I am, I said

When people talk about identity, there are a lot of ways to slice it. More classifications than can be counted, probably. With new ones being created daily.

By city or state, by country, by religious identification, or sexual orientation, or race, or gender, a group, by creed, or ethnicity. A New Yorker, a Frenchmen, a Mason, a Latino, a Nasty Woman. Mulatto, LGBT, Jewish. There are a million labels and I'd say most people associate with more than one.

Which brings me around to DNA testing. A chance to see inside the shaker of that genetic cocktail. See what you're made of (literally).

I know a dozen or so people who've sent off their spit and cash in exchange for a peak behind the ethnicity curtain. A backward glance to gain some insight into their makeup, to fill in any gaps, to answer the age old question of, "Who am I?" So, naturally I was curious and this year for Christmas I got the gift that keeps on giving: a kit to swap my spit to decode my constitution. Due to what is apparently a holiday spike in lab work, I'm still awaiting my results.

The waiting game leaves room to ponder. Does it really matter what the results say? Will that change my perspective of my identity at all?

I can see why it would for some. If you've always proudly touted your Cajun heritage and how that makes you a gumbo expert, and then find out that not one single drop of Cajun blood flows through your veins, well, that'd be really anti-climactic. It's be a real wet blanket on your spicy Cajun parade.

As for me? Well, I've always identified as a mutt, so I don't think there will be anything contrary to that appearing. Based on family surnames, I've got some Irish, German, Dutch and French-Canadian. If there's any truth behind some saucy stories I've heard about various ancestors, there really could be any number of things mixed in there. (We're a fun bunch, whoever we are. Or else just really good story tellers...) Cher was a half-breed, and she turned out fabulous, so I'm not too worried. There were no "purebred" illusions going into this.

Pretty sure my ancestors painted with ALL the colors of the wind...

Is ethnicity really how I identify though? I mean, it's easy to offhandedly remark about being Irish whenever someone comments on my sunburned porcelain skin or freckles (or love for potatoes). And when people balk at attempting to pronounce my last name, hey, blame the German roots! (Or just, say Gina K, really, it's easier for all of us.) But do I go around wearing a proud badge of those identifiers? Should I be?? Am I failing to represent the culture of those who created this fabulous mishmash of DNA?

And really, what difference will knowing my composition make? I'll still identify as a proud member of my direct family lines. Our little clan of fiercely loyal ragamuffins. Regardless of whatever faraway land my forefathers came from, in recent history, we've considered ourselves a bunch of Midwesterners. Nice, hardworking folk. But that's true of my predecessors as well, I'm sure. Immigration isn't for pansies. And neither is Wisconsin.

Which really makes me wonder, what about my descendants? (Should these child-bearing hips happen to prove their point some day.) Several generations from now will some kid put together a family tree talking about their Midwestern roots? Will they point at my name (middle name missing, DOB just a year - because who keeps track of that shit) and say that I was the furthest back they could trace? Or by that point will all this spit be in a master database somewhere an all that kid has to do is click a button to get an image of my face and entire history? (Heaven help us all if those early Facebook feeds become accessible to future generations) It's hard  to say how they'll identify, but hopefully they'll be just as proud as I am to be exactly who they are: a little bit of everything and a whole lot of spunk.

They say birds of a feather, flock together. So, explain this one to me.

This Provincial Life

Headline: 90s Children Rejoice as Disney Machine Churns Out Live-action Versions of Film Faves
Subtitle: As adults, can no longer ignore dark undertones

Don't get me wrong, the new live-action Beauty and the Beast is stunning. Perfect casting, great costuming, more CGI than you can shake a stick at. Classic musical numbers intermingle with this tale as old as time, and we're all drinking the kool-aid. Take my money, just take it. I'm more than happy to pay for a ticket (is like a train ticket, next stop: my youth!) and let you wring my emotions out of me for a few hours, Disney.

But, let's pause for a second here. While Beauty and the Beast was of course one of my ultimate childhood obsessions (I literally learned French and to this day am enamored over beautiful libraries), watching it through an adult lens brings a different perspective.

