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!

The Walrus Goes to Disney

A new year meant a new attempt at not being the Walrus. Because I'm no Lennon (Or wait, was Paul the walrus? Shit.) AND mama's got a vacation coming up!

As y'all know, the "let's get healthy and not be a walrus" struggle has been a constant one for me over the years. My walrusdom is of course widely exaggerated, and I'm just in it for the melodrama, which is like a black hole sucking in everyone around me. The beau has to dodge the landmines I lay for him with questions like, "Does this shirt fit right?" and "Do I look good, like, other people would say I look good, or good, like, you say I look good because you love me?" The lady who runs the fitting room at H&M has seen every level of emotion. And the women's shelter and Goodwill have received buckets of clothes that I decided no longer fit (including all those crop shirts from my "Cameron Diaz" phase... sigh).

Meanwhile, I've tried a bunch of approaches to 'reset' or lose some poundage. Cutting sugars was a good one, but I don't have the willpower to do that all the time. (Definitely more conscious about it, since sugar is like killing us all, but I need my candy to live.) And since the gym wasn't working for me, I turned our second bedroom more or less into my home gym (sorry, guests! I light candles!) and started using the free work at gym.

Which brings me to the new year, where I decided to combo all my best approaches to trim some fat off before our fabulous Florida vacation (in which I will once again pretend to be a #BossWitch and gallivant about Harry Potter world). My approach for kicking the weight? Right here, wrapped in a bow for y'all!

Images shown to scale.
(Does everyone weigh themselves naked? I'll take any help I can get!)

For both January and February:

• Weighed myself every morning and wrote it down. Accountability and awareness.
• Did 5 squats every time I went to go to the bathroom. I know, it's weird, but it's all about habit forming!
• Tracked exercise. Had a spreadsheet with a list of moves and had a total goal to hit every two weeks. I need things in bite sized pieces or I don't stay committed #FactsOfLife The moves I were doing were for toning, with a max of 8 pound hand weights (if anyone wants a list, I'd be happy to send it!), so I wasn't beefing up but was tightening the flab. (Although, the guns on my arms may require a permit at this point - ow ow!) And honestly, the amount of effort averaged less than 15 minutes a day probably (not counting walking), so it was super easy to squeeze in.
• Walked it the hell out! I scheduled a 15 minute break every day during work to go hit the treadmill (because my desk is killing me) and took to the pavement whenever possible. Luckily had a few nice days in there to go walk by the lake, but when it was nasty, I took to mall walking (with the old retired people) early morning on weekends. It was fabulous. (I'm sure I'll write up a post about that someday.) 

Month of January:

• Was conscious about food choices, but not calorie counting or tracking. The beau was counting, so that helped slow my going out to eat, which was huge. 
• Besides the stuff I did for both months, in January I mainly just tracked exercise and ramped up activity level. Toning. Woke up those muscles so they could help me burn more in February.

Month of February (aka the last couple days of January - making around 25 days total):

• Because it's the shortest month... calorie counting! Yes, I ruthlessly tracked every little bit. This time I did not set a specific goal to fall under, but I did have one in mind (after using one of those little online calculators that says how many calories you should eat a day based on your age, gender, height, activity level, etc.) and shot for an average. This means I was NOT by any means fully depriving myself. I just had to look at a cookie and decide if it was worth it or not... and what I'd have to give up in its place.... Okay, so yeah, it was a bit of a struggle. Some days were better than others, for sure!
• Also tracked grams of sugar. Previously, when tracking sugars, I tried to keep in the recommended range of 25 to 50 grams per day. This time I was tracking more for awareness to make sure I wasn't just aiming for low calorie items that were killing me in other ways. And this helped shame me out of eating ALL the Valentine's Day candy - which, was... good. 
• Basically drowned myself drinking water. I was so hydrated this month that my shoes practically made squishy sounds when I walked. My brain and body loved it and it helped curb appetite too because I was always so full of water. ALSO, 5 squats every time I went to the bathroom? Well, when you drink buckets of water each day, the squat count goes way up! 

Here's a recap of where I averaged out and ended up:

• Weight lost: 9.2 pounds
• Average calories per day in Feb: 1438 calories
• Around 1400 per day would've been the range to lose 1 pound/week. 
• Note: my highest day was like 2300 calories - yay ladies night!
• Average grams of sugar per day in Feb: 60 grams 
• Max day was around 100 grams, so did pretty damn good on this one. 
• Note: one can of Mountain Dew, the sweet nectar of the gods, is 46 g. 
• Average miles walked per day in Jan and Feb: 1.6 miles
• My max day was over four miles - thanks mall walkin'! 

So just by keeping track and holding myself accountable a bit more, adding in walking and water, and doing a baby amount of exercise, I peeled off almost ten pounds with SUPER minimal effort. There's no point in denying that my willpower is next to none, so if I can pull that off, anyone can. And while there's always more to do (GAH why is body image a moving target?!), right now I feel pretty confident that I'll look wicked awesome in my wizard-kini on the beach. These Michelle Obama arms are ready to shove aside any children that get in my way as I go live the magic and enjoy my Disney / Universal adventure!

