ForgetFull

You often hear people refer to certain actions as instinctive. "It's like riding a bicycle," they say. Once you know how to do it, no matter how long it's been, you'll remember how. The method curls up inside the creases of your brains and surfaces at the point it becomes necessary again.

Most of that is total shit. The last time I tried to ride a bicycle I pretty much just tipped right over and looked like an asshat. (Granted, I was never the picture of balance and pose, but that's not the point.) Because sometimes you just plain forget and need to relearn. To retrain your bod.

Sometimes, when I forget one of those intuitive things and, I hit quiet panic mode. There have been several times in my life where I've randomly forgotten how to spell the word "because." Why? Because if you LOOK too long at that word, your brain can talk you out of it... Surely that's now how it's spelled. You've mixed up the letters. Or added too many. It definitely has too many letters, take some out... And the next thing you know, it's taken five minutes to hand-write a sentence and you've replaced "because" with "due to" since there was no agreement to be made regarding letter sequencing.

But I digress.

The other day I came to a very stark realization that threw me completely for a loop. I was getting dressed in the morning, in my usual fashion, and glanced over at the mirror to make sure all the buttons of my blouse were done properly (we've all made that mistake) and I realized...
I wasn't sucking in my stomach.

Why have you betrayed me, ice cream, old friend?!?

Now, it's not that I've suddenly lost weight, or was wearing a baggy shirt or something, so it wasn't necessary any longer. It was just there. There was my tummy. Just chilling. Not protruding, but just a part of my body that you could see was there, that existed hidden just below that layer of fabric.

And I was horrified.

What was it doing there, being noticeable? (Ultimate betrayal!) Immediately, I tried to suck it in. To no avail. The "forgot how to ride a bike" hysteria bubbling up, I lifted up my shirt and gave my midriff a good stare down in the mirror. It was like my abs had forgotten what to do. I continued to try to pull it in, but despite my efforts and no matter how much I glared, my gut didn't budge.

How long had this been going on? And how hadn't I noticed?? I tried to think back on the history of this habit...

• Middle school: straight as a board, no butt nor boob to speak of, as my fellow classmates started sprouting by several inches and flaunting newly formed cleavage in spaghetti strapped tanks. Eventually I figured out that if I pushed my bum back and leaned my chest forward, there was a slight illusion of curves. Cue years of resulting back problems and funny walks.  
• High school: same shit as above, plus the beginning of my back-of-mind obsession with the 0.7 solution - aka the waist-hip ratio of my dearest Audrey (and many other iconic ladies). If you sucked in, it was like it was almost possible! Come on, hourglass!
• College: late nights in the library throwing back buckets of Dew, wing night, fishbowl night, dollar burger night, unlimited swipes at the caf, plus a total lack of "real" exercise, THEN having to squeeze into some skimpy outfit for a Greek dance each weekend? You can bet your bottom dollar I was holding my breath and every bit of bulge back that I could (special thanks to control top pantyhose, dim lighting and beer goggles!). 
• Post-college: new city, new friends, more nights on the town than one cares to admit. The cattle auction that is modern dating didn't allow for jiggly error. We all know that the reality of the "paint me like one of your French girls" pose is you holding in your stomach with every ounce of energy you have, lest the reality flub sideways. Let it be known: any "sexy" breathless voice heard in the bedroom is probably coming from a woman whose abs are shaking with tension, anxiously awaiting the turning out of a light.* 

So when did I forget how? Is it because I became one of those "settled down" gals in a relationship? ... Oh geez, someone please tell me I'm not that girl in sweatpants with one of those volleyball player headband things over my ponytail, wearing fucking Ugg boots and eating a pint of ice cream in the street while my perfectly fit BF runs circles around me. You know, the one who "gave up" because she "already got a good one" and "doesn't have to try anymore." ((vomits in corner))

OR is it just that at some point I stopped caring so much what other people thought? That I accepted myself and my body a bit more and finally stopped being so self-conscious?

OR maybe that I finally stopped buying clothes that were "super cute" and that I'd "fit into someday" or that "look good if it's not a fat day," and finally just bought clothes that fit who I am and compliment my bod as it is, right here right now?