Setting aside some of the backstory additives in the new version (as I don't want to spoil - but like, spoiler alert, there's plague involved - WTFuck), there's a lot of things to be frustrated by.*

1. What's a gal got to do to get a little adventure around here? Ah yes, be taken prisoner and develop Stockholm syndrome. Typical.
2. "Little town, it's a quiet village." Only it's not quiet at all. The small town is abuzz with gossip and nosy people with nothing better to do than start a rumor, ruin a life, or somehow further invade the privacy of their neighbors. Small town, small mindset. The portrayal in the "Bonjour" number reminds me painfully of grocery shopping in my hometown. Can it be a good thing? Yes, people know you and want to look out for you. Can it be awful? Yes, especially if you're the "peculiar" one like in this scenario. Then it can be a terrifyingly lonely life. 
3. Who is supplying the fresh food to this hidden, isolate magic castle? And does Belle even get to take a bite to eat during the "Be Our Guest" spectacle? Girl is starved and all she gets is a finger dollop of the grey stuff??
4. "It's not right for a woman to read. Soon she starts getting ideas... and thinking." HOW dreadful! Gaston literally is the patriarchy and the villagers are totally on board. Belle is ostracized for her intelligence and for wanting to lead a life beyond just that of a "little wife." The reason Belle is a good heroine is because she spends the whole movie trying to resist. You smash that patriarchy, girl! 
5. Speaking of Gaston, oh, I could go on for hours. He's labelled a "Disney Villain" for a reason, but his behavior isn't that uncommon, unfortunately. Everyday villainy occurs when gender role expectations are used to limit people.... Ladies should be thrilled to become wives. Burly men hunt and bring home food for said little wives to prepare meals for the children that they'll breed and raise. Manly men should have biceps to spare, ladies shouldn't have their nose stuck in a book.... Ugh ugh ugh. 



Let's take the muscle away from the patriarchy, shall we?

6. Doesn't a royal family typically lead the government? When the Prince and co. all just turned into creatures and were magically forgotten by everyone, was there a new government that rose up in their place to rule the kingdom? Or is it just lawlessness and lynch mobs now... oh wait... 
7. Mob mentality. There's a beast that we don't know anything about, but he looks different than us and that is scary. So grab the torches. Let's go burn this mother down. Sound archaic and silly? Well, it's just a more brutal, flaming version of building a wall really.
8. Toxic friendships. Again, Gaston is literally the worst. His bad bromance with LeFou is awful. He is domineering and treats his "friend" like shit, intimidating him into supporting his brutish antics. They try to force a woman into a marriage she doesn't want, lock up an old man, lead a riot, and overall just suck. What kind of man might LeFou be if he weren't caught up in this toxic relationship? Let this be a lesson to us all: dump the toxicity before it poisons you to death.
9. The overall premise of the curse. The castle has been under the spell for a decade by the time Belle and Beast start up their little tryst. So Beast was just a child when a creepy old woman showed up on his doorstep. A child. Not letting a stranger into the house. And we punish him for that?? I wouldn't let a stranger creepy hag into my home either, and I'm a grown ass woman. Also, why was a prince answering the door in the first place? He clearly has a whole castle full of servants. I bet Mrs. Potts would've given the old lady some tea and tucked her into bed with a kiss on her warted forehead, and then none of them would've been in this mess in the first place.
10. When the last petal falls: their humanity is gone. So, effectively, the enchantress condemns an entire castle full of people to DIE. Right now, they're running around all animated, living it up as teapots and snarky old clocks, but once that rose is petal-less, Beast becomes a beast forever, and the servants stop being lively and just become inanimate objects. They are all no longer human. The rose is a death sentence at the end of a long imprisonment for a minute crime. The justice system is totally effed when you let a pissed off enchantress (who likes to stalk around in stormy weather pretending to be an old hag??) act as both judge and executioner.  
11. Crazy old Maurice. Yeah, being an eccentric does not a lunatic make. Clearly this was set in an older time, but the fact that mental illness is still fairly taboo in this day in age is maddening. At least now we don't cart people off to terrifying facilities when they're different. 
12. Falling in love. Such an abstract concept shouldn't be put on a timer. Screw you, rose petals. Beast has been isolated with only servants as companions for years (and it wouldn't be appropriate for him to be on a personal level with them really, but, I mean, when you're cursed, rules of social hierarchy be damned). How is he supposed to be a Romeo when he lacks basic human interaction? Clearly that library wasn't stuffed with romance novels, because he's about as suave as an actual candlestick. And if he was learning how to be romantic from the talking candlestick, Lumière, then he believes romance is sneaking around and being a bit rapey with the maids. Also, he was a child when the curse was placed. So he spent all of puberty as a beast. I mean, didn't we all (amiright?!), but consider that self-confidence shot to shit. 
13. If almost all the objects in the castle are former servants - who got the short straw and became a chamber pot?
14. That magic mirror. When Belle shows up in town like, "Hey everyone, see, my dad's not a nutter, here's the beast right here in this magic mirror!" Um, lock that bitch up as a witch. If the townspeople are afraid of a beast, but not an enchantress, well, then clearly they've never rejected an old hag with a rose and suffered the consequences before.

