Put your boobs away

Feminismradicalnotion-1Why does it seem like self-esteem for humans is at an all time low? Why is the media focus on sex and sexulizing of women and girls? Why are more women around me subservient to their men? What the hell has happened and why am I the only one who is sadden by it? Okay, I know I am not the only one, but for every 1 friend who is outraged, there are 5 more who are showing their boobs off on Facebook, sexting with men who are not their husbands and generally sell sex to be noticed and wanted.

So what I am talking about?

Women’s role in this world… and by role I do not mean subservient.

I am gobsmacked by some of the things around me.

I am watching the Jian Ghomesi circus like a train wreck gone really bad. I cannot keep my eyes off it. Likely more than most women I know, I really understand why women didn’t come forward or tell the police. What’s the point? Unless there video proof…and then there better be a man to corroborate the story, Women/Victims are just not believed. I wasn’t. I told a few people, and I was accused of exaggerating because he was ‘so nice’.

yeah… about that. He wasn’t who he said he was. He LIED. Shocking, but people who are shifty LIE. Good girls keep their mouth shut and smile, don’t do anything that may upset ‘your Man’.  This was advice from my Grandmother, she was a quintessential 50’s house wife. She also was abused but said nothing – her’s wasn’t physical as far as I could tell, just emotional – which I think is worse. Cuts and bruises heal. Emotional trauma doesn’t.

Then I read an article from the Huff on how to have more sex with your wife…. are you ready for this? Clean up Cat Puke and text her.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

If the cat pukes and you walk over it to let me clean it up…you are a dead man.

If you clean it up and text me hoping for sex, I am going to tell you right now

  1. Cat puke is not sexy
  2. Cleaning is not sexy
  3. It’s your house too, so clean up
  4. Expecting sex for a task/job/money is prostitution

There is nothing sexy about being a prostitute. Whoever wrote that article also suggested that Texting your gal that you are going to buy breakfast so sleep in will get you sex…let me explain something to you

  1. You just woke her up to tell her you are going out. You wake me up and you are a dead man
  2. Surprises are not something you let her know in advanced. IT’s not a surprise then.
  3. It’s breakfast… you can’t cook? You can’t make coffee because its usually her job?
  4. Expecting sex for task/job/money is prostitution

Again, there is nothing sexy about being a prostitute. Well…some people role play and that’s a different blog.

Lately there is a trend happening with the whole ‘sexy whore’ thing. Halloween has come and gone and I saw WAY MORE Not-A-Commodity-feminism-23195990-400-600boobs and belly buttons than I care to admit. My niece let me know that an adult female costume could not be found without sexy connotations that go with it. This was true for even for children’s costumes. There is nothing more disgusting than a 5 year old girl in a mini skirt and belly shirt. First off, DON’T BUY IT. Don’t support these insane notions that sexulizing females and female children is appropriate. Why can’t we all just like each other for our interests and smarts and humour and kindness and ideas. Why is it not common to aspire to be smart, innovative or creative. Why must we be looked at as objects?

You want to have more sex? Tell the women you are with how smart she is. Listen to what she has to say. Respect her opinion. Ask her how she feels, ask about her needs, wants and desires.

Then tell her how you feel, what your needs, wants and desires are because THAT is sexy and no tasks/jobs/money exchange hands.

One day the looks wear off and all you are left with is everything underneath. Let’s hope it is support, kindness, interesting and innovative. Sounds a lot like friendship.

Now that is something you were never told to look for in a mate.

If you did, you win.IMG_7998

News Flash! I just saw a picture of the Ex’s Wife and I feel FABULOUS!

types-body-shapes-800x800

Have you ever creeped on Facebook to look up people from your past and are relieved that they haven’t adjusted their privacy settings so you can take a peek into their lives today? YOU HAVE SO…don’t lie.

I did it today.

I am very glad I did. Especially after Sunday’s incident.

