things that our spongy brains sopped up somehow, like whether Bruce Wayne's grandfather went to Princeton or Yale, the location of the seven pressure points (my mom made me memorize them--and their names--when I was little), the Presidents in order (again, I didn't learn that song, dammit!), or every word to "Ice, Ice, Baby."
Seriously--every time I go out dancing, I sort of disgust myself with the fact that, if held at gunpoint, I'd have a better chance of living if I had to sing "Baby Got Back" than name the capitals of most foreign countries. Awesome.
This got me thinking to what glaring holes exist in my information base.
- In third grade, I was convinced that a thesaurus was a book about dinosaurs. I mean, right?
- Also in elementary school, I didn't get why the word "hump" was funny. I've mentioned this before. (As well as the fact that as a senior I thought 'doggystyle' meant anal. Oy.)
- Until 2002, I had zero clue what a "down" in football meant. Or why having four was worse than having one. I mean--wouldn't four be better? But no, fourth down is apparently a bad thing, I now understand. I also now get why on earth you might punt v. attempt a field goal, pass v. throw in a give situation, etc. Again, I don't get the finely tuned nuances of the game, but I get the bigger points.
- That said, I am aware of the fact that the rules are different for college, but don't know them. And despite being currently enrolled at a Big 10 football school--albeit one dealing with a huge scandal--and having lived in a state that worships a coach, I don't care.
- I can't drive stick. A couple of people (specifically, three exes) have tried to teach me, but it usually ends up as a very tense situation in a parking lot. Perhaps my error is attempting to learn a skill that could do major damage to a vehicle while sitting next to a person in a position to get mad at me and have it carry over into other aspects of my life. Yes, that must be it.
- I can't do the butterfly stroke. Not many people can, I guess, but I spent one season "swimming" (aka, floundering around in the pool after school and being totally useless during meets) and feel like I should have the ability to at least fake it. Oh, who am I kidding? I can barely do a flipturn without freaking out.
- Geography. Just, like, all of geography. In eighth grade, my social studies teacher asked me to point out England on a map; I couldn't do it. These days I can handle America and Europe, mostly, but Asia and Africa? Forget it. Most of Central and South America give me pause, too, except places like Chile (on the bottom!) and Brazil (the big one on the right!). Just the other day I looked at a map before starting a book about Afghanistan and said, "huh--so that's where China is." Eegads, this is embarrassing.
- I have never seen any of the Star Wars movies, Back to the Future, The Princess Bride, and a few other classics.
We all have bits that somehow escaped us or that we were horribly misinformed about. The aforementioned email friend admitted that he thought Novicaine was a spray until he was eighteen, because at a cavity-ridden age five he clamped his mouth shut, and in a moment of desperation the dentist lied. Another friend had never heard of TurboTax--doing your taxes online? What? In the 21st century? Preposterous. My mom lacks the entire "how to operate computers and/or the Internet" filing cabinet in her brain.
We also all know weird things that our spongy brains sopped up somehow, like whether Bruce Wayne's grandfather went to Princeton or Yale, the location of the seven pressure points (my mom made me memorize them--and their names--when I was little), the Presidents in order (again, I didn't learn that song, dammit!), or every word to "Ice, Ice, Baby."
Seriously--every time I go out dancing, I sort of disgust myself with the fact that, if held at gunpoint, I'd have a better chance of living if I had to sing "Baby Got Back" than name the capitals of most foreign countries. Awesome.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Went a little like that...
Have you heard that ridiculous song by the even more ridiculously named group 3oh!3 called "My First Kiss"? Well, since it features Ke$ha, it's pretty terrible. (Yes, I know that I have mentioned before that I actually like her songs; I can like them without thinking they're good. I understand this is confusing. ) The chorus goes something like:
My first kiss went a little like this
And twist
And twist
These lyrics are dumb, of course, but seem to imply that first kisses go like "this"--aka, wow--and I think the "twist" part means, well. I don't know. But the entirety of the song seems to indicate that this first kiss will be spectacular and she won't be able to resist him as a result.
Really? Because I think for most of us, our first kiss went a little like that. And by that, I mean....it sucked. Mine was in 6th grade during recess surrounded by an audience of my peers. It was sloppy and gross--I felt like I was getting slobbered on by a dog who was trying to consume my face. I am sure that he felt the same way. This boy was my "boyfriend" for many months in middle school--almost a year, I think--and I don't think it got better. I mean, who knows how to kiss when you're 12? And you can't communicate about it when you're 12, either. So you endure sucky kissing. Eventually, I figured out how I like to kiss and be kissed. (Practice makes better, I suppose.) And I would like to think that, at nearly 32, I could communicate this, either by "showing" or "telling," to the person whose tongue had just been in my mouth. (I don't mean to sound cynical or unromantic, but isn't it just a little weird that one of our mating rituals involves swirling your tongue around with someone else's tongue? Don't get me wrong--I like it; it's just a little bizarre if you try to intellectualize it.)
I am sure we all have some horrendous first kiss stories, but I'm also sure we all have some wonderful first kiss stories, too. I was a bit of an, ahem, make out whore in my day, so I had a lot of first kisses that were also only-time kisses. Some were great; others were, well, eh. Or worse, icky. Some I have no recollection of, naturally; some were just bland, and then some others...
What is more important, I think, is the first kiss you have with someone with whom you are considering a potential partnership. My first college boyfriend and I drunkenly made out after a frat party during freshman orientation weekend and went on to date for almost two years. The next college boyfriend was the exact opposite: at the end of our first date, he leaned in gently to kiss me on the cheek in the doorway of my dorm room. The third installment of the college boyfriend trilogy...nope. No recollection, though I do remember some of the one-and-onlies in between. My main young adulthood boyfriend and I dated for nearly two years, and I don't know what our first kiss was like, either, though I vaguely recall it happening at my apartment after we put together some Ikea furniture. My soon-to-be ex-husband kissed me to make me stop talking; I guess he was trying to be smoother than that, but I kept blathering on and on...