But I digress... The new movie is fantastic. The old film is still a quintessential Disney classic. Belle still has me convinced that even we pale brunettes can pull off yellow in the right context. I should make a point to learn how to ballroom dance, just in case the need should arise. AND it's time to go stick my nose in a book and plan an adventure in the great wide somewhere. Cheers!



* It's not necessarily that the movie itself frustrates me, but that people and society are frustrating, even if they're in cartoon/movie form.
** Overall Note: none of this is new, I realize. We've been discussing the original film for over 25 years now. But with a fresh take on it, all the old thoughts were stirred up again. Wanted to keep this post spoiler-free, BUT if you wanna chat new BatB - like how they cut three of my fave scenes and how the additional back story stuff was just a device to punch my heart - I'd love to!

One for You, Nineteen for Me

Confession: I am not a real life adult.

This fact was made all the more clear by my display of utter childishness and grown-ass woman faceplant-level failure tonight. What was the special occasion you ask? Oh, quite simple. For the first time in my life, I ventured to file my taxes alone.

Hint: it did not go well. I'm not proud of the events that unfolded. Only now, as I write this, shoveling brownies into my face, can I look back and fake a semblance of a laugh at this awful awful process of patriotic torture.

You see, all year, Uncle Sam borrows your money. Your hard earned cash frickin' money. And every spring, you go through a mound of paperwork and online filing madness (or pay more of your hard earned money to have someone else do it for you) in order to tell Uncle Sam exactly what he owes you back. He already knows what that number is, but like a middle-school math teacher, he wants you to come up with that number yourself.* And then, the funny part, is you celebrate it. The tax refund splurge: time to go on vacation and buy a new car! WHAT? That's your money. It could've been yours all along. Instead, it was being used by the government, and whatever you manage to argue back via a series of complicated forms, that's your prize!

And if you don't fill out those forms, then guess what, it's tax evasion... and that's what gangsters and bootleggers go to jail for. That's how they got Al Capone. Do you want to be in jail with frickin' Al Capone?? No. Not really, even if you think gangster hats are neat. So you comply, and go through the process.

I'm not embarassed to say that up til this point, my mama has helped file my taxes. She does payroll for a living. I trust her with my money numbers and she's a trained professional, so, why wouldn't I want her help? But, in an effort to "prove my adultness" or whatever, I decided to e-file alone. My mom and I had gone through the paper form over the weekend and calculated my returns. I had all the details, I was set. I figured online filing would just be popping in those same numbers, no big deal.

Ignorance was bliss. Filing my taxes online... was not.

If the forms were so important, they wouldn't be so easy to lose in the mail. 

So I put on Patsy Cline's greatest hits album. And Patsy sang me through my hysteria. There were all these questions that I didn't have answers for. (Apparently I have an HSA account that I didn't know about - who knows where that money is hiding.) "Crazy" carried me through the income portion of my federal, as I frantically threw papers about, grasping for numbers (can't I just write "income = not enough"?). The beau, who of course filed weeks ago (because he's a mature human and has done his own taxes since before he needed to shave), looked on empathetically and offered help. I stubbornly hulked out (total grownup move) and rejected all offers and instead called my mom. "I fall to pieces" appropriately came on, as I sobbed on the phone with my poor mother (bless her heart) while the e-filing site I was using proceeded to tell me that this filing was not free after all,** logged me out, and erased my entire form.