OR did I somehow get complacent and lazy? Is this just a part of the zero-fucks-given mentality that comes as one approaches 30??

OR am I really just so drastically out of shape that the atrophy in my abs has finally gotten to the point where I tell them to engage and they just look up from the couch, pausing the Netflix, and say "go get me a sandwich, bitch"? 

It's hard to tell what (or when) the turning point was. But, if you see me making funny faces, or holding my breath, just pretend I don't look like a freak. I'm practicing. My tummy needs to train, to relearn in case of emergency. What if I run into Ryan Reynolds (just after his divorce) some day?? Pretending to look skinny isn't a sprint, it's a marathon. Cue "Eye of the Tiger" and, maybe hold off on the ice cream... for a few days.

* Well helloooooo self-conscious whispers of my youth! Long time no see! Thanks for making that middle decade of my life an anxiety ridden nightmare... It's cool, I get it. Yeah yeah, no, I forgive you, it was a long time ago... Yeah, I'm doing just fine, and you?... Oh, married, huh? Wow, that's great. Two kids? You don't say. Well, I'm glad life is going so well for you... Me? Oh, yep, just swell. Stellar. Not still fending off demons from my past at all, I mean, yep, job is great too!...  Yeah, we should really meet up, grab a drink some time, catch up properly...  For real. Let's do it and not just say we'll do it. Yep, any time.... ((head spins around like in the Exorcist, pushes off bridge)) 

Though, We Adore Men Individually

When hearing the word "feminist," there are many who think of a rabid wild women. Unshaven and free, tits in the wind (curse you, bra, for attempting to constrain this gypsy she-beast). A rejector of standard female stereotypes. Hater of pink, florals, and the vile enemy that is man. 

That is definitely one version of "feminist" - probably one who was driven so far into the kitchen that when she finally got out, she sprinted into the sunset and cast off the shackles of yesterday and flung them off as far as possible. But obviously, there are many shades of that beautiful rainbow. The baseline that I've seen running as the pulse of feminism is simply this: freedom of choice and equal access/treatment, regardless of gender. That can mean a lot of things to different people, but in the purest form, in my opinion, it means:

• Being able to chose to have children and be a stay at home mom, or to never have kids at all. Or to adopt. Or to be a foster parent. Or to have children but send them to daycare to work. Having the right to be pro-life and never ever consider abortion for yourself, but also not stopping others who may need to chose that option from having access to proper medical procedures. Your body, your choice. 
• Freedom to love whoever you want, regardless of sexual orientation or gender. And to spend your time with them without persecution and harassment. 
• To be whoever you want - whether that means donning every pink girlie-girl outfit you can get your hands on, or rockin' the pantsuit. To be a strong, independent woman, or one who leans a little more heavily on their support system to keep afloat (we don't all have to be rocks or rolling stones, some of us are just trees who need roots).
• Having access to the same opportunities as anyone else, whether it be for housing, employment, access to education, travel, etc. We should all be given fair and equal treatment under the law. 

I could give a thousand examples of what I think that freedom of choice looks like, but that wasn't really where I was going when this started.... So, let me loop back to the type of feminist that I am. Far from being the man-hater (although, I do get on my "smash the patriarchy" rants a bit more frequently lately), I am a huge proponent of strength through teamwork. Men and women have many complimentary strengths, and while I don't think a woman "needs" a man to get by, with the right partnership, both can be enhanced and can grow. 

So, every once and again, from atop the soapbox, one must give a shout out.

As Jake and Elwood said, "Stand by your man." Cause, after all, he's just a man.