I have struggled with body image issues forever and a day, largely in part to the men of my past. I know – what the hell was I thinking? Apparently I wasn’t.

The problem with memories, is they tend to be locked in time. So as I age – 45 and fabulous thank you very much – I become hyper aware of my skin, hair and body shape. When the ex and I split, a huge part of it had to do with my body image. It wasn’t his ideal and he let me know. I am one of those curvy girls, I will never be the anorexic super models. Today I learned that embracing who I am is as important as embracing what I look like.

I took a good look at the ex’s wife.

She looks like she could be any mom at the high school. She looks like she might be a friend of mine – maybe… I am fussy and only pick awesome friends.

She looks like she is smart – and neglects her appearance because she relies on her brains. Nothing wrong with that- I am a huge fan of brains. When I say she neglects her appearance, I just mean – she doesn’t focus on it. Nondescript dress, frizzy hair, no makeup, in other words plain.

I realized that I had been holding myself up to an imaginary standard. I pictured someone my ex would choose as tiny, petite drop dead gorgeous gal who had the perfect everything.

Then I saw her.

Lightbulb moment.

The guy is not George Clooney. He isn’t fabulously rich, brilliant or even empathetic. Why would he get a gal like that? Stacey Keibler she isn’t. But I bet she is right for him or what he thinks he deserves.

So why did I think lesser of myself because I wasn’t a supermodel? Good question. Why do women do that?

I can tell you he did talk A LOT about my body. I do know weight disgusted him because of the off colour remarks he would make. So obviously his current girl is rail thin. But she doesn’t have the healthy fitness glow I have. Her arms aren’t toned and I bet she can’t run 10k. My skin has WAY LESS wrinkles because good skin care starts from birth. Thank you ladies of my life who taught me how to take good care of my skin. I should BE so lucky to look like my Grandmother when I am in my 80’s. Her skin is fabulous. I am headed down the right track.

Looking at her picture (the ex’s wife) I also can see the wrinkles she does have are not laugh lines. That is sad. I know from other people she is less than enthusiastic about things that don’t involve her so smiling is sparse and when she does smile, it never reaches her eyes.  That makes me sad for her.

Of course this is all speculation and judgement on my part. I am more than my physical image and she is too.

I just wish it didn’t take me so long to figure that out. It makes me want to punch her husband with some good sense.

Life is a sum of all parts. Not just beauty. That fades.

And apparently, some of us get better with age…like a great wine.

I hope she is happy because that is all that really matters.

 

My hair is nicer than Barbie’s and its about time

When I was 6, I received ‘Quick Curl Barbie’ for Christmas. Likely because she had curly hair like me. I didn’t have friends who had curly hair, they all had the lovely long straight blond hair of the 70’s. The kind that Jan and Marcia Brady had. I was a curly head brunette kid, who looked like a boy because of my short locks (Thanks Mom!).

Quick Curl Barbie was beautiful for one day. She had  synthetic hair with strands of wire woven into it. This was to ‘hold’ the curl in place – kind of like weaving pipe cleaners through your hair for that Pipi Longstocking look. Barbie came with a pink brush, comb and curling wand. Give those tools to a 6 year old and soon the beautiful Barbie had rats moving into her hair. The ends became all matted and knotted. Basically it looked like crap for the rest of the Barbie’s natural life. Funny…so did mine!

Quick curl Barbie #4220
Quick curl Barbie with new hair

Quick Curl Barbie the next day

Quick Curl Barbie the next day

Some time between starting this blog back in 201o and today, I lost my curl. I no longer have the tight curls of my youth except for the nape of my neck. Those critters are still curly like my baby curls. If I don’t flat-iron my hair, I have thick or big hair. It’s still straight but just bigger. Swimming made a mess of my hair and my hair dresser reprimanded me regularly. I decided I needed to let my hair grow out so I could get a proper cut. My hair had become the exact same as Quick Curl Barbie. Wiry, stiff and a weird not blond colour. It had grown past my shoulders – only when I straightened it could you tell it was that long, and I was tired of the ugly hair. Time had come for an appointment to cut it all off.