Some first kisses are sweet and nice and nervous, and you have to sort of grow into it together. Others are passionate and urgent--often fueled by alcohol, though not always. Yet others start as one and build into the other. Sometimes, it's totally obvious from initial contact that you are just not going to be compatible, and other times....well. I think we all know you can tell a lot from "just" a kiss. And the subtle nuances of the mechanics of the act itself can be stressful: which way to tilt your head, where to put your arms/hands, did I eat something weird, how long to hold on., what if we bump teeth, etc. these are the little details that angsty teenage diaries are filled with.
There is a lot at stake for the person who "goes in" first--what if you've completely misread the situation and kissing is not on the table? Ouch. (In the movie Hitch, the title character says to only go in 90% and let the other person take care of the remaining 10%.) But that's not always possible--one of the best, if not the best, first kiss I ever had was a total risk on my part, and I had to be stealthy about it. He was/is much taller than I am, and I wanted it to be a surprise, so I had to wait until I didn't have to do that awkward I'm-much-shorter-than-you-but-am-trying-to-kiss-you upward neck strain; we were in a bookstore arguing about Vonnegut (me: anti, him: pro), and when he sat down in a chair I sprang it on him, certainly breaking Hitch's 90-10 rule. Later that same day, we had a scene-from-a-movie nearly perfect kissing session in the rain that he initiated. These are moments that deserve far better than an awful pop song featuring singers with punctuation marks in their names.
There is a Dentyne commercial that claims the average person has 28 first kisses. I guess all we can hope for is that more of them go like this than like that.
My first kiss went a little like this
And twist
And twist
These lyrics are dumb, of course, but seem to imply that first kisses go like "this"--aka, wow--and I think the "twist" part means, well. I don't know. But the entirety of the song seems to indicate that this first kiss will be spectacular and she won't be able to resist him as a result.
Really? Because I think for most of us, our first kiss went a little like that. And by that, I mean....it sucked. Mine was in 6th grade during recess surrounded by an audience of my peers. It was sloppy and gross--I felt like I was getting slobbered on by a dog who was trying to consume my face. I am sure that he felt the same way. This boy was my "boyfriend" for many months in middle school--almost a year, I think--and I don't think it got better. I mean, who knows how to kiss when you're 12? And you can't communicate about it when you're 12, either. So you endure sucky kissing. Eventually, I figured out how I like to kiss and be kissed. (Practice makes better, I suppose.) And I would like to think that, at nearly 32, I could communicate this, either by "showing" or "telling," to the person whose tongue had just been in my mouth. (I don't mean to sound cynical or unromantic, but isn't it just a little weird that one of our mating rituals involves swirling your tongue around with someone else's tongue? Don't get me wrong--I like it; it's just a little bizarre if you try to intellectualize it.)
I am sure we all have some horrendous first kiss stories, but I'm also sure we all have some wonderful first kiss stories, too. I was a bit of an, ahem, make out whore in my day, so I had a lot of first kisses that were also only-time kisses. Some were great; others were, well, eh. Or worse, icky. Some I have no recollection of, naturally; some were just bland, and then some others...
What is more important, I think, is the first kiss you have with someone with whom you are considering a potential partnership. My first college boyfriend and I drunkenly made out after a frat party during freshman orientation weekend and went on to date for almost two years. The next college boyfriend was the exact opposite: at the end of our first date, he leaned in gently to kiss me on the cheek in the doorway of my dorm room. The third installment of the college boyfriend trilogy...nope. No recollection, though I do remember some of the one-and-onlies in between. My main young adulthood boyfriend and I dated for nearly two years, and I don't know what our first kiss was like, either, though I vaguely recall it happening at my apartment after we put together some Ikea furniture. My soon-to-be ex-husband kissed me to make me stop talking; I guess he was trying to be smoother than that, but I kept blathering on and on...
Some first kisses are sweet and nice and nervous, and you have to sort of grow into it together. Others are passionate and urgent--often fueled by alcohol, though not always. Yet others start as one and build into the other. Sometimes, it's totally obvious from initial contact that you are just not going to be compatible, and other times....well. I think we all know you can tell a lot from "just" a kiss. And the subtle nuances of the mechanics of the act itself can be stressful: which way to tilt your head, where to put your arms/hands, did I eat something weird, how long to hold on., what if we bump teeth, etc. these are the little details that angsty teenage diaries are filled with.
There is a lot at stake for the person who "goes in" first--what if you've completely misread the situation and kissing is not on the table? Ouch. (In the movie Hitch, the title character says to only go in 90% and let the other person take care of the remaining 10%.) But that's not always possible--one of the best, if not the best, first kiss I ever had was a total risk on my part, and I had to be stealthy about it. He was/is much taller than I am, and I wanted it to be a surprise, so I had to wait until I didn't have to do that awkward I'm-much-shorter-than-you-but-am-trying-to-kiss-you upward neck strain; we were in a bookstore arguing about Vonnegut (me: anti, him: pro), and when he sat down in a chair I sprang it on him, certainly breaking Hitch's 90-10 rule. Later that same day, we had a scene-from-a-movie nearly perfect kissing session in the rain that he initiated. These are moments that deserve far better than an awful pop song featuring singers with punctuation marks in their names.
There is a Dentyne commercial that claims the average person has 28 first kisses. I guess all we can hope for is that more of them go like this than like that.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
2010: How'd that work out for you?
So last year I blogged about goals that I wanted to achieve for 2010. They included getting into Ohio State, finding renters for our house, finding a place to stay and maybe adopting a thank-you dog, blogging for HarperCollins and writing more, going more natural, indulging myself more, finding a spiritual outlet and revisiting my once active yoga practice.
I went about 3.5 for 10, which is batting .350. In baseball that sounds pretty good, right? Hmm.