Freeze frame me, at the table, tax form papers strewn about, catching my tears. Beau hiding out in the kitchen (baking the Thin Mint brownies that I'm now eating, that wonderful man) while Patsy Cline blared out "Leaving on your Mind" and I seriously hoped he wasn't listening to the lyrics too closely and thinking about leaving me - since I'm clearly a crazy person incapable of completing adult tasks. A newly blanked out e-form pulled up on the laptop. My pride, no where to be seen.

So, how does this story end? Well. I put my boss-lady pants on and redid the form. And now my federal taxes have officially been submitted.*** The state ones? Listen, point blank, that shit ain't gonna happen today. They can wait til tomorrow. If they can't, well, then call me Capone and take me away. There's only so much energy a gal can muster at the end of what was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. In fact, the ridiculousness of my ambition, in deciding to do my taxes tonight, that's where this went wrong. Sometimes, one should just settle for phoning it in and picking up the receiver again later.

What a mighty good man. All the "brownie" points!

Overall note: to be fair, not only did I go into this after an awful day, but I also watched an episode of "This is Us" which just opened the floodgates for emotions, as always.  * Only this middle school math teacher is drunk and instead throws calculus worksheets in front of 12 year olds - sure, maybe they can figure out what numbers to put where but they probably don't understand why or what the hell the final number means. I'm the 12 year old in this scenario.
** It was free, if you lived in a certain state and made below a certain income - which I did and I do. BUT if you haven't clicked through to file from the IRS website, you do NOT get a free filing. If you go to the website any other way, they screw you over and charge you. Dirtbags. Total dirtbags. 
*** And they sure as shit better not get rejected come tomorrow, or this gal will be out looking for a higher place to jump.

Reinforcements

You know the text. It comes through at approximately 12:05 am on a Saturday night. An often misspelled and emoji-ridden piece of communication, typically along the lines of "Where u at?"

Awaking from your sweet slumber, you grope for your phone on the nightstand. It blinks, illuminated, in the darkness. OR you glance over at your glowing phone, sitting on the coffee table, as you're curled up on the couch, midway through an entire TV series that you've been binging (only a season and a half to go, you can easily finish that before bed). It's not a ring, just a text alert. No one is calling, which means it's not an emergency.

Knowing full well what awaits, you glance at the sender. Figures. It's usually them. They tend to be out and about at this hour. At that point, you can chose to ignore, or fire off a quick response. You can be super ambitious and take action, or just stay where you are and make an excuse / pretend not to have seen it.

Because you know that text all too well: they're calling in reinforcements.

Ring a ding ding ding - is that Voldemort calling?

We've all been there. You're out, having a night on the town, when the wind changes. The night was going so well, but something has shifted. The vodka says, "You need to text the others." This can be for any number of reasons, but it's usually one of the following:

1. It occurs to you that one (or more) of your friends is missing out on the fun. You can't let them miss out. How bummed out will they be when you're all talking about how fabulous this night was, and they weren't there? The justified FOMO would be intolerable. Can't risk it, best get them to join. At least you can say you tried.
2. Everyone else has started to taper off, but you're still rarin' to go. The first sign of someone checking their watch, or opening up the Uber app, and you're worried. Your buzz is going strong and you'll be damned if you're going to cut it off because someone else wore the wrong shoes and is bitching about going home. The night is young and you can't paint this town alone!
3. The current company has gotten, well... boring. You don't want to hear so-and-so's work story again, or listen to the same rehashed tale of yesteryear. This crew needs some fresh blood. You need a match to relight the fire. An addition to the group will mix things right back up, surely.
4. Something has triggered a memory. Their name gets brought up, you run into an old mutual friend, TLC pops on the jukebox, etc. Whatever it is, it reminds you that this other person is not currently present. You need to tell them to be, so they can skip down memory lane with you - it's a lonely lane to tango on alone. They'll love laughing at that one drunk bitty at the bar who reminds you of some other lush you both saw out once. You need someone to appreciate how similar she is to that person in your shared recollection. You miss them and your shared mind space.
5. You need a protector. There's a bunch of aggressive predators about and you just don't want to fight the "let me buy you a drinks" alone (as your current group isn't helping due to obliviousness or inebriation). OR, sometimes you just know you're hitting the point of no return. You've got the one friend who will always have your back and get you home safe, and you know you'll have a strong need for that person come bar close. The legs are hitting jelly mode, and when they go, you need a jar to catch you.
6. Just because. A boozy brain doesn't always have logic.