I went into the stylists and told her what I had been doing and why. Then I said, “I trust you, do what you need to do to fix it and I want to look sassy because, quite frankly I need hair to match my personality.” She told me she loved it when she was given free rein, and off to the sink we went.

Hair Stylist – “So tell me, how blonde were you as a kid? Because the blonde is holding up really well!”

Me – “I have never been blonde in my life”

HS – “um…yes you are.”

Me – “WTF? 45 and NOW I get the Long Blonde Straight hair of my dreams? Oh sweetie, that is GREY hair mixed with my BROWN hair.”

HS – “If we add some foils of Dark Brown and Blonde, use your natural colour as the base, you will look like you have always been blonde.”

Me – “Do it.”

So not only do I have the best cut I have ever had in my life (from a girl who was BORN IN THE 90’s!!), I now have long straight hair and will look like I am a natural blonde with highlights and lowlights by Thursday. Dreams DO come true.

Suck it Barbie, my hair is now NICER than YOURS.

Faith, Hope and Trust and a little bit of Pixie Dust

Jiminy Cricket / Pepe GrilloIt is no secret that I love the magic of Disney. There is something about the way I feel as I wander down Main Street. I am suddenly transported back to my very first visit.

I was six. As with most of the great vacations of my life, the entourage was present. The faces have changed over the years and new ones were born to be added to the entourage, but there is something about traveling with a large group of people you love being with that makes the vacation that more special. The cast of characters were my parents, my brother (1 1/2 years my jr.), my mom’s baby sister (6 years my senior), my moms friend from childhood (they were friends since they were 10) and her husband and young sister.

Now, memories that stick out for me were sitting on the sidewalk watching the parades go by. I remember meeting Mickey and being so nervous I thought I might spew right on Main Street and singing on the balcony at the Motel 6 with my Aunt. We were famous for putting on song and dance shows and were constantly in rehearsal preparing for that day when we would have a show of our own…we are still waiting by the way, but we are still prepared!

My Aunt bought a box of lemon drops from the Candy shop on Main Street. It was a clear square plastic box with Jiminy Cricket figurine fix firmly to the lid. She doled them out sparingly, savouring the memory that it provided. The memory was the thrill and excitement of Disneyland seen through our eyes. We saw Magic. The amazing part of it all is I can walk down Main Street at the age of 44 and STILL see the magic I saw as a child of 6. That is why I love that place so much. I remember the feeling, the smells, the sounds and being incredibly happy. Inside the box of lemon drops once it was empty-ish…was tiny sparkles of sugar. At the time I knew it to be Pixie Dust. The magical sparkles from Tinkerbelle. The very dust that offered magic at your finger tips so you could fly.

Being the person I am, I licked my finger and stuck it in the pixie dust when no one was looking. I carefully examined the dust on my fingers. I thought about sprinkling it in my hair and thinking a good thought so I could fly. However, I owned a cape and could fly with it instead. Careful not to waste this pixie dust, I licked it.

Eating the pixie dust would ensure I carried it with me forever. Imagine having the possibility of being forever magical. I was going to make it happen.

I licked my finger.

I swallowed it.

I was forever magical.

The thing about pixie dust, and Peter Pan will tell you this, you need to have faith and hope and trust. I did for many years. Then one day I forgot.

Years later I was browsing in a chachky store and saw a beautiful crystal bowl filled with fine white and silver glitter. Perched on the side was a tiny silver spoon. The tag said fairy dust. I knew it was a typo. I knew they meant Pixie Dust. I wanted to buy it then and there but I didn’t. The practical me had a baby and a toddler at home. I knew they would have fistfuls in their eyes and on my carpet in no time. So I left it in that store for a someday.