I did get into Ohio State and got a graduate assistantship to cover my tuition and pay me a stipend. I found a place to live. I blogged for HC pretty regularly until school started, and was natural-ish until I couldn't afford it anymore. I got back into yoga for a while, but again, once I moved I stopped because the yoga at my Columbus gym is pretty lame, and the independent studio is too far away and too expensive at the moment.
I did find renters for our house, but that became a moot point, as did the thank you dog. I did not write too much, though I tried blogging as often as possible (and wrote in my journal for about a month, which I enjoyed), and the spiritual thing sort of just fell by the wayside. Of course, there's that whole divorce thing that wasn't part of the plan, but, you know: it is what it is."
So what should be in store for two thousand eleven? My OSU best girlfriend has embraced the motto "tighten it up!" which can be applied to all sorts of things--health and fitness, budget issues, etc. Another friend has vowed "no more heartache," which sounds unpredictable, but for her it has a purpose. Another friend is all about turning over the proverbial new leaf, which she has already begun by completely reorganizing her house (while wearing a belly-dancing coin scarf and perhaps a tiara).
Maybe my motto should be "live it up!" I tend to stay in the lines in many areas of my life and could probably stand to break free from my self-imposed boundaries. Another friend suggested that I take an "own it--no apologies!" attitude, which I suppose is a corollary of "live it up"--it wouldn't be "living it up" if every time I "lived it up" I then apologized for or hid from it, right?
I'm not sure I'm ready for a motto yet, but I can't begin a new decade without articulating a goal or two. Of course, the accountability on a public forum like a blog is quite terrifying, but, hey. This is me, living it up.
1. I am going to try to compliment myself more, or at least accept them from others. It's not like I get fawned over or praised constantly, but I have a tendency to brush them off, or respond with self-deprecation even if I also say "thank you." People have told my I'm a good writer ("oh, come on; it's just a blog" or "well, I'm not as good as you are..."). I get told how fit/trim/ thin/"tiny" I am--the fact that this is considered a "compliment" in our culture is a wholly separate issue--and I quickly point out my flaws (small boobs, super fair skin, flat hair...). People tell me how brave and courageous it is that I quit my job and moved to a city knowing one person in order to pursue a dream; I mention how the rest of my life collapsed as a result, and that I am certainly not the only person who has ever done such a thing. See how annoying that is? I'll try to stop.
2. I liked keeping a journal for most of December. I'm going to try to keep up with it, and my friend Remy bought me a new one so I'm all set. I would also really like to work on that goal from last year about writing more often (my YA series, children's book, etc.) though time seems to elude me.
3. I have a friend who spent a lot of last year dating herself. I'm going to give that a shot, too.
4. I have got to get better at cooking for one. This fall, I ate the same thing almost every day for about two months (this brown rice-spinach-chick pea-feta concoction my mom and I adapted from Cooking Light), and then once I got sick of that, I ate turkey and spinach lasagna every day for three weeks. Cooking for one is pretty annoying though, since you're also on dishes duty. And purchasing the ingredients for one serving of something is generally impossible--so that means leftovers anyway. Maybe I'll try one new recipe a week, so I'm only eating the same thing for five days.
5. I'd like to make a few more friends. Through Meetup I met Michelle and Jodi, who are a good time to go out with, and the aforementioned OSU friend and I have all four classes together, get along fabulously and do fun things like dinner, drinks, etc. as well as hanging in our pjs watching Planet Earth. My program is comprised entirely of women, most of whom are married and/or work full time and/or have kids, so it's hard to do much beyond little events with our cohort. My best guy friend lives here, too, and he's my go-to movie buddy, but I need women in my life more. I was hitting the Meetup circuit pretty hard when I first moved here, but school and work take up a lot of time.
6. I would like to be a better "Aunt" to my "nieces and nephews." I am an only child, so these kids are neither biologically nor legally related to me, but they are the progeny of my best friends and I need to start paying more attention to them.
7. I am going to try to keep getting a 4.0, and I am entering a graduate student essay competition at the conference in Texas, though I'm sure I won't win. Getting accepted to the Roanoke conference would be nice, too.
8. There is no reason I shouldn't keep my apartment clean. It's pretty stinkin' small. I've been pretty good thus far; let's keep that going.
9. Should I take a Facebook break? Probably.
10. Dance more. Fret less. You know, things like that.
So far in 2011, I've hit the gym twice, bought new mascara, written in my journal and recorded my "niece and nephews" birth dates in my planner. I started working on my essay for the competition, made a dinner that was newish (and only lasted for 2 days, not seven), and sent a text about how good I looked today. Off to a great start! I also spent hours uploading pictures to Facebook, but, well. I can't win them all.
I went about 3.5 for 10, which is batting .350. In baseball that sounds pretty good, right? Hmm.
I did get into Ohio State and got a graduate assistantship to cover my tuition and pay me a stipend. I found a place to live. I blogged for HC pretty regularly until school started, and was natural-ish until I couldn't afford it anymore. I got back into yoga for a while, but again, once I moved I stopped because the yoga at my Columbus gym is pretty lame, and the independent studio is too far away and too expensive at the moment.
I did find renters for our house, but that became a moot point, as did the thank you dog. I did not write too much, though I tried blogging as often as possible (and wrote in my journal for about a month, which I enjoyed), and the spiritual thing sort of just fell by the wayside. Of course, there's that whole divorce thing that wasn't part of the plan, but, you know: it is what it is."
So what should be in store for two thousand eleven? My OSU best girlfriend has embraced the motto "tighten it up!" which can be applied to all sorts of things--health and fitness, budget issues, etc. Another friend has vowed "no more heartache," which sounds unpredictable, but for her it has a purpose. Another friend is all about turning over the proverbial new leaf, which she has already begun by completely reorganizing her house (while wearing a belly-dancing coin scarf and perhaps a tiara).
Maybe my motto should be "live it up!" I tend to stay in the lines in many areas of my life and could probably stand to break free from my self-imposed boundaries. Another friend suggested that I take an "own it--no apologies!" attitude, which I suppose is a corollary of "live it up"--it wouldn't be "living it up" if every time I "lived it up" I then apologized for or hid from it, right?
