Welcome To The 70's

As some of you may know, I'm moving ... again. It's a source of contention. Not because I hate moving but ... no, wait. I hate moving. That's exactly why. Also because I thought my next move would be into my forever home. Sadly, not the case.

While I can focus on the negative, let me state the ten things I am happy about with this move.

1. Screens on the windows means no more mosquito bites in the middle of the night.
2. No more ants, hopefully. Our current dwelling has had an ant problem since we moved in. They are walking across the telephone line. In hoards. No sugar in the cupboards. Nothing sweet left open. Those things are resilient and determined. The new place doesn't seem to have an infestation. So, fingers crossed.
3. Goodbye oven. And by oven, I mean bedroom. The addition the landlords built on our current place is so tiny, with three windows and it gets sunshine all day long. It's beyond stifling up there in the summer. Truthfully, we haven't turned the heat on upstairs since we moved in over a year and a half ago, not even in the winter. All the windows are open right now, which means mosquitoes getting in, because there are no screens on the window. Maybe I should mention number one again. 
4. More room. While the place I am currently inhabiting is kind of adorable, it's also small and missing such things as a linen closet, a place to put our coats, and enough space to fit all my clothing. The new home has an abundance of space, including a spare room, where you will be staying if you ever come and visit. 
5. No more killer stairs. So, I guess the people who put the staircase in the old place didn't give a crap it was on such a severe angle that it was actually considered dangerous. Oliver, that amazing dog we all know and love couldn't go down it because he'd tumble down them. I honestly thought he was going to break his neck one day. Instead of risking his life, we decided to carry him up and down the lethal stairs. Oh, and he's not light. Despite his low-rider status, the little man is packing some serious pounds. 
6. Things you take for granted, a bedroom door. There's this cat who lives with us named Bruce. Yes, he's cute. Yes, he's lovely. Yes, he also like to pull your hair by the root when he wants you to wake up and feed him. For a year and a half, we've been living without a bedroom door, which means we haven't been able to kick him out and sleep peacefully past sunrise for the same amount of time. Also, he brought a bat home once and dropped it on our heads when we were in bed. That won't be happening again because we proudly have a bedroom door now. 
7. There's a dishwasher. While we won't use it all the time, it's a nice option to have it for when company comes over. Not that company ever comes over, but they might. Especially now that we have a spare room.
8. Beach access. The tiny community I am moving into is actually walking distance to the beach. I am talking ocean beach. Not lakey beach. Salt water from the sea beach! If that's not something to get excited about, I don't know what is. 
9. New places to go adventuring. Exploring is my middle name. Not really. But I love seeing and experiencing new adventures. I am over the moon about exploring a new area. Who knows what treasures I will find? 
10. The seventies decor. This place was born in the late seventies, I'm almost sure of it. The wall paper, the wood panelling, the terrible carpet in the closet. And you know what, it's amazing and awesome. To prove the amazingness, I've taken a few photos. Well, the Sidekick has. He sent them to me via his smartphone. 

Here are some pictures to prove it's authentically seventies. 

Check out that French peekaboo window. 

Look at the wallpaper! Classic. 

Wood panelling for every room.

An elusive picture of the Sidekick, and our gaudy mirror and red counter.

Wordy Wednesday

As it turns out, Wednesdays are now something I look forward to. What new and amazing word will I wow myself and others with? This one is a little wacky, and something I know a little too much about. In fact, there are those who might consider this one the focal point of my entire blog. 

The word: Flapdoodle

This slang term is used to describe verbal nonsense, something I know a little about. While the origin is uncertain, the enjoyment isn't. Next time someone is talking complete and utter foolishness, tell them you want nothing to do with their flapdoodle. 

Actually, that sounds a bit tawdry doesn't it? 

13 Things For Warm Feels

Sometimes all you want is the warm feels. To feel loved and comforted. At home and warm. Safe and sound. Tonight as I sit here wondering why I procrastinated writing this and wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed with the sounds of my dogs snoring, I am thinking about those little things that make us feel good. They are small, seemingly insignificant things that happen to pack a powerful punch.

Here are my top 13 things for the warm feels:

Drinking a glass of water when you're really thirsty.

• There's something oddly refreshing about feeling the cool liquid rush down your throat and into your belly. Not much can top the reassurance that glass of water brings with it. Alas, you won't dry of dehydration like you feared you would. 

The first swim of the summer.

• Dipping your toes into the ocean or a lake after keeping your legs hidden for the previous six months is awfully invigorating. On top of that, you can relax because you know there will be many more swims and water wading in your future.  

Applying chapstick to your burning, dry lips.

• Nothing in the world can match the irritation of needing chapstick and not having it. The indescribably burn and, even though you know you shouldn't, you tell yourself not to, you can't help but lick your stinking lips. Then, your saviour arrives in tube form and you don't even care it's the classic original kind and not spearmint like you really wanted. 

Eating fresh bread right from the oven.

• They say bread makes you fat. It's true. It does. But as soon as a fresh loaf is pulled out of the oven, fat doesn't matter anymore. It's just you and that bread, and most likely a pad of butter or margarine. 