For just shy of three years (holy moley), I've been happy to have a ridiculously supportive partner by my side. In the days surrounding the Women's March, he was astounding, and I wanted to share some examples of how he was extra encouraging* as I laced up my marchin' boots:

• First off, he almost came with to the March. He later decided it was important for me to have that time with my ladies, so opted out. But for even considered coming, and not questioning my going, I give him my kudos.
• A few days beforehand, he helped me buy snacks for the roadtrip to the March and my poster-making night (which he happily was onboard with me volunteering our apartment for). When the ladies came over to dive into our feminist agenda and take marker-to-paper to stick it to the man, he gave us our space, and offered to make popovers... from scratch.
• In the evenings pre-March, I spent hours consuming women's lib documentaries - reminding myself of the struggles women went through, and growing angrier over the issues that are still a problem, decades later. (Go watch She's Beautiful When She's Angry on Netflix if you haven't yet - it's fantastic.) Instead of running away, the beau engaged me in conversation about points from the documentary. We got into a good discussion about what sparked the movement in the '60s and '70s and how those decades saw a perfect coupling of so many factors that brought forth such a strong feminist wave. 
• The night before, after making the last minute decision (at 11 pm) to draw up a "Side B" on my perfectly designed poster, he stayed up, even though he had work early the next day. When, after twenty minutes of stenciling and markering, I decided to hold up my sign to check out my progress... I realized the marker had bled through (they hadn't on the other side, but for some reason they did this time). My perfect poster (Side A) was basically ruined. Cue me having a complete breakdown. All the tears and emotions. I had wrecked the one thing I had done perfect to contribute to the cause, my flawless lines, my beautiful creation. Mere hours before getting ready to leave. I basically felt like I'd failed all of womankind.
  As I frantically dug through every drawer, basket, and craft box, scouring the apartment for white paints, markers, crayons, anything to fix my error, the beau took to the street. He ran to the store and bought pretty much every type of white-out they had. Upon return, he saw a much calmer version of my grief-stricken self and offered the solution he'd bought (along with snacks), and then let me salvage the remainder of my pride and work alone, painstakingly brushing away my mistake with that itty-bitty white-out sponge. Attempting to restore the former glory.
• The morning of the March, a freshly burned mix CD was handed to me. He'd made us a playlist of powerhouse fem vocals (from his regular music collection) to listen to on the drive. (Track list available upon request lol) As he headed to do his work and I headed to do mine, I was grateful that he had my back. He kissed me goodbye and wished me luck. Told me not to get arrested... I neglected to mention that I had his phone number Sharpied on my stomach, just in case I needed it for my one phone call. (Lord knows this memory of mine couldn't be trusted in time of need.)
• Once I got back home, he listened to my full recap with rapt attention, asking questions and filling me in on the news coverage of the day. In the subsequent days we've had talks on subjects ranging from politics to abortion. Always the good conversationalist, he has been a great sounding board during all this. 

Overall, there have been a lot of brownie points earned over the course of the past few weeks by my dear fella. ((Meanwhile, back on the soapbox....)) Not to belittle his behavior in any way, but the fact that his actions and level of support for all my feminist excursions seem so exceptional, well, it speaks volumes about some of the weak-tit men I've grappled with previously. (Not all, but definitely some.) Women need to insist on a high level of respect and support (and proper discourse) with the people they chose for partners. It shouldn't be an exception, it should be an expectation. Because, as Zefron once said, we're all in this together. And when we're being kind and supportive human beings, who see one another as equal (beyond gender, race, religion, creed, etc.) - well, we all win.



*Sorry beau, the internet knows how swell you are now... and the internet never forgets! 

1958 is calling. Don't answer.

Yesterday (Saturday, January 21, 2017) was a beautiful day. Millions of peoples, across hundreds of cities, took to the streets for a Women's March. The signs, the chants, the costumery, the speakers, the goodwill and kindness... The anger was palpable and absolutely stunning. A great giantess has been awoken, and she is not going back to sleep.

Today, my cheeks hurt from smiling. My upper body and side-boob muscles hurt from Norma Rae-ing my sign around the capitol.* And my heart hurts from the realization that this type of rally is still so very necessary.

Hey baby, what's your sign?

What's that? ...Tired of hearing about the Women's March already? Did you hop on social media yesterday and feel bombarded? Already fatigued from the messages of protest? Burned-out on people and their causes? Irritated by some of the hokier demonstrations?

Well, if so, here is a list of things (in no particular order) that I'm sick and tired of as a women. Issues that still impact my sisters around the globe and get the gals riled.