I'm not sure I'm ready for a motto yet, but I can't begin a new decade without articulating a goal or two. Of course, the accountability on a public forum like a blog is quite terrifying, but, hey. This is me, living it up.
1. I am going to try to compliment myself more, or at least accept them from others. It's not like I get fawned over or praised constantly, but I have a tendency to brush them off, or respond with self-deprecation even if I also say "thank you." People have told my I'm a good writer ("oh, come on; it's just a blog" or "well, I'm not as good as you are..."). I get told how fit/trim/ thin/"tiny" I am--the fact that this is considered a "compliment" in our culture is a wholly separate issue--and I quickly point out my flaws (small boobs, super fair skin, flat hair...). People tell me how brave and courageous it is that I quit my job and moved to a city knowing one person in order to pursue a dream; I mention how the rest of my life collapsed as a result, and that I am certainly not the only person who has ever done such a thing. See how annoying that is? I'll try to stop.
2. I liked keeping a journal for most of December. I'm going to try to keep up with it, and my friend Remy bought me a new one so I'm all set. I would also really like to work on that goal from last year about writing more often (my YA series, children's book, etc.) though time seems to elude me.
3. I have a friend who spent a lot of last year dating herself. I'm going to give that a shot, too.
4. I have got to get better at cooking for one. This fall, I ate the same thing almost every day for about two months (this brown rice-spinach-chick pea-feta concoction my mom and I adapted from Cooking Light), and then once I got sick of that, I ate turkey and spinach lasagna every day for three weeks. Cooking for one is pretty annoying though, since you're also on dishes duty. And purchasing the ingredients for one serving of something is generally impossible--so that means leftovers anyway. Maybe I'll try one new recipe a week, so I'm only eating the same thing for five days.
5. I'd like to make a few more friends. Through Meetup I met Michelle and Jodi, who are a good time to go out with, and the aforementioned OSU friend and I have all four classes together, get along fabulously and do fun things like dinner, drinks, etc. as well as hanging in our pjs watching Planet Earth. My program is comprised entirely of women, most of whom are married and/or work full time and/or have kids, so it's hard to do much beyond little events with our cohort. My best guy friend lives here, too, and he's my go-to movie buddy, but I need women in my life more. I was hitting the Meetup circuit pretty hard when I first moved here, but school and work take up a lot of time.
6. I would like to be a better "Aunt" to my "nieces and nephews." I am an only child, so these kids are neither biologically nor legally related to me, but they are the progeny of my best friends and I need to start paying more attention to them.
7. I am going to try to keep getting a 4.0, and I am entering a graduate student essay competition at the conference in Texas, though I'm sure I won't win. Getting accepted to the Roanoke conference would be nice, too.
8. There is no reason I shouldn't keep my apartment clean. It's pretty stinkin' small. I've been pretty good thus far; let's keep that going.
9. Should I take a Facebook break? Probably.
10. Dance more. Fret less. You know, things like that.
So far in 2011, I've hit the gym twice, bought new mascara, written in my journal and recorded my "niece and nephews" birth dates in my planner. I started working on my essay for the competition, made a dinner that was newish (and only lasted for 2 days, not seven), and sent a text about how good I looked today. Off to a great start! I also spent hours uploading pictures to Facebook, but, well. I can't win them all.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
The Other Ten Percent (or Why I Don't Want Kids)
I try not to use this blog as a venue through which I air my worldly grievances, but sometimes I get incensed and leap up on my soapbox. Not everything makes me feel this way, but we each have our "hot button" topics that get us all riled up.
This commercial doesn't help with one of mine:
You see, the notion that this couple wasn't a "family" before the baby arrives is irritating, not to mention insulting to all sorts of people who have a family that is constructed differently than heterosexual couple plus a kid or two.
This post from a typically hilarious comic/blogger also fueled my annoyance/anger.
Really? A couple with no children in their early to mid adulthood can't happily celebrate the holidays because there isn't a small child destroying wrapping paper under a tree? Really?
This whole kids thing gets me worked up. Listen, before I get attacked by the Mommies and MommyBloggers of the world--I like kids. I do. They say hilarious things; surprise you with kindness; look adorable while they're sleeping; ask funny, interesting, questions; have a beautiful, innocent way about them (most of the time); and have a fashion sense that is rivaled only by Lady Gaga. I think babies are cute and smell lovely. Teenagers are an overlooked population who I find fascinating--I didn't leave teaching because I hated my students. So, to reiterate: I like kids.
I just don't want any.
I have not come to this conclusion lightly; it was one of the largest factors in the (civil, pleasant) collapse of my marriage. I thought I did want them and then realized that, in fact, I do not. And have never really wanted them. I felt guilty for this, but our therapist told me that as long as I had not lied in order to get a proposal, then there was nothing to feel guilty for. I had changed my mind (or really, acknowledged something buried deeply), and changing my mind on this issue had consequences, but it isn't anything to feel guilty about. While trying to sort through this issue and its inevitable impact on my life, I sought out information and support online and found a bunch of blogs that helped me suss out my feelings and articulate them; I even emailed the blogger of my favorite to say thank you, and we just met in person. I also read a couple of books that discussed the "to have or not to have" conundrum, one of which was Elizabeth Gilbert's follow up to Eat, Pray, Love called Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, which I read in a fury on vacation with my mom last May.
This book is primarily about her and her partner Felipe's struggles with green cards and the institution of marriage itself (they had both been married and divorced prior to meeting each other in Indonesia and vowed that they would never get married again, not even to each other), and is also a quasi-anthropological investigation into marriage rituals, beliefs, etc. However, she also discusses the fact that she does not want her own children (this was one factor in the demise of her first marriage, too). She spends some time investigating facts and figures about childfree women across history/time. (A note: among the community, childfree is the preferred term because childless is language that implies a deficit model, not an active choice.)