Getting into a cool, clean bed after being camping. 

• While the dirtiness of camping is liberating in the most primal of ways, taking a shower and getting into a fresh pair of underwear is only trumped by the feel of those crisp bedsheets as you slide into bed. The only thing better is the best night of sleep waiting for you to drift off into. 

Sinking into a long hot bath after intense exercise.

• Aching bones, sore feet and angry muscles all rejoice when submerged in hot water. Added bonus if there are candles and bubble bath involved. 

Returning home after a long trip.

• Being free to travel and explore the vast wonders of the world is an amazing privledge, but it isn't until you are off on a great adventure when you realize how appealing 'home' is. And when your time abroad is over, there is very little that compares to the rush of euphoria when you board the plan, train, bus home. Or the joy you have when you step through the door and feel truly and utterly safe for the first time in days, weeks, months.

Snagging a warm blanket from the dryer and curling up with it.

• So much comfort comes from warmth. Swaddling one's self in a blanket fresh from the dryer is nothing short of bliss. Of course, some numpty may reason this is because it reminds us of being in the warm womb of our mothers. But they are, of course, drunk, and ruiners of all things amazing. The simple truth of the matter is, we love warm dryer blankets because they are warm and soft and comforting and small cocoons of safety. Duh.

Listening to the sound of rain as you go to sleep.

• No weather can tame the wild beast of discomfort quite like the rain. All at once it is melancholic, soothing and contenting. As it taps, taps, taps against the window pane, one cannot help thinking how nice it is to be inside, gently being lulled by Mother Nature into a sleep fit for kings. 

Finishing a great book. 

• Good literature can leave one jealous at times, but great literature lends to its readers only inspiration. A thousand creative sparks have been struck. There is nothing more rewarding than closing a book and knowing those flawed characters, the frustratingly perfect plot and enviable beginning, middle and end will stay with you forever. Or until you find the next great book to gobble up in a sitting and forlornly set aside once finished.  

Learning about heartwarming acts of kindness. 

• There are so many people pointing out the terrible things in the world. It can be a bit daunting, to say the least. Still, through experience and assumption, I've ascertained for every wrong there are equal or greater rights. It's just the wrongs are forever in the spotlight. This is why we are so quick to snatch up heartwarming acts of kindness and refuse to let them go. There is nothing more rewarding than reading an article about a dog being saved, a kid being surprised, or a couple falling in love all over again. (Well, except maybe doing these things. Maybe that is more rewarding.) Still, we love hearing about the good in people. It validates our existence here and proves the age old saying 'it isn't all bad' is truth.

Laughing until you cry. 

• Belly laughter so sincere and honest it aches in your guts and tears spill forth from your eyes. Breaths refuse to be drawn. Words come in gasps. And the point you were trying to make is lost in another fit of laughing. Priceless. 

Pie.

• Everyone loves pie. Right out of the oven. Made with love. 

Winning At Social Media

Today I had a tiny taste of what internet popularity is like and I have to admit it, I kind of enjoyed it. Granted, it was a bit confounding to receive a hundred notifications on Twitter in the span of an hour. Usually, I get about one notification a week. Usually some random person following me only to unfollow me an hour later when I don't follow back. Needless to say, I am not winning at this social networking thing.

For those who didn't know, Facebook went down this morning. By some magical act of holy power, I managed to tweet at the right moment. I don't know how it happened. I was only being a smartass. Usually, I'm not so witty first thing in the AM. Actually, I'm not that witty in the afternoon either.

I will take my stardom. Bask in the glory. And wait until the stars align again.

Crushing Hard

Do you remember when people used to say they were 'crushing hard' on someone? I do. It always made me laugh, like were there people out there crushing soft? Does it make the crush that much more intense if you add the 'hard' in there? If you weren't crushing hard, did it not count? Was just a regular old crush not good enough?

Yes, these are the things that go through my head.

Speaking of crushes, these are my top seven celebrity crushes. Celebrity because I'm never going to tell you who my poor or working class crushes are. Celebrity seems safer. Harmless. Fun.

And here we go:

1. Emma Stone - Not just because she has that adorable little lisp but because I have never seen her in the tabloids flashing her gash. There's something about the smattering of freckles on her nose. The lip-sing off she had with Jimmy Fallon. Easy-A. Her part in Crazy Stupid Love. And the red hair. I've always liked girls with red hair. Not really boys, though. Strange how girls with red hair come across as spitfires and boys a little creepy. That being said, some women with red hair actually exude a very standoffish vibe, but for the most part, I really appreciate a tinge of ginge. Some of you may not know that this is actually who I always saw playing Eleanor in my first novel Seeking Eleanor. Now you know.

2. Andy Samberg - They say women like funny men. This is true, but more so if the funny men are attractive. Actually, the irony with this is that a man can be fairly average looking and if you add a great sense of humour to them, they gain two points. Two whole points for the ability to crack jokes! Crazy, right? Also, two points if there is an accent. Andy Samberg has been on my radar for years. No, really. I think I wrote a blog back in 2006 about how I wanted him to marry me. Apparently, he didn't want to.