When I see the backlit glow, and read the name of the sender, it makes my heart smile. I may be being lazy, and firmly planted in the confines of my home, but out there, celebrating life, is a good friend. And they are wooping it the hell up. Granted, if I read the text and find out it's a number five scenario, I'm less happy and more a frantic flurry of PJ pants and shoes, trying to find my keys to go save them, but, that's just how life goes sometimes.

As the first day of spring approaches, my hibernation period will finally be coming to a close. At that point, the tables will turn, and I won't be on the receiving end of the call for reinforcements as often. Though, to be fair, I may be the sender a good deal more often... know that I send nothing but love, and try not to be too peeved that I'm pinging you at abnormally late hours. I just miss your face, is all. Just send in the cavalry and we'll discuss proper adult behavior another day.

(And you better put those dancing pants on before you walk out the door!)

The '017 Files: March

Well damn, this is not going up on the first, as intended. The tail end of February and beginning of March I was happily MIA in Orlando, kickin' it in the happiest place on earth. So, was busy not blogging - sorry, internets.

Before jumping on March, here's a quick recap of February. After crushing it in January, my February list went pretty okay. Ish. For some things anyways...

Habit forming

• I nearly drowned with all the water I drank, so CHECK! Also, was consistent with my 15 minute work walk breaks and calmed down on my bitching/complaining. Win!
• Posture - ugh. I tried but not that hard. Same with #BossLady dressing, it was hit or miss. As for smiling at myself in the mirror. OMFG, I think as a way to stop being cranky to others, I just was cranky at myself. I was queen of the scowl this month. Saw some great shade thrown in every mirror I passed.  

Tracking / "Big Goals"

• Kept up on housework, tracked weight daily and did great on my exercise tracking.
• Calorie and sugar tracking went well, too. Finished strong before the trip.
• While I did still overpack slightly, I still had tons of extra space for souvenirs, so yay!
• Taxes and Passports - um. Carryover?

A little less conversation, a little more action.

Alright, so February was really just me running like a maniac towards vacation. I focused on things that would help me look / feel stellar for the trip and that's about it. This month is already five days in and it's time to get into some sort of gear. Here's what's on the list!

Habit Forming

• Cook at home - now that we're not calorie counting, we can get back to cooking. Plan to only eat out a max of five times this month (starting now). The beau and I have so many things we want to make, so time to get back to the kitchen!
• Keep walking - all the walking I did leading up to our trip literally saved my life. I'd be ghost-writing this blog had it not been for that preparation. Over the course of five days we did over 100,000 steps. A far cry from me being chained to my desk for nine hours a day. Thank goodness I "practiced" a bit!
• Posture - but like, for real this time. I've got a little reminder that will buzz off every 15 minutes on my computer at work to keep me in check this month.

"Big Goals"

• Taxes and Passport renewal - this still needs doing.
• Be engaged - time to fill in some of those blank social calendar slots. Because my soul can't handle the winter isolation and after the time in sunny Florida, my brain now thinks it's summertime. Which means, social time. I need to have conversations with people again and be out in the world. Winter, I'm over you.
• Set up a dentist appointment - and floss leading up to it!
• Do a puzzle - #BecauseStress
• Send at least three cards / letters - people love getting mail.
• Read a book - #Because
• Put up at least one photo album on FB - since I keep having a recurring dream that I lose all my photos, I guess FB is my "backup." Plus, I mean, it's been awhile. Sorry, friends. I promise they'll all surface some day... when you least expect it. 

There's no point in dwelling on the womps of February, so here's to pushing forward into March! So far, off to a great start for fun (with vacation time, Shamrock shuffling and lady brunch dates) but not so much for getting stuff done... 

Puzzling, how quickly time can fly!