One factoid stuck with me and I've quoted it several times since: at any time in history, across any culture, no fewer than 10% of women do not have their own children. It has gotten higher than that--hitting closer to 30% during harsh economic times like the Great Depression--but it is never lower than 10%. Now, of course, some of those women did not make the choice and were either infertile or had infertile partners, but Gilbert points out that many women went to great lengths to avoid having children (including, of course, not getting married or having abortions if they did get pregnant). She goes on to argue that society needs some of its women to not have their own, so they can more easily help the women (sisters, friends, neighbors, etc.) who do. Sort of the Wacky Aunt clause of the It Takes a Village theory.
Sign me up.
Only three members of my inner circle have children thus far; I have a "niece," Harlee, and three "nephews," Hunter, Keaton and Andrew, but I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of the rest of Aunt Hilary's brood: Zoe, Phoebe, Lauren Claire, JayDee, and any other yet-unnamed hypothetical offspring of my nearest and dearest. Yes, I am an only child so biologically I won't really be an Aunt (though I technically have a half-niece, Olivia, and a half-nephew, Christian), but my friends are my family. I would also prefer that my next partner have siblings so I can be an Aunt that way, though it's not a dealbreaker. I spent a recent evening doing math problems and dancing to the Burlesque soundtrack with Harlee, who gave me a yellow princess SillyBand to confirm our BFF status, and it was absolutely wonderful. Kids need adults they can trust beyond their parents and I will gladly serve that role.
Yet many people take issue with my choice. Here are some of the more popular criticisms I, or those like me, have gotten, and how I nicely respond to them.
I love my friends who have or plan to have kids, and I love their children, too. Aunt Hilary will babysit so you can have date night. She'll come over and rescue you from a colicky baby so you can shower for the first time in three days. I'll walk your dog while you're at the hospital with a broken leg from youth soccer. I'll take them to see the newest Pixar movie, read to them, come to their school plays, send cards for their birthdays, and dance at their weddings. I'll talk to them about sex and drugs and drinking if they can't (or don't want to) ask you. I'll come with you to an IEP meeting if your kid has a learning difference to advocate for their educational rights. Hell, I can be the person they call drunk from a party if they're too afraid to call you.
And you'll never have to return the favor. Now, doesn't that make my choice sound better?
This commercial doesn't help with one of mine:
You see, the notion that this couple wasn't a "family" before the baby arrives is irritating, not to mention insulting to all sorts of people who have a family that is constructed differently than heterosexual couple plus a kid or two.
This post from a typically hilarious comic/blogger also fueled my annoyance/anger.
Really? A couple with no children in their early to mid adulthood can't happily celebrate the holidays because there isn't a small child destroying wrapping paper under a tree? Really?
This whole kids thing gets me worked up. Listen, before I get attacked by the Mommies and MommyBloggers of the world--I like kids. I do. They say hilarious things; surprise you with kindness; look adorable while they're sleeping; ask funny, interesting, questions; have a beautiful, innocent way about them (most of the time); and have a fashion sense that is rivaled only by Lady Gaga. I think babies are cute and smell lovely. Teenagers are an overlooked population who I find fascinating--I didn't leave teaching because I hated my students. So, to reiterate: I like kids.
I just don't want any.
I have not come to this conclusion lightly; it was one of the largest factors in the (civil, pleasant) collapse of my marriage. I thought I did want them and then realized that, in fact, I do not. And have never really wanted them. I felt guilty for this, but our therapist told me that as long as I had not lied in order to get a proposal, then there was nothing to feel guilty for. I had changed my mind (or really, acknowledged something buried deeply), and changing my mind on this issue had consequences, but it isn't anything to feel guilty about. While trying to sort through this issue and its inevitable impact on my life, I sought out information and support online and found a bunch of blogs that helped me suss out my feelings and articulate them; I even emailed the blogger of my favorite to say thank you, and we just met in person. I also read a couple of books that discussed the "to have or not to have" conundrum, one of which was Elizabeth Gilbert's follow up to Eat, Pray, Love called Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, which I read in a fury on vacation with my mom last May.
This book is primarily about her and her partner Felipe's struggles with green cards and the institution of marriage itself (they had both been married and divorced prior to meeting each other in Indonesia and vowed that they would never get married again, not even to each other), and is also a quasi-anthropological investigation into marriage rituals, beliefs, etc. However, she also discusses the fact that she does not want her own children (this was one factor in the demise of her first marriage, too). She spends some time investigating facts and figures about childfree women across history/time. (A note: among the community, childfree is the preferred term because childless is language that implies a deficit model, not an active choice.)
One factoid stuck with me and I've quoted it several times since: at any time in history, across any culture, no fewer than 10% of women do not have their own children. It has gotten higher than that--hitting closer to 30% during harsh economic times like the Great Depression--but it is never lower than 10%. Now, of course, some of those women did not make the choice and were either infertile or had infertile partners, but Gilbert points out that many women went to great lengths to avoid having children (including, of course, not getting married or having abortions if they did get pregnant). She goes on to argue that society needs some of its women to not have their own, so they can more easily help the women (sisters, friends, neighbors, etc.) who do. Sort of the Wacky Aunt clause of the It Takes a Village theory.
Sign me up.
Only three members of my inner circle have children thus far; I have a "niece," Harlee, and three "nephews," Hunter, Keaton and Andrew, but I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of the rest of Aunt Hilary's brood: Zoe, Phoebe, Lauren Claire, JayDee, and any other yet-unnamed hypothetical offspring of my nearest and dearest. Yes, I am an only child so biologically I won't really be an Aunt (though I technically have a half-niece, Olivia, and a half-nephew, Christian), but my friends are my family. I would also prefer that my next partner have siblings so I can be an Aunt that way, though it's not a dealbreaker. I spent a recent evening doing math problems and dancing to the Burlesque soundtrack with Harlee, who gave me a yellow princess SillyBand to confirm our BFF status, and it was absolutely wonderful. Kids need adults they can trust beyond their parents and I will gladly serve that role.