3. Mindy Kaling - I shant draw the line at funny men. After all, I am an equal opportunity type of gal, and Mindy Kaling is one attractive mama. She's got hips that don't quit and sharp wit to match. Sign me up. While I didn't entirely love her character on The Office, I truly admire the fact that she co-wrote and produced the show, which most people don't know. She also the creative genius behind the Mindy Project, a totally hilarious show I truly appreciate. Oh, and her book is fantastic. Some of her observations on life and love and existing are simply brilliant. Obviously I'm crushing hard on this one.

4. Ryan Gosling - Not my usual cup of tea, but it's Ryan Gosling. 

5. Emma Watson - Clearly, I have an affection for Emmas. This one is too plain and simple, it's Heromine Granger, and everyone loves her. My crush only grew stronger when she cut off her hair and started saying brilliant things about short skirts and femininity. That being said, she's just adorable. Absolutely adorable. Haven't seen a single movie I've disliked her in, then again, I haven't seen Noah yet. Yikes. 

6. Bruce Springsteen - Yesterday. Today. And tomorrow. Forever. It's just been an ongoing thing and I don't see it ending anytime soon. I swear he just gets better with age. 

7. Zac Efron - You can read my thoughts on this cyborg here. Yes, it's a blog from 2009. And, yes, it is still applicable. Although, I do have a few things to add. One - he makes a white t-shirt look good. Two - I watched Neighbours and laughed my arse off. And lastly, I am pretty sure he is James Dean incarnate. 

Terribly beautiful people. Other notables that I simply just ran out of space for: Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Zooey Deschanel, Leslie Mann, Paul Rudd, Ian Somerhalder (don`t judge me), Tina Fey, Aziz Ansari, Hugh Dancy, Norman Reedus. Oh hell, I have hard crushes on everyone. 

And who is tickling your fancy these days?  

This Is What Exercising Looks Like

Instagram is riddled with pictures of slender girls in workout clothes taking selfies of themselves with the hashtag 'getting fit' or 'working out'. For a long time, it was a conundrum to me. I mean, they aren't sweating. Their hair is perfect. Makeup in place. Fresh faced and fancy free. Have I been working out wrong? Because when I go running I can't do it without my face running down into my cleavage.

Then it dawned on me. Those perky, smiling, carefree girls with the expensive cross trainers and colour coordinated sports bra and stretchy pants aren't actually working out. Not yet. They are thinking about working out. Or they are standing in the gym. This is what 'before' looks like.

You know before. You've been there. 

Before the cramp in the side. Before the panting. Before the sweating and red face. Before the 'I'm so tired and I still have a mile to go' stage sets in. Before the lazy feet happen. And before the doubting. You know the doubting. It's the part of you that says you don't mind being unhealthy and maybe being fit is overrated.

Truthfully, there is nothing attractive about exercising. At least, there isn't when it comes to me. I get lobster faced and so sweaty someone passing by might actually wonder if I've just been swimming. Well, I haven't. I simply inherited my father's sweat glands. And my jaunty stride I had during the first kilometre gradually gets slower and more pathetic the farther I go, until it might actually be faster for me to crawl home instead of continuing to do this abysmal thing I'm calling running. . 

Because I am all about being honest, with myself and the world, this is actually what working out looks like: 

Actually, that's a pretty good picture. Look at my healthy glow! Here, this one is more accurate:

There's sweat in my eye! It hurts! And I stink. Like super bad. 

Anyhow, this is what exercising looks like. In my world. From the waist up. The waist down will never find its way onto the internet.

Hey, remember when we used to be told not to post any personal information on the internet, then we ended up posting everything on the internet. Weird how things change. 

Anyhow, if you're a girl like me that doesn't find themselves the most attractive, or even a fraction attractive, while sweating it out on the treadmill or while lifting weights, please understand you aren't alone. Working out isn't an attractive thing, but it makes us feel better in the end. Hopefully. 

The Thing About Jerks

Dear Person Who Cares,

I know the simple act of existing can be a daunting task considering the overabundance of negative people here. Take it from me, I understand. All you want is to live in a beautiful world where everyone gets along, singing harmoniously, holding hands and doing a lot of skipping through wild valleys of flowers. Sadly, this isn't realistic. There are people in this world who want to hamper skipping and hand holding, and when it comes to singing harmoniously, they want to eradicate it altogether. I call these people 'jerks'.

Jerks are people, men and women, who simply want to ruin everyone's fun. They believe the world revolves around them and they are unimpressed by it. Not only are they negative, but they are ready and willing to share that negativity with anyone who comes within spitting distance of them, which is approximately four feet. These Defeating Dannys and Dollys put a damper on everything, whether it is work or play. Movies, music, theater, television, books, cooking, baked goods, they can find a way to tear it down and rip it to shreds. Even gloriously sunny days can and will irk a jerk.

Does this seem harsh? Well, maybe it stings because you know a couple jerks who are making your living experience a little less awesome. Maybe you genuinely like them as people, or maybe you don't want them to win. If they win and you stop caring about them, or wanting to be around them, then you feel like a bad person, as if you are being a jerk yourself. Don't worry. You can cut a jerk out of your life and remain a caring person. The purging of toxins is essential to living a healthy, happy life and, it just so happens, sometimes those toxins happen to be walking, talking balls of antagonistic pessimism in human form.