1. The continuing gender wage gap - which, given how often salary increases are tied to current earnings, will continue to screw over current generations. BUT it's a tide we can turn, to give the future generation a fighting financial chance. 
2. Lack of representation for women in: political offices, the justice system (holla to RBG), upper academic positions (female college presidents?), corporate boards, high-tech fields, STEM occupations, etc.**
3. Violence against women. Domestic abuse, sexual assault, an acceptance of rape culture, et al. No one should live in fear of harm. The human body is a majestic organism that should be respected. 
4. The continual prodding at reproductive rights 
• Insufficient and inconsistent education about sex, contraceptives, birth control methods, etc. being given in school systems. Knowledge is power.
• No mandate for maternity leave (and a lack of support for paternity leave, too!) in the United States, let alone paid leave. If having time to meet your newborn is a concern of yours, ladies, you'd be better off having a baby in almost any other developed country than this one. And don't get me started about how being absent from the workplace for a pregnancy (you know, to bring a LIFE into this world, like a g'damn miracle) can impact promotions, raises, career advancements, and job security in general. And if there are after-birth complications or struggles with postpartum, well, good luck (the healthcare system and your company will likely let you down on those ones)! 
• Speaking of reproductive healthcare, oh boy, raise the inconsistency flag again! A mammogram, a pap, proper care during (and after) a pregnancy - for many women, these don't come cheap. Depending on your insurance coverage, even basic physicals may not be covered. 
• Free birth control (thanks, Obama) being threatened - if men could get pregnant, they'd have birth control in frickin' gumball machines. For everyone in a tizzy about abortions, making the Pill less obtainable isn't going to help. 
• The constant efforts to chip away at Roe vs. Wade. Accessibility to abortion shouldn't depend on where you live, and women shouldn't have to resort to less safe methods due to expense or a lack of clinics. 
• Go ahead, ask me about my ticking clock and I'll tell you how it's none of your damn business.
5. Holy shit, the cost of child care. Affordable and competent child care would make such a difference financially for families. Expensive child care is just one more way to try and force women back into the home, and it's malarkey. 
6. Double standards. Promiscuous women are 'sluts,' but boys are just being boys. In the workplace a man speaking his mind is 'assertive' and displays 'leadership skills,' but a woman is a 'bitch' or 'bossy.' Men can go running topless, but lord forbid a single flash of nipple show while a woman is breastfeeding. Also, let's not even get into the topic of body hair (remember how the bearded lady was literally a circus freak?? #neverforget) Rage rage rage.
7. Human trafficking and the sex slave industry. We're human beings, not property - Need I say more?*** 
8. General equality issues. I mean, thanks so much for allowing us to vote, but equality goes beyond the polls. Every belittling moment where a women's opinion gets pushed aside or she is referred to as being "just a little girl." Every cat call or assumption of "services" based on the proffering of a cocktail out at a bar. Every time a person is seen as less qualified or less worthy somehow due to their gender. We're all humans, let's start treating each other with some dignity already.  

All this and so much more, it's #WhyIMarch. So next time you're "over" the whole "protest thing," try helping us fix some of the issues we're trying to shine a spotlight on. Help us make our point. One voice is a whisper, many voices is a roar. We need all the voices we can muster to help improve things for future generations, just as the feminists before us helped affect the changes that we now reap the benefits of. They left the kitchen and started paving the way. We have to pick up the cause and keep building that path.

We can't go back.

The future is female.

*Seriously, John Cusack must've had huge side-boob muscles from toting around that boom box!
**In my high school "learn about jobs and being an adult" class (which was only a quarter long and clearly not sufficient enough), I will never forget my teacher telling us that the one thing she hoped for, above all, is that one of us would become a female firefighter. Because there weren't enough firewomen in the world. Next class reunion, I'll hold that failure over the heads of all the ladies. We let her down. 
***To quote one of the many amazing signs from the Women's March: "I'm a mind and a soul, not just flesh and a hole." 
**** HUGE note: yes, I know my privilege is showing. As an educated, white, middle-class woman, I know I have things pretty good. But just because things are "good" for me doesn't mean they're "good" for everyone and it's a slippery slope back down to being barefoot in the kitchen. United we stand, no matter our differences. We have to be the voice for the voiceless.