Yet many people take issue with my choice. Here are some of the more popular criticisms I, or those like me, have gotten, and how I nicely respond to them.
- You're selfish: If I'm selfish, shouldn't I avoid having kids if I can't give myself fully to them? Lots of selfish people have kids--how's that workin' out for everyone? And the notion that having kids will magically make you unselfish may be true on the outside--you have to put them first for many, many years--but that doesn't change who you are. Right now my selfishness doesn't really hurt anyone--I don't work on Wall Street--but it could.
- You just haven't met the right guy: I've had tons of boyfriends, serious or otherwise--one of whom I married. And with each of them, dating back to my two-year high school boyfriend, I used to think "well, maybe I want kids, but just not with him..." I have dated guys who represent nearly every facet of personality, interests, etc. and not once have I wanted to reproduce with that person. In fact, I remembered that years ago, a guy I was in love with and I used to plan out our perfect future life together living in a beach house--with our dogs (named after authors) and cats (named after psychologists). No kids. You know that saying "it's not you; it's me"? Yeah--it is me.
- It's different when they're yours: It's also different when your own mother has cancer instead of your best friend's mom having it. Of course it's different when they're yours--and part of that difference is that at the end of the night doing math games and dancing in the living room, I'd also have to be the one who wakes up at 3 am if she's throwing up. Sure, the joys may mean more when they're yours, but the responsibility is far greater as well.
- You'll be all alone when you're old and have no one to take care of you: Do you know the percentage of the elderly whose children don't visit them when they're in a nursing home? If something happened to my mom right this minute, I would be one of the last people to arrive at the hospital because I live far away. I was self-sufficient for many years, but now I am almost 32 and my mom is back to helping me with money, etc. Is she glad to do it? Sure, she loves me. But I also bet that when people think about having kids, they don't hope to be financially involved with them at this age. Having kids to try to ensure you have a caretaker for your elder years is insane.
- Having kids is the only way you grow up/mature yourself: I think that there are tons of other ways to "prove" I'm an adult without having children; and what about all of those people who are reliving their childhoods through their kids--that's not super mature, now is it?
- It's one of life's greatest joys: Having kids might be a joy, but there are also many, many, many other things that bring joy, and what about all of those non joyful moments?Oh, wait, let me guess: "they're worth it!" No thanks. See above: it's different when they're yours.
- The Bible says to be fruitful and multiply: The Bible says a lot of shit. I don't really listen to that, either. Well, at least not on the basis that the Bible tells me so. (This is so for another time.)
- It's unnatural; we're biologically designed to have children: It is natural to have children; I am sure I could. (Well, I mean, I'm guess I'm sure. I clearly haven't tried.) But just because I could probably get pregnant and give birth doesn't mean I want to. And though I'm sure I will get craploads of flak for this next statement, I'll say it anyway: this "natural" thing has to go both ways. Medically invasive infertility treatments aren't natural either, but women who desperately want children typically don't get berated for that.
- People need to reproduce to keep the species going: Not every member of the species has to reproduce to keep it going. Ten percent of women being childfree won't threaten the human race. Overpopulation is already a problem, and statistically, only children are rare. Any couple that has more than 2 kids is doing a fine job of maintaining the population.
- You'd be such a great mom: Maybe I would be a great mom. I might also be an exquisite figure skater, equestrian or serial killer. Doesn't mean I have to try it out. (I hate the cold, horses scare me, and blood makes me squeamish. And, um, that morality thing.) I might also be a terrible mother and hate every second. Then what? There are some risks that aren't a lifelong commitment--trying figure skating, for example. Even buying a house or choosing a career are opt-outable. Kids? Not so much.
- Your kids would be so fill-in-the-blank positive trait (smart, cute, kind, etc.): My kids might be smart, cute and kind. I bet Hitler's mother thought her son would turn out beautifully, too. My kids might also be stupid, ugly and mean. Sure, you can argue the nature-versus-nurture theory, but lots of lovely, nice people have kids who end up being cracked-out delinquent thugs or worse.
- Don't you want your mom to have grandchildren? My mom would love grandchildren; she has told me as much. But having a kid to appease her (or anyone else) is a recipe for a disaster. After a recent conversation about the myriad health issues many of her friends are facing, I half-jokingly said to her "See, Mom? Having a divorced 31-year old daughter who has no money and doesn't want kids isn't so bad!" And she more than readily agreed with me. The world could probably use some more surrogate grandmothers, too--especially women like my mom.
- You'll change your mind: This is the one that gets me the most mad. If I were sitting here blogging about how much I wanted kids, not a soul would dare question my feelings. It makes me furious that I would to have to hunt far and wide for an ob-gyn who would tie my tubes or put in the new sterilizing coils because I'm only 31 (but I could easily find someone to fill my breasts with silicon or break and reshape my nose). And what if I did change my mind years later? Adoption is not out of the question. (I have always sort of preferred that idea, anyway.) Sure, some people might be saying that I just haven't gotten hit with "the baby bug" yet; but even if I started salivating at babies, that still doesn't mean I want to be a parent.
- You'll regret it: Here's what I think about regret. Maybe at 40, 50, or 60 I will regret my choice. But I would rather regret not having children than regret having them. And to those reading who are thinking "no one regrets having children!" I say bullshit. That doesn't mean these people don't love their children (though, um, a few incident reports from Child Protective Services confirm that) but there are, without question, people who wouldn't do it again if given the choice. I can name at least two personally, and the online world in all its anonymous glory is rife with posts and forums about this very topic. (For a great summary of some of this, go here.) And if you're thinking that those people are monstrous for feeling that way, what I think is more monstrous is creating a culture in which women (and men, of course) are vilified for expressing what is a very real feeling. I am not advocating that people go around screaming "I wish you had never been born!" at their kids--though that would keep therapists busy--but the notion that no one ever regrets it perpetuates a dangerous myth, especially for people who are on the fence about it.