And the thing about jerks? They aren't going to change for you, just like they aren't going to change for me. They aren't going to suddenly see the error of their ways, not even if you detail all the reasons why people can't stand being around them. You've been there, you've chatted with people who don't have anything good to say about anything. They hate that band, loathe your favourite television program, and despise Emma Stone, and there is no reason for any of it. Because what good reason could someone have for disliking Emma Stone.

There isn't one!

Still, the jerks come out to play. They are going to put down you and your likes and the fluffy white clouds in the summer sky. If you did a good job at work, a jerk won't be impressed, they will point out how you could have done better. Don't worry, it isn't just you. Jerks just don't like good work. If you joined a gym and lost ten pounds, a jerk doesn't care. In fact, they will predict you gain the weight back by the time the holiday seasons roll around. Fell in love with a beautiful girl? A jerk will point out this new crush won't last.

Jerks hate love almost as much as they hate kittens.

So, person who cares, don't waste your breath. Put your shield up and deflect the jerky words of the insensitive oaf attempting to put a black cloud over your day. You can't control them, you can't change them, so it's best to avoid. Unless you feel comfortable mocking. Mocking is highly encouraged and can often be therapeutic.

Sincerely,

Tee

Way Back When

Out of curiosity, I went back to see the first couple posts on this blog. There are actually a fair amount which are unpublished. This isn't because they contained super sensitive information I decided, after the fact, I didn't want floating around on the world wide web. No, I hid them because I was so appalled by the spelling and grammar, I couldn't fathom the idea of other people reading them. They literally hurt my eyes to even glimpse at.

Once upon a time, I vowed I would go through all these horrible posts and rewrite them, clean them up, put a little effort into making them the grade A calibre you're used to from my blog. (Insert laugh track here). As it turns out, I'm fairly lazy. Besides, who wants to go back and edit old blogs when there are new things to be written? Or old things that can be rewritten and made more relevant with a little thought and a bunch of structure?

Back in 2006 when I started this 'blogging' endeavour, I knew very little about writing, except that I wanted to do it. So, I tried. While I certainly deserve a B+ for effort, a lot of my posts were horrible. That being said, the very first post you can read is from 2006 and no amount of rewriting will make it any better. In fact, I dare say, it's perfect the way it is.

You be the judge: BREAKUPS!

Perfect, right? That might be my most favourite post I have ever penned. What about you? What's your favourite blog? Or post? Or article? Or line you have ever written?

The Struggle

Most people understand the struggle. They don't like it or want it, but it's a reality for them. The struggle is a day-to-day thing. It doesn't let up on weekends, and actually gets worse over holidays. Sometimes you start to think you are going to get past the struggle, but then your dog eats your running shoes, or you can't sell you home. Instead of getting better, the struggle gets worse. Remember that saying, 'you take one step forward and two steps back'?  This is how it feels with the struggle. Sometimes it isn't only a step back, either, sometimes you feel as though you are being catapulted backwards. And you could swear the kink in your neck is not actually from sleeping funny or getting older, but is in fact whiplash from the struggle.

Some days, the struggle is so defeating. You scrounge and scrap and save, hoping to get out of debt, working towards your goal, whatever it may be. Debt free, a functioning car, a home, or maybe just a new pair of running shoes. Still, at the end of the day, week, month, year, you are no closer to the goal. No closer to an end. In fact, it feels as if you've just lived those moments for nothing, because you are back where you started, or maybe not even where you started at all. Maybe you are six steps behind where you started. And sometimes you ask yourself what the freakin' point is.

The struggle makes you tired. It wears you out to keep at it all the time. This struggling along business, it isn't for the faint of heart or weak of will. This is exhausting, you know. Well, of course you know. You are familiar with the struggle. Heck, you might even be like me - the struggle might be like family to you, or your best friend forever. The struggle has been around so long in my life, I doubt whether I would be able to exist without it. I mean, the struggle has always been here. If it suddenly disappeared would a weight be lifted off me? Would I suddenly feel free and unburdened and prance through life? Or would I be lost? Would I silently sit and wait for the struggle to return?

The truth is, there are moments when you think you aren't going to make it through the struggle. You doubt whether you will keep going. Actually, there are times where you don't want to keep going. Some days you just want the struggle to end. But then, you take a deep breath, you put your head down, and your power through. You keep going. You keep trying. Why? Because you want to see the new Avengers movie next year. Because your family and friends need you. Because giving up isn't an option. And, mostly, because your struggle isn't as bad as it could be. Actually, in a lot of ways, your struggle isn't terrible. It sucks and can get you down, but it's livable. It's doable.

When the struggle gets really hard, you take a nap. You read a book. You take a bath. Or you bake delicious vegan blondies. Which are kind of like brownies, but without the cocoa. And you remember, you're actually one of the lucky ones who are strong enough to keep struggling.