Yesterday’s post triggered that memory for me. I think it’s time to put out the Pixie Dust as a reminder tha magic is everywhere and I just need to believe.

All I need is some faith, hope and a little bit of Pixie Dust.

 

Zip Your Lip

Did you every see the Adam Sandler Movie You Don’t Mess with the Zohan? I saw it years ago, and yes I laughed with a guilt that only comes from knowing you are laughing about a cultural difference is wrong on many levels…yet I laughed anyways. For those of you who do not feel the need to rush out and queue it up on Netflix, I will give you the basic premise so my blog today will have a frame of reference for you.

Adam Sandler plays  Zohan, an Israeli Special Forces Soldier who fakes his death so he can re-emerge in New York City as a hair stylist.

Let’s fast forward to yesterday. I was shopping with my Honey and ChatterBox. We were looking for swimsuits, phone chargers, Apple TV, and Coach Bags. Yes I bought my very first Coach Bag, she is beautiful and I love her more than my Offspring $15 boots that were a great find! While we were walking down the mall, we passed a kiosk where a man was holding a tray of salt and offered me some. Now I am never going to turn down a free hand scrub, so I accepted it. Massaging the salt into my hands was a tremendous stress reliever. I look at the fellow who offered it to me and he bluntly asked me, why have you never done anything about your Rosacea? I defended my position and exclaimed I did! I just have redness and not the acne associated with it. My new friend said (in a thick Israeli accent) “No no no no no, you are Scottish, Irish, or English, No? I can tell because those women always came to my salon in Israel looking for treatment and only I could help. I tell you what, I fix your rosacea, you zip your lip about the price, and we have a deal, no? Here, you sit, I be back.”

He had me charmed! I was memorized by his crass humor and his stereotypical behavior. To me, I was talking to Zohan aka Adam Sandler. The resemblance was uncanny! The mannerisms were identical!

He continued on ” Here you sit, you are too tall for me, I cannot reach. You know what they say, everyone is the same size in bed.” He just shrugged as he looked at Chatterbox, looking a tad bit remorseful. So I sat, I was getting a facial! WOOHOO! He went on to explain the importance of serum to repair my cheeks, “Now look, I put this on and boom, already it is better, No?” ChatterBox was all over it! She was WOW what a HUGE difference, while Honey looked and shrugged his shoulders saying he couldn’t tell. Then my new friend pulled out the collagen and put it on half my face Are you kidding me? That was an instant face-lift! Half my face lifted up towards my eyes. ChatterBox replied with a HOLY COW! My new friend then produced a mirror and said this was a “This is a $495 value, but because you are so beautiful, I will give it to you for $295 but zip your lip about the price. Here, take my arm and will walk over here.” I’m a sucker for an elbow being offered to me, so off I went to the cash register with him. He started writing it up and I said, I can’t afford this stuff! It’s too expensive. “Ok ok, here’s what I do for you, I throw in a facial, a $75 value, but you must come to my salon downtown”  Hold on there Tex! I cannot pay $300 for face cream, are you kidding me? “Ok ok, we can see you bought a Coach bag, you like fine things. Let me see what I can do” Off to his calculator he went, he made a LOT of frowny faces, and huffed and puffed, then he said ” Ok ok, I give you my manager’s discount. I only give my mother this discount, but you zip your lip and tell no one the fabulous deal I give. When they tell you how gorgeous you look, you send them to me. I do not want your mother, sister and all your friends to come to me looking for this deal, do we understand each other? $250 and it’s yours, only my mother should see such a deal!” $250! Are you kidding me? No, I cannot afford that. “You drive hard bargain, Ok ok, I sell you this jar for $125, still give you the facial, and then you can buy the serum at the facial if you still want it. That’s my bottom line.”