I love my friends who have or plan to have kids, and I love their children, too. Aunt Hilary will babysit so you can have date night. She'll come over and rescue you from a colicky baby so you can shower for the first time in three days. I'll walk your dog while you're at the hospital with a broken leg from youth soccer. I'll take them to see the newest Pixar movie, read to them, come to their school plays, send cards for their birthdays, and dance at their weddings. I'll talk to them about sex and drugs and drinking if they can't (or don't want to) ask you. I'll come with you to an IEP meeting if your kid has a learning difference to advocate for their educational rights. Hell, I can be the person they call drunk from a party if they're too afraid to call you.
And you'll never have to return the favor. Now, doesn't that make my choice sound better?
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
What I Learned in 2010
A friend-of-a-friend did this, and the idea has been passed on and around in emails with my girls. I think that having learned at least 21 things in a year is a good goal to aim for--if you haven't learned something-anything-what is the point? I admit that my list here has been somewhat edited from my original. Sorry--but the general populace just doesn't get the same info as my Circle of Trust. (I think that's fair.) 2010 was a wacky year for many people I know (and for me, oy), but wacky isn't bad. You can't change the past--you can only alter your perception, learn from it, and grow.
May 2011 bring all of us personal fulfillment, unbridled joy, few struggles, and many lessons.
1. Growth comes from conflict. You have to put it out there and struggle to shed your skin and grow one anew.
2. Keeping stuff bottled up will eventually kill you. It's amazing how much better I feel when I just say it--whatever it is. It's terrifying most of the time--you're setting yourself up for rejection or worse--but after the initial shock wears off, a weight is lifted.
3. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. So does drinking lots of water, getting a lot of sleep, exercising, etc.
4. My mottos for the year: "It is what it is" and "Try different; different can be good."
5. I am borrowing this one: like what you like, and like it with abandon. I like Ke$sha/crappy pop music, crime drama tv shows, Glee, clipping coupons, having short, unpainted nails, drinking my tea with a straw, and going to bed at a decent hour. I spent so much of my life trying to pretend that I liked the "right" things, etc. Screw it. If you hate "Tik Tok" you don't have to listen to it with me, but I am going to dance in my bathroom when it comes on the radio, dammit.
6. Vodka + lemonade + fake eyelashes + Revertigo = broken glass and a bandaged ass. And one of the funniest videos ever. My high school besties-KH, JD, BT-bring out my wild, uninhibited, carefree side (yes, even while sober). This is a side I would show more if I weren't such a weenie. I thank my lucky stars for them--they repair, reinvigorate, recenter, and refresh me on a daily basis. A toast to the future residents of the beach side Wisteria Lane. I love you, girls.
7. It is pretty remarkable how feeling satisfied in your personal and professional life leads directly to a more zen feeling about material things. I am making below poverty level money and am happier than I have been in years. Sure, I still love shopping and new clothes (I'm broke, not dead), but I'm no longer trying to substitute one happiness for another.
8. How to jump start a car.
9. Concerts tend to be disappointing.
10. I really, really like going to the movies. Alone, with friends, with strangers, with a date. Artsy-fartsy indie films, Ben Affleck blockbusters, musicals, animated, documentaries, you name it. Theaters with the movable arm rests are the best, and the kid's meal deal is the perfect amount of popcorn and soda. I even like watching tv in a movie theater (I watched most of The Walking Dead here.)
11. In a pinch, a piece of spaghetti can serve as a toothpick to dip homemade candy in chocolate.
12. I can eat the same thing for dinner for about a month before I can't stand to see it ever again.
13. You really get to know who your friends are when you go through a crisis, move away, and make choices that could be considered less than stellar. The best friends simultaneously call you on your bullshit, support you through it, and love you anyway. Or hell, because of it.
14. I look better with shorter hair. Sorry, ponytail--not gonna happen. And fine, I like how it looks when I use a diffuser like my stylist suggested. (Thanks, Mom, for trading hair dryers with me.)
15. As for Kitty: My mom and I have gotten to that wonderful point in a mother-daughter relationship where we are friends; she knows more about me than I would like to admit, and I can talk to her about things that I never thought would come out of my mouth. That said, it's also nice to have her cook me dinner and send me $20 in the mail "just because." I am still her kid, and she likes to treat me that way, too.
16. This year I was introduced to Dan Savage and chugged the Kool-Aid. The two most important things I learned from him are that a) sex is important, at least to me, and that's totally acceptable, and b) that sex isn't about intercourse. You can fuck and make love to someone and technically be abstinent. Health educators, teachers, parents, even youth ministers need to emphasize this. It would probably reduce the teen pregnancy rate. (Let me be clear: I am absolutely NOT advocating for abstinence only education; that is laughably ineffective and a dangerous byproduct of the influence the "moral" majority has on public policy. I am saying that all types of sexual activities--aka, "everything except"--can carry the emotional weight and overall fun/hotness that the general public--especially those who are beating the wait-til-you're-married horse--seems to think is limited to penetrative intercourse.)
17. It's easy to give up on love. Don't.
18. Republicans/social conservatives can raise my blood pressure in nanoseconds. I really do try to respect everyone's opinion and their right to express it, but there are just some beliefs that will make me think less of you. Sorry.
19. The heart is resilient in a way that most people can't believe. It can also handle far more than we think--just when I think "I can't take even one more crack" another appears and I say it all over again. It might shatter like an icy pond eventually, but it's stronger than I thought.
20. A great pair of jeans, tall black boots, good hair, some mascara and lip color = instasexy on almost everyone, me included. I actually think I look hot sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. This is new to me.