Wildflowers

Today is going to be all about flowers and pictures, mostly pictures of flowers. The world is blooming and this morning I took notice. After an hour and a half of walking and thinking to myself, "Wow, look at all these flowers" I decided to start taking pictures of every flower I passed that wasn't in someone's yard.

Yes, we live in troubling times, but there is beauty as well. All around us. If we just take the time to notice. Isn't that the key, though? Taking time to notice. Sometimes it looks like we are all so busy that we don't have a free moment to see the pretty things in life. And without the pretty things life can be so drab.

Anyhow, here are the flowers I saw on my way home:

Grumpy Gus

This evening I am in a right foul mood, just grumpy through and through. It's weird to write a post when I'm out of sorts. For the most part, I try to maintain a somewhat lighthearted air over here and, even when I tackle more serious topics, I try to do it objectively and with at least a fraction of humour. Yes, sometimes I miss the mark, but overall, I work hard to combine and create entertaining and thought-provoking things to read. 

Well, there's no chance in hell of that happening tonight. My feet hurt, along with my back and head, my allergies are going bonkers, by the way they are saying this summer is going to be the worst we've ever seen. And to be honest, I'm just not feeling my normal spry self. It's been a long day. Not to complain, though. I mean, for the most part, it was okay, that's the confusing part of grumpiness for me. It comes in like a storm, blowing away any good thoughts and soaking all my happy feelings with irritation and disenchantment. 

I really need to get back into meditating. It doesn't work for me, I can't clear my brain enough for it to actually be called meditating, but some of those deep breaths and sprawling on the floor in savasana seems like a nice idea right now. Corpse pose - now that's some yoga I can get behind. 

"Honey, why are you lying on the floor like that?" 

"Go away, I'm doing yoga."

As for what to do when you're in a grumpy mood? Well, these are my five steps to picking myself up and brushing myself off: 

1. Have a bath. Make it warm. Make it bubbly. And breath in and out. Repeat the breathing, because you need to do this in order to keep living. 

2. Go for a walk. The outdoors can be very soothing. If you have a forest near you, submerge yourself in the clean scent of nature and you might start to feel invigorated.

3. Make yourself a nice cuppa. Tea always helps and maybe you need some fluids. 

4. Feel good movie. Of course guys hate to admit they actually like feel good movies, but I guarantee if they put on a movie from when they were young, they will start feeling better. Some choice examples for me are: Elvira Mistress of the Dark, Mac & Me, Short Circuit, Karate Kid, and The Goonies. Of course their are more, their are so many I can't even count! And ones I don't want to mention here because they are kind of embarrassing, like The Boy Who Could Fly. Eek. 

5. Eat something a treat. Treats make everyone happier. I can't name a treat for you to eat, though. Everyone's idea of a treat is different. Some time sweet, others salty and there are those who will eat anything, salty or sweet. (I'm talking about myself, of course.)

Anyhow, I can't get you out of your grumpy mood because I am too busy trying to get me out of mine. 

Crows Before Hoes

Tonight is Game of Thrones.

I know I shouldn't be a slave to the picture box, but I can't help it. I absolutely love this show. (For the information of all those who care, I also love the books and am currently reading Feast of Crows, so don't spoil anything for me, okay Jonny?)

Anyhow, last week the GOT was on some sort of hiatus, meaning there was no episode. I would love to say this didn't bother me, but I would be lying. There was much pouting involved and, when I realized it wasn't happening, I strongly considered just going to bed and ending the day. I didn't,though, because I have Mondays off and going to bed at eight on a Sunday is a little too elderly, even for me.

Needless to say, I look forward to sitting down with my dysfunctional Westeros friends and praying the ones I love the most (The Hound, Bronn and Arya) live to see another episode. But as I write this post and think about the ensemble cast and intricate stories, the families, the sigils and mottos, I am realizing Game of Throning isn't something you do alone. If not a group activity, it's at least an event which needs a partner.

And if you love Game of Thrones and your partner doesn't? It's doomed for failure. Okay, I jest, but only a bit because this is the type of show/book you need to talk about. I firmly believe it brings those who love it together and drives those who dislike it away with a torch. These plot twists and dramatic deaths need to be discussed because while the carnage is great, and the rapes far too often, it is hard not to get hooked to the point of addiction.

Because this is a safe zone, I'm going to admit something I might otherwise not. When someone tells me they don't watch or read Game of Thrones, I weigh whether or not it is worth it for me to engage in conversation. I try not to be a judgmental git, but sometimes it's so very hard. Deep down, I know Game of Thrones isn't for everyone. I do, I KNOW this, but I still question the judgement of those people who 'just don't get it' or simply aren't interested in it at all.

Yes, all this pondering makes me a nerd, and I don't mind. Not one bit. I love the idea of submerging myself in a different world I'd never be able to exist in. There was a time when I didn't read these books. A time when my old coworkers used to gather together and chat about them, and I'd sit there thinking 'what's the big deal?'. Now, I understand. Now, I wish I had the ability to go back in time to interject my two cents on Jon Snow's lineage.