I looked over at my family, and I am killing myself laughing. There is no way I would spend that much money on face cream! Tiffany boxes – YES! Coach bags – YES! Face Cream? HA! No way Zohan. Mrs. Stadler has the nicest skin in my family, she uses No. 7 from Boots Drug Store. It is $30. I look at Zohan, put the coupon on the counter and give him a firm “No”

“That’s it? No, just like that? No? Really? No?” was what I heard as I walked away.

That was the most fun I had in a long time. He was hilarious. Go see him, just zip your lip about the price.

Hair Challenged or Glue Challenged?

I have come to the conclusion that I am hair challenged. My brand new hair style is impossible for me to keep up with. I spent countless hours 45 minutes this morning trying to re-create what my Hair Guru did for me on Wednesday. My sister is trying to help me, but I may be one of those hopeless causes.

Hair isn’t the only thing I am challenged at. I have glue issues too. My girl friends can attest to this. I am the gal at the scrapbook table looking for small pieces of paper that I have painstakingly cut out only to lose those tiny pieces that are crucial to my design.  Then, hours later, my friend will glance at my hair and there it is. Stuck with tape or glue to my hair. I kid you not. Maybe it has every thing to do with my hair and nothing at all to do my ability to use glue, tape or a flat iron.

When I was little, I had the worst hair. I mean the WORST hair imaginable on a girl. Followed years later by my sister. Our mother was helpless in the batter of our hair. Those were the days before useful hair product. Hair spray and Brill Cream was available, but seriously…not suitable for the clown hair we sported. I dreamed of long flowing locks of gold that were straight and shiny.  I was blessed with hair that curled in clumps. I could feel it move on my scalp. I was often called a boy. It didn’t help that my name was more popular for boys than girls.

I remember being 5 and arguing with another 5 year old about whether or not I was indeed a girl. To prove it I showed her my undershirt which had a lovely bow fastened on the front. My argument was what boy would wear a bow? That’s right, she had no response. Clearly my brains were too much for her. My argumentative and reasoning skills have always been second to none. Ask my poor mom.

When I was in High School, I remember sitting in front of my mirror learning how to use hair products and irons. I am great at styling 80’s hair. The problem is it is 2011. 80’s just isn’t ok anymore, and who are we kidding, was it every really ok?

I have with me a list of hair product and flat iron tools that my sister insists I need to keep my hair looking like my Hair Guru did it on Wednesday. Apparently this will cost me more money.

Awesome.

Then I think I need to sit in front of my mirror and practice until I have perfected the skill. That doesn’t thrill me. I am 43 not 14. Clearly I need the practice, but golly GEE WHIZ! I need this skill if I am to continue forward with the new me. I have found a jacket that does not look like a colourful circus tent! YAY ME! I found fantastic boots that say – Adult not camp counselor. Now I need the hair. After the hair… jewelry that pulls it together.

I’m getting there, but I need my sister to come over first.

A lot to be said for hats…

No, I Actually Pay to Have My Hair Look Like This.

The year was 1984. I had HUGE 80’s hair and I needed a drastic change. My girlfriends and I went to see Against All Odds with Rachel Ward. I can’t tell you anything about the movie except how great her hair looked! It was short, curly and dark, coincidentally the same as mine! I left the theater with the movie magazine in hand and marched off to my hairdresser. She looked at it for several minutes then started cutting. I emerged sporting a sexy new ‘do! The sad and tragic news of that day is, that hairstyle stayed with me for 2 decades.

I realized I needed to look in the mirror when I started teasing people with the same feathered locks they sported in high school. I would think to myself and when I say “myself” I mean out loud, Welcome to 1979! Time to join the 21st century people! Eh hem! Look here missy, you have no room to talk! Wow, I was one of those sad people who couldn’t leave their past behind.

Time to march myself off to the hairdresser again. This time I picked someone new. Someone who was young and hip, someone who was current. I confessed to her and she told me what I needed to do. Grow my hair out, and see her regularly to keep it looking nice-ish while it was growing. I could do this, not a problem.