21. Life is a big, gray polka-dotted rug. There will hopefully be lots and lots of happy pink dots, few blue sad dots and just the right mix of green wacky dots. But the rest of it, the gray, is what we live day in, day out. Commuting, showering, grocery shopping, scooping cat poop, getting the mail, reading news online. Most of us aren't going to solve the world's crises, but most of us aren't going to cause great destruction, either. You should try to be a good friend, partner, child, neighbor, pet owner, employee or boss most of the time. If you have kids, you should try to be a good parent most of the time, too. We won't always be: we'll hurt feelings, forget, fight, ignore, insult. Hopefully not too many of these turn into permanent blue dots. Some days we'll excel: we'll inspire, console, laugh with, (laugh at), truly show our love and appreciation. Hopefully lots of these will become pink dots (or, with my friends, the green wacky dots). But life is mostly made up of the gray background--and that's ok. The point is to try to find the people you want on the rug with you and then buckle up for a carpet ride.
May 2011 bring all of us personal fulfillment, unbridled joy, few struggles, and many lessons.
1. Growth comes from conflict. You have to put it out there and struggle to shed your skin and grow one anew.
2. Keeping stuff bottled up will eventually kill you. It's amazing how much better I feel when I just say it--whatever it is. It's terrifying most of the time--you're setting yourself up for rejection or worse--but after the initial shock wears off, a weight is lifted.
3. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. So does drinking lots of water, getting a lot of sleep, exercising, etc.
4. My mottos for the year: "It is what it is" and "Try different; different can be good."
5. I am borrowing this one: like what you like, and like it with abandon. I like Ke$sha/crappy pop music, crime drama tv shows, Glee, clipping coupons, having short, unpainted nails, drinking my tea with a straw, and going to bed at a decent hour. I spent so much of my life trying to pretend that I liked the "right" things, etc. Screw it. If you hate "Tik Tok" you don't have to listen to it with me, but I am going to dance in my bathroom when it comes on the radio, dammit.
6. Vodka + lemonade + fake eyelashes + Revertigo = broken glass and a bandaged ass. And one of the funniest videos ever. My high school besties-KH, JD, BT-bring out my wild, uninhibited, carefree side (yes, even while sober). This is a side I would show more if I weren't such a weenie. I thank my lucky stars for them--they repair, reinvigorate, recenter, and refresh me on a daily basis. A toast to the future residents of the beach side Wisteria Lane. I love you, girls.
7. It is pretty remarkable how feeling satisfied in your personal and professional life leads directly to a more zen feeling about material things. I am making below poverty level money and am happier than I have been in years. Sure, I still love shopping and new clothes (I'm broke, not dead), but I'm no longer trying to substitute one happiness for another.
8. How to jump start a car.
9. Concerts tend to be disappointing.
10. I really, really like going to the movies. Alone, with friends, with strangers, with a date. Artsy-fartsy indie films, Ben Affleck blockbusters, musicals, animated, documentaries, you name it. Theaters with the movable arm rests are the best, and the kid's meal deal is the perfect amount of popcorn and soda. I even like watching tv in a movie theater (I watched most of The Walking Dead here.)
11. In a pinch, a piece of spaghetti can serve as a toothpick to dip homemade candy in chocolate.
12. I can eat the same thing for dinner for about a month before I can't stand to see it ever again.
13. You really get to know who your friends are when you go through a crisis, move away, and make choices that could be considered less than stellar. The best friends simultaneously call you on your bullshit, support you through it, and love you anyway. Or hell, because of it.
14. I look better with shorter hair. Sorry, ponytail--not gonna happen. And fine, I like how it looks when I use a diffuser like my stylist suggested. (Thanks, Mom, for trading hair dryers with me.)
15. As for Kitty: My mom and I have gotten to that wonderful point in a mother-daughter relationship where we are friends; she knows more about me than I would like to admit, and I can talk to her about things that I never thought would come out of my mouth. That said, it's also nice to have her cook me dinner and send me $20 in the mail "just because." I am still her kid, and she likes to treat me that way, too.
16. This year I was introduced to Dan Savage and chugged the Kool-Aid. The two most important things I learned from him are that a) sex is important, at least to me, and that's totally acceptable, and b) that sex isn't about intercourse. You can fuck and make love to someone and technically be abstinent. Health educators, teachers, parents, even youth ministers need to emphasize this. It would probably reduce the teen pregnancy rate. (Let me be clear: I am absolutely NOT advocating for abstinence only education; that is laughably ineffective and a dangerous byproduct of the influence the "moral" majority has on public policy. I am saying that all types of sexual activities--aka, "everything except"--can carry the emotional weight and overall fun/hotness that the general public--especially those who are beating the wait-til-you're-married horse--seems to think is limited to penetrative intercourse.)
17. It's easy to give up on love. Don't.
18. Republicans/social conservatives can raise my blood pressure in nanoseconds. I really do try to respect everyone's opinion and their right to express it, but there are just some beliefs that will make me think less of you. Sorry.
19. The heart is resilient in a way that most people can't believe. It can also handle far more than we think--just when I think "I can't take even one more crack" another appears and I say it all over again. It might shatter like an icy pond eventually, but it's stronger than I thought.
20. A great pair of jeans, tall black boots, good hair, some mascara and lip color = instasexy on almost everyone, me included. I actually think I look hot sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. This is new to me.
21. Life is a big, gray polka-dotted rug. There will hopefully be lots and lots of happy pink dots, few blue sad dots and just the right mix of green wacky dots. But the rest of it, the gray, is what we live day in, day out. Commuting, showering, grocery shopping, scooping cat poop, getting the mail, reading news online. Most of us aren't going to solve the world's crises, but most of us aren't going to cause great destruction, either. You should try to be a good friend, partner, child, neighbor, pet owner, employee or boss most of the time. If you have kids, you should try to be a good parent most of the time, too. We won't always be: we'll hurt feelings, forget, fight, ignore, insult. Hopefully not too many of these turn into permanent blue dots. Some days we'll excel: we'll inspire, console, laugh with, (laugh at), truly show our love and appreciation. Hopefully lots of these will become pink dots (or, with my friends, the green wacky dots). But life is mostly made up of the gray background--and that's ok. The point is to try to find the people you want on the rug with you and then buckle up for a carpet ride.
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