So, to the ones who 'don't like fantasy', trust me when I say, just give it a go. This is different. So very different. You will like the dragons, I promise. My advice to anyone wanting to give it a go to see what it is all about. Try watching or reading it with someone who already has, they can explain any questions you might have - because the characters are many and the back story plenty.

With all this being said, you all know what I am doing tonight.

The Issue With Makeup

As a lot of you know, I hate wearing makeup. Actually, it goes beyond hate. We have a deep-seated animosity for one another. Makeup loathes me because I don't appreciate the magic it can work on a plain face, and I despise makeup because it only perpetuates feelings of not being good enough in our own skin. Makeup to me generates unrealistic expectations and only exacerbates the idea that women need to be beautiful all the time, or that they aren't beautiful when they don't make themselves up.

People can argue with me all they like, but the only reason women wear makeup is to look better. They want their eyes bigger, brighter, bolder, cheeks more pronounced, contouring to accent their features, acne and dark circles gone, eyebrows more defined. They want less shine and more evenness. The simple act of going out and buying makeup says to the world, "I need to be more beautiful." There's this whole 'I'm not good enough' vibe behind it.

A couple months ago a bunch of women were posting pictures of themselves not wearing makeup all over the social medias. This was a huge deal! Because it's odd for a lot of women to leave the house without being done up. Girls at a very young age start wearing makeup, they get in the habit of wearing it every day, and eventually it gets to the point where they don't want to leave the house unless they've at LEAST got some mascara, blush, and lipstick on. As the years go by, teenagers turn into women, and their dependency on makeup only gets stronger.

Don't get me wrong. I know there are a ton of women who LOVE makeup and all it stands for. I know there will be a lot of people who don't understand my annoyance or thoughts on the subject. But part of me thinks it's because they have been buying into this multi-billion dollar industry for so long they can't fathom not being a part of it.

Personally, I love it when girls don't wear makeup, but the rest of society doesn't seem to be the same way. It's why magazines with makeup-less celebrities are so popular. People love seeing others at their worst. I just find it a shame that our natural state is our 'worst'. And this doesn't just go for the rich and famous. I know girls who, if they go to work or out to party without makeup, people will ask them if they are sick, not feeling well. It's because your friends and family get used to seeing you with makeup on. Take that away and you're sickly.

What's even more frustrating is when you see makeup tips for a more 'natural' look. Yeah, natural to me means without, right? Like the gorgeous content of your soul shines through your eyes.

Hey, I don't make up these rules. Also, I don't like them. Even more, I am agitated that I am being affected by it. Because I have to do my hair, dress nice and put on makeup for my job, when I get a day off and don't put on eyeliner, I actually think I look worse now. How is this possible when I existed in a makeup free world for the majority of my life? That's what's getting to me. I have to retrain my brain to remember that I like the way I look without makeup.

Guess I am just feeling a little disgruntled tonight.

Lost The Plot

So, I started writing this short story for a collection called 'Mermaids' for Pankhearst. I was super stoked about it, but when I got about halfway through, I realized the plot wasn't going to work. It simply didn't generate the feeling I wanted it too. Instead of a gritty, youthful vibe, it gave off a more adventure Nancy Drew tone, which is nice, but didn't really work for me, or the anthology it was going into.

What did I do? I stopped writing, put it to the side, and have been obsessing over it ever since. I have literally wracked my brain over what to do with the story. I thought to myself, surely I can come up with another plot to work with these amazing characters and crazy world.

Apparently not. It's been sitting for weeks. And I've tried so hard to develop it into something I can share with the editor of the project, but it's just embarrassing. Which is why I am going to stop altogether and put it away. It's not working and it isn't worth me stressing over. Besides, I feel terrible leaving a beautiful and talented hanging in the balance, wondering when I am going to deliver.

Of course, as soon as I officially sign off the project inspiration will strike. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

Sigh.

Learning To Love My Thighs

I don't know when my hatred of my thighs started. As far back as I remember, I took notice of how big they are, especially compared to other people's. I remember being a little girl, sitting cross legged during gym class and feeling ashamed at the pudginess of them, their sheer thickness. And that was back when they were smooth and cute. The years haven't treated them kind and I have only been worse on them.

Let me make this clear, I don't obsess over my thighs, I don't lose sleep over them, but they are there and I have yet to warm up to them. Pocked with cellulite dimples, chunky, jiggly, forever kissing each other, these tree trunks have never been my favourite part of my body. I keep them hidden. Swimsuit season makes me cringe. I worry if my shorts are too short, or my skirts for that matter, and have avoided buying adorable clothes for fear my thighs will be on display to the world. Sometimes I wonder if they are as horrid to look at for everyone else as they are to me.

These are my secrets. The ones I hate to admit. It isn't easy talking about the body part I am most self-conscious of. But this is also the truth, and as I sit here, alone with my thighs, looking down at them with uncertainty and guilt, I realize this is utterly unfair. To them. Because these jiggly hammies have done so much for me. They have always gotten me where I needed to go - from point A to point B and beyond.