Stand tall, friends! Spring is coming!

The '017 Files: Feb

In this month's edition of "get-yo-shit-together-girl": 2017 is one month gone and a Disney vacation looms!

Let's start with a recap on January. This was the month of the bear. One minute, I was in deep winter hibernation mode, hiding from the world in my cave, in a social slumber. The next, a mama bear, protecting the rights and fighting for her cubs at the Women's March. Then it was onto being a loveable teddy bear, squeezed in the arms of someone who loves me so much they might pop my head off (that's an "alternative fact," I was actually a monster during that time, but loved nonetheless). And above all, a roly-poly Pooh Bear. Wintertime is awful, I miss being too-busy and I hate the dreary weather (there hasn't even been snow to be pretty - if I'm going to be cold, it can at least look pretty out).

So, as for the January gameplan - things went pretty alright. Here's a summary on how my list from last month actually worked out in real life:

Habit Forming:

• Aced it on the daily flossing, tea for breakfast (in place of cocoa), and five squats before I pee (which was confusing for several people, I'm sure). 
• Packing my lunch the night before? Eh, that was just okay. Hit or miss. Mostly my usual morning scramble to toss something in my work bag, only to find out later that the lid was loose and there is stirfry in my wallet. Room for improvement, we'll say.

Tracking:

• Exercise tracker - solid and far exceeded all my goals. Which means I was probably going easy on myself and just set my goals too low. Thanks, past self, for the ego boost due to low estimation! Will estimate properly going into February.
• Daily "must do" calendar - pretty much crushed it. I cheated a few times and shuffled things around, added some things just so I'd have more to check off, etc. but overall pretty well done.
• Daily weight tracking - this girl has some work to do. Days were tracked but the numbers were not always so nice.
• Journaling - absolute fail. Nada. Didn't do zilch. Two days in I realized this one was a wash. Maybe some other time.

Be more invested: this one will be an ongoing bit. I'd consider this one a "roll over" item for the next eleven months...

She's making a list, and checking it twice... 

Which brings us into February! It's the shortest month, so it needs to pack a punch. And to be honest, I started out my items for the month on Monday, so, sorry January I stole some of you. MOSTLY because I need to ramp it up before our trip to Orlando, which kicks off on the 25th. Here is what's on the to-do this time around, let's see if we can't stick to it!

Habit forming

• WATER - Need to focus on hydrating like a mother this month. A) Water is good for weight loss because it flushes the system and makes you feel fuller longer, or something something science and B) last time I went to a theme park I had a nasty encounter with wicked bad dehydration and I basically want to preemptive strike that from ever happening again. Aiming for 5 big glasses a day at work and 3 at home, which means I'll be peeing every five minutes... which means lots of squats. So. Double win! 
• 15 minute walk break at work every day. Currently I do this some days, but all the coworkers who I've bullied into going on walks have been moving on to new jobs. Soon enough I'll be walking alone, but I still need to keep at it. It's a good mental health break and will hopefully prevent me from eventually dying at my desk.
• Posture posture posture. Goodness do I need to work on this. Since my desk is already killing me (see above), the least I can do is not die a hunchback.
• Less complaining. Holy cow, I've been cranky lately. Call in the mid-winter jicker if you will, but damn, need to cool it and quit being such a Debby-D. Working on shutting down some of my complaining. Only room to discuss improvement ideas for shitty situation, must block out the pure ranting and raving.
• Smile every time I look in a mirror. I mean, I usually do this to check if there's anything in my teeth anyway, but I'm going to make an extra effort to give myself a big old grin as an affirmation: look at that sexy beast beaming back at you, because you're frickin' crushing it today.
• Dress the part (#bosslady) and not be lazy about my attire at work. It's easy when there's no real dress code. Come on closet full of clothes, don't let me down! (note: shall rock the pantsuit in similar fashion as Paul does in that video #britswag) 

Tracking

• Having shorter daily "must do" list, but keeping up on that housework 
• Still tracking weight and exercise daily - ramping up the exercise goals so I try a bit harder this go of it
• Adding on tracking for calories and sugar grams to get that beach bod (I know it's in there somewhere!) ready for, well... the beach. 

See you again in March, old friend...

"Big Goals" 

• Do NOT pack like an asshat for Florida. I always overpack, but not this time!
• Do my taxes... without my mom. Because I should pretend to be an adult and do them myself. (If I end up in jail for doing something wrong, I'll look back on this with regret, I promise.)
• FINALLY finish up getting our passports renewed. I've been too vain to go in for the photo. The previous one was glasses and braces though, so really, it's all up hill from there and I shouldn't worry so much. 

Since the first couple months are really the jumping off point for the rest of the year, I'm glad that my goal making and taking has gone well. The attitude will adjust as the sun begins to shine (and as executive orders stop being written), and in the meantime I'll just try to keep the bear in check. Let's hope February is more like the month of the mermaid... 

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!