So time passed, and I saw her every 4 weeks while the hair was growing. Then suddenly, it was time. A new hairstyle was born! I really like her because she encourages me to try new things. She attempts to keep me as current as my hair will allow. Now remember I have Clown Hair, so styles are limited but we try.

Fast forward to my vacation in Europe. I had Clown Hair Extreme. The humidity was off the scale, not quite Florida, but it was a far cry from my dry as toast prairie home. My hair was long and fuzzy, about a sexy as the Jewish reporter on Glee. I was desperate. After arriving home, I lasted two days. I needed my hairdresser. So off I went to get a new ‘do! She chopped about 6″ off, it was light, flowing in a fluffy soft way. Curls were defined. It was cute! I loved it! Then I went to work…

My team didn’t notice. When I said I got almost 6″ cut off, my co-worker said “Really? It looks the same!” Gee… Thanks? I take a risk and get half a foot of hair removed and it looks the same? Awesome.

So where does that leave me for my next risky hair do? I guess I will dye it Granny Blue because I already have the Permanent.

Nice ‘fro! Did you pay to have it look that?

There is something so fabulous about a Drag Show! I was continuing my further adventures through Fringing by attending Guys in Disguise Classic III in 3D.  This had to be my 8 or 9th Drag show spanning 2 decades and I dragged hauled my hubby to this one. It was his first AND he liked it! I love how feminine and girlie and risque the Ladies are. I am kind of jealous actually!

The Google Dictionary describes Feminine as:

fem·i·nine Adjective

  • Having qualities or appearance traditionally associated with women, esp. delicacy and prettiness
    • a feminine frilled blouse

I always have looked at the very feminine women in my life and felt a tiny bit envious. Not completely envious…just a tiny bit. For those of you who know me and those you don’t, delicate is not a word that one would use to describe me. As a child I was always compared to Lucy, from the Peanuts. “Bull in a china shop” might be another phrase you could use to describe me. I was never the girl with the hair and make up and dressed to the nines. Maybe briefly during high school, but high school doesn’t count because I wasn’t a fully developed human being yet. I was still trying to figure “it” out. Besides, High School was the 80’s, AND WE ALL KNOW 80’s FASHION WAS GHASTLY! So, no, High School does not count.

Besides, I was cursed blessed with curly hair. The ONLY time my curly hair has been feminine was during the 80’s when big hair was “totally awesome!”.  Curly hair has a mind of it’s own. I remember sitting in front of my mirror every morning before school. Blowing my hair out, curling it, gelling it, until it didn’t look like I stuck my finger in a socket any more. Then off to school I would trot. Once sitting in class, I could actually feel my hair move. All that hard work making my hair looked “totally RAD!” would be for not. No, my hair hated me. It would lay in wait for me to be busy, focused on other things and then it would make it’s move. SPROING! I would leave class with bed head. Yes! I was “totally psyched!” Okay, so I lied, my hair wasn’t even feminine in the 80’s.

What does it feel like to have long gorgeous locks of hair that does what you ask it too and behaves like it loves you? I have a fantastic hair stylist who is reasonably great with my hair. Let’s face it, she is doing the best she can with my hair. Maybe the Drag Queens have got it right. They wear SYNTHETIC hair. I could do that. I could change out my hair everyday and look FABULOUS too! But to be feminine, I would need more then hair. Gigantic feet do not look cute and sexy in a size 10 sling back. True, my eyebrows need pruning, mascara wouldn’t hurt, maybe a pedicure and a manicure would help. So even if the Guys in Disguise gave me a makeover, would feminine be a word you would use to describe me? I can hear you laughing. True, it would take more then a make over.

If being feminine was really important to me, do you think I would have done something about it?  Likely – okay, most definitely. Do I think it is an important part of my tourist exploration? Maybe a little because it is a new avenue and one I have never been down before. Maybe I will start with shoes and a handbag, maybe some great earrings. But PLEASE if I ever start to look like the people of Wal-Mart.http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/ Just let me know.