We have explored many lands - like New York, Ireland, California, Montana and Georgia - and never once did they refuse to do what I wanted. They have allowed me to wander streets and mountain trails and taken me down alleyways I never should have never entered in the first place. Together we have swam in the ocean, walked dogs, jumped on trampolines, and rode many bicycles. We have danced until dawn, drove hundreds of miles, gone up countless stairs, and back down them too. Every time I've gotten up, they've done it without complaint - well, unless it was squat day.  

More importantly, they have kept my hands warm on far too many occasions for me to keep track of.  

My thighs work hard. Harder than most of my other body parts - probably trumped only by my heart. They might not be the prettiest thighs ever to exist in this world, but they are strong. They never get tired. And, more than anything else, they have never let me down. They are reliable, determined, and unstoppable. They are the reason I  go for a four hour hikes without getting tired. They allow me to get up, walk around, go for a run, dance like an idiot in my living room, pretend I can kick box, tread water for hours and sleep in my favourite position at night.

This hatred I have for them is uncalled for. It's mean. They don't deserve it. In fact, they deserve better than what I've been giving them. I should be proud of them. They might be scarred and chubby and dimply, but they are my scarred, chubby, dimply thighs, and they are always functioning on a level the rest of my body should be ashamed of. I shouldn't be embarrassed of my thighs - I should be embracing them. 

So, from this day forth, I am going to show my thighs off, give them the attention they deserve. And they need a pat on the back. A little recognition. Some respect. And, even more so, love. It's time to stop hating and start appreciating. Because these are the only thighs I have and life is a hell of a lot easier with them. 

 

And here is a rare photo of my thighs. 

Inception Selfie

This morning, I was trying to take a picture of my hair. Not because I take daily photographs of my hair for my Lovely Locks Log, but because I have to ensure my hair looks half decent for work. The problem with this is, I have no idea how to craft a cool coiffure, so I exist in a world of trial and hairror. See what I did there? Instead of error I wrote ... never mind.

Back to the point, because I don't have a second mirror, I sometimes take photos of my hairstyles to ensure they don't look like a rat's nest with bobby-pins sticking out of it. This morning's hair actually looked pretty good too, but before I snapped a decent picture of the back, I turned the phone on. BAM. The camera was on the wrong way and there was a huge, up close and too personal shot of my face. This never makes me feel attractive. It's almost as if the front camera makes me way uglier than the back camera does.

Anyhow, when I went to turn the phone around, the reflection caught the mirror and I noticed myself in the camera and in that camera too. Then I realized, if I angled the camera just right I could see myself three times over. And a light bulb went off over my head and trumpets played as I thought to myself:

INCEPTION SELFIE.

So, being the total nerd I am, I took the picture in order to share it with all of you. Isn't it magnificent when phones, cameras and mirrors come together in such a highly entertaining way?

Or maybe I'm the only amused by this.

The Gratitude Booklet

I live in a beautiful village where nice things happen all the time. This makes me supremely lucky, and it's something I am grateful for every single day of my life. Not all people live in such a magnificent part of the world, where they can be in the mountains and at the beach in the same day. Where they can drink water from their tap and know their neighbours' names.

Some people might want examples of nice things that happen in my village. Well, every Wednesday we put out our garbage and recycling and someone always puts our cans inside our property. It's a small thing, lifting our empty cans over the fence, but it tucks them out of the way so they don't go rolling down the street if it's too windy, and it means we can access our parking without being inconvenienced by getting out of the truck to move them. We don't know who does this, but every week, without fail, they do. Another example, during winter someone shovelled the walkway to our gate more than a handful of times. Again, we don't know who did this, but it's one of those gestures that makes this place a great spot to live.

But the sweetness of this town, extends beyond our neighbours. It't the rest of the population too. Chalked messages of love show up around town and are washed away the next time it rains. The community Facebook posts notices about found keys and cellphones, or about injured animals seen on the trails in the forest along with warnings to keep dogs leashed in those areas.

Today, I found yet another amazing thing to add to the 'why I love where I live' list. The little book of gratitude. There's a trail in the forest call the Missing Link trail and it actually goes up to this peak where a wooden bench has been built for people to sit. Here you can look out over the town and, I swear, the air is freshest up there.

When I reached the top this morning, I noticed a little plastic baggie stuffed into the back board of the bench. Upon inspection, I noticed it was a booklet and pen.

In fact, it was the gratitude booklet. A book where people had taken the time to pause a moment and consider what they were grateful for in life.

Out of curiosity, I read through what other people were grateful for. A lot of them were simply ecstatic over being a live, on the trails, running, riding, being healthy and touching the sky. It's a small thing this book, but as I read through it, it changed my morning. It took away the morning annoyances and really made me focus on breathing. I was there, on top of the world, free and alive.

All the posts made me happy, but this one took the cake: 

Ride fast, just a bit of advice from 'N'. How truly fantastic. I hope his dad knows how important he is.

This Is My Fight

After the UCSB shootings, the Twitter blew up with two hashtags - #YesAllWomen and #NotAllMen. I am not here to talk about the man who did these shootings, in my opinion he is so clearly a sick, unhappy individual, completely deluded and not worth mentioning even his name here. What I do want to talk about is the importance of #YesAllWomen and the irony of #NotAllMen.