The '017 Files: Jan

No matter how together my life is, somehow, this nagging feeling creeps back in every so often. I get anxious as the little voice (holding a big megaphone) starts shrieking, "Get your shit together!" Get more organized, get in shape, eat better, be happier, advance your career, be a better friend/girlfriend/sibling/daughter/woman/person, etc. The voice has a pretty standard mantra to rattle off, and the anxiety fairy sprays glitter in my eyes til I don't know which way is up and I find myself buried in a bag of chocolates. (Because chocolate drowns all worries, duh.)

Maybe it's not necessarily "good" or "healthy" that this uneasy feeling hits like a ton of bricks so often. But, I like to spin it as a positive little check-up. A nice, motivational little "hey, don't forget to be fabulous today, you go-getter, you!" Of course, I spin it like that so I won't spend even more time freaking out about freaking out... (Don't feed the monster, girl!)

Give me your magic, fountain!I'll take all the luck I can get for '017.

SO, that leads us to 2017. No, not making "resolutions" again this year, but I do want to try out a few things to see if I can kick it up a notch from 2016. One thing will be a "1st of the month" post to collect my thoughts / gameplan for the month ahead... that'd be this, in case you didn't guess. Otherwise, the things I've decided to focus on for January:

1) Habit Forming (I'd like to get a few new ones):

• Daily flossing
• Drinking water/tea first thing each morning, not hot cocoa
• Having my lunch packed and ready each night before bed (want to get into meal preppin' but we'll see how quickly that picks up in the new year - need to research/get ready for that one)
• Doing five squats every time I go to the bathroom (to sneak in some extra exercise)

2) Tracking: 

• If I could curl up inside an Excel spreadsheet and live there, I just might. I use spreadsheets to track life sometimes (calories, exercise, reading time, moneys, etc.). It gives a clearer look at the big picture, and I can't fudge the details when they are quantified right in front of my face. So, I'm starting up my exercise tracker again from now til our Orlando trip (end of February). Will start up another tracker in February (probably budgeting - I know I can't maintain too many at once without getting annoyed, so best to ramp up).
• I love me a good calendar. Besides the big one for social engagements, I have two smaller ones for daily record keeping this month. One is taped to the bathroom mirror and has three to five "must do"s for each day. They're mostly cleaning/apartment maintenance related items. You know, so I don't just scramble before people come over, or randomly freak out that I'm not keeping our place nice enough / am failing as a girlfriend. And, so I can actually remember when I last cleaned the tub and not just think I did it recently (seriously, when was it?!). The second calendar is to track my daily weight. I promise that I hate myself for this one, as I'm a huge believer that health is so much more than a number on a scale, BUT this one is due largely to my "falling off the wagon" and needing to get reoriented with my bod. Weight isn't everything, but it can help remind me that the healthy eating and exercise needs to be a continual priority to help lose/maintain. This calendar is a slippery slope warning beacon, because we all know I've got zilch on the willpower front. 
• Journaling. Yeah. I don't know how I feel about it either. I've had my stints (did the "diary" thing in HS, wrote a daily positive blurb during that dark year after college graduation, etc.), but it never seems to stick. So for January, I'm giving it another go. (Don't I wish I had enough patience for that bullet journaling stuff!)

3) Be More Invested:

• Lean in more at work and get focused on how I can grow/benefit from some of the department changes coming through in the new year. Also want to do some additional training beyond my regular work load. 
• Care more about what food I'm putting into my face and invest in my long-term health by picking better food options. 
• Listen better and be more observant, in order to improve relationships (personal and professional).
• Care about dental health, too. After one root canal, I'm not looking forward to more time with my dentist, but I do need to get a few other teeth-related items addressed now so I can start fresh and strong going forward. Get my chomps all set. 

I think that'll be more than enough to be going on with. 2017 hasn't even hit the 20 hour mark yet and I've already got enough bullet points to keep me busy for the whole darn year. Taking it one month at a time, and hoping to come out of '017 shinier than I came into it.