We live, and have always lived, in a time where the oppression against women is treated like a myth. As if women have fabricated statistics and staged scenarios to support their claims of inequality. Even worse, when women gather to talk about the times they have felt afraid, judged, held back and discriminated there is always backlash, always someone disagreeing with what is being said, demeaning it and misconstruing it as man-bashing. Women who are brave enough to speak out about their experiences are often mistreated for doing so. Eventually, it all comes down to name calling and the word feminist is bandied about with a sneer as if it's something dirty. 

How do I know? Because when you type in 'feminists are' into any search engine on the worldwide web, you get results like this: 

Yet, if you ask people 'do you think women should be treated equal?' most will answer yes. Ask those same people, if they are feminists, they will cringe, recoil, pull back and shake their heads. There is such a hatred towards feminism and I can only surmise it's because a lot of ignorant people don't have a clue what it truly is. Summed up simply, you are a feminist if you support women and their right to be treated equal. That being said, if you are going to call yourself a feminist and speak out about the inequality women suffer, be prepared for ridicule and resentment. Be ready for a fight and to be called a man hater, sexist and have terms like Feminazi thrown at you. 

The point of the 'yes all women' hashtag was not to hate on men, but to shed light on the horrible truths women live with everyday. Instead of listening to what was being said, which basically came down to women sharing their fears and desire for change, there was a surge of defensiveness (from men and women alike). The retaliatory 'not all men' response is simply proof of our society's urge to keep women as the second sex. When there should only be empathy, sympathy, and love shown towards women, why was the spotlight being tipped back to men?

It is something done unintentionally, I think, but it doesn't change the fact that whenever something 'pro-female' is said or done, someone is there asking how men feel about it. Often, the male opinions are then pushed to the forefront and women once again fall to the background. So, maybe it's time to show the fear women live with through the eyes of men. Last night I was talking to my Sidekick about being a modern women and, how despite the fact that I can vote and work and go to school, there is still such an overwhelming abundance of discrimination, like worrying about getting in trouble if I'm not pretty enough for work. How women themselves perpetuate these unrealistic expectations, especially on physical appearances, and how out of place I often feel in my everyday life. On top of that, I have this defeating fear that something bad is going to happen to me. Even though I am capable, intelligent, and independent, I worry about getting myself into situations I can't get myself out of.

The Sidekick, a kind, loving, generous man, kind of balked at what I said, as if my fear was irrational. So then, I rephrased it. "How would you feel if I was walking home at two in the morning by myself?"

Worried was the resounding emotion. And I wouldn't be walking home late at night by myself because he'd come and pick me up. Interesting, right? Where is his fear coming from? Is he worried about women attacking me? Bears? Alien abductions? I don't think so. Further more, I don't drink and I certainly don't dress provocatively, but this still didn't make me less of a target in his mind, or in my own. That being said, if I did drink, or wear a short skirt and low cut blouse, I should still be able to walk home safely, and to not be judged on my appearance if something did happen. No women is ever 'asking for it'. 

So, yeah, men fear for us. They fear their own gender when it comes to their mothers, sisters, girlfriends, and female friends. Does this not serve as validation to what women have been saying for years? And isn't it infuriating that it's almost as if the world needs to hear it from men before they believe it to be true? Well, that's oppression my friends, and it is rooted so deep and so common we don't even realize it's inside us and all around.

I live my life as I please and refuse to let anyone dictate what I can wear and when I can go out. Still, when I am walking late at night and I see a group of men, there is a voice in the back of my head reminding me of all the things I've been taught:

It isn't safe to go out at night. Always have a friend with you. Carry your keys between your fingers so you can do optimal damage. Always check your backseat before getting in the car. Watch your drink. Keep your head up, back straight. Look like you know where you're going. Don't walk down any alleys. Avoid driving in bad neighbourhoods. Lock your door as soon as you get in. If a big van is parked next to you, get in on the opposite side of it. Take the elevator instead of the stairs. Scream 'fire' not 'help'. Date a fireman, he will keep you safe!

These are actually pieces of advice I have received, from being a kid, to a teenager, into my twenties. The general vibe is that I need to be careful. It makes me wonder if this is really living? To be this afraid? To have these precautions the norm?  For the only way for me to feel safe is to have a big, burly man in bed next to me, someone who can protect me.

We understand that 'not all men' are abusive, misogynistic, oppressive jerks. It doesn't even have to be said. It's common sense. We know there are so many amazing men out there, men who want to help, who want women to be equal, but there are far more women who are afraid, alone, and need help. Every single woman I know has been on the receiving end of unwanted attention. Every single woman I know has felt that fist around her heart when she finds herself confronted by an unsafe situation. Every single woman knows what it is like to be second. Like me, every women I know has experienced sexism. 

This is why 'yes all women' is important. There is a struggle here. A fight. The battle of a fear that runs so deep it's considered normal. This is my fight because I lock my doors when I get in my car and I think twice about going for a run at night. This is my fight because I want my sisters and friends to be safe. This is my fight because I am horrified that spurning a man's advances could result is women dying.