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Friday, August 30, 2013

How to Get a Grip

How to Get a Grip
Subtitle: I’m still trying to figure out why you people care so much about Miley Cyrus and not about the subjugation of women as a whole....


No steps this time, but a rant. 

I don’t watch MTV and haven’t for quite some time. I dislike reality television, MTV’s new platform, as I find it boring, predictable and just plain unentertaining, but you know that already. I like SciFi and Fantasy because I LIVE reality and don’t need it to be my outside of real life entertainment. Point being, I didn’t watch Miley’s performance live. 

Problem was, I couldn’t have missed it even if I had wanted to. The next morning, as I checked local news and CNN over coffee, trying to see what was going on in my community, MILEY, looking much like as one blogger put it the scary spider toy in Toy Story, was all over my screen. I mean all over. So much so that banner stories floating along about her performance floated OVER stories about Syria and real issues that I’m trying to keep up with. Rolling my eyes, I clicked to read, wondering what was so awful and horrible that the world was ending over an Ex-Disney Channel star on an awards show. 

I watched it, the entire thing. 

My thought? 

SO FRAKKIN’ WHAT?? 

Seriously, THAT is what gets you upset? Yes, it was horrible, her actions, her costume, her sound, everything about the damn performance, but THAT is what gets everyone worked up?? A no-talent kid of another no-talent singer making a tail of herself, in such a way that she got EXACTLY what she was looking for - SHE MADE THE HEADLINES and is STILL doing it. 

STILL. 

And you, for reading this, and I, for writing this am helping. 

See a problem here? 

I think, however, the bigger problem is this, that we are, yet again, focusing on the wrong issue here. Yep, twerking can be degrading to women. Yep, ‘Blurred Lines’ apparently according to it’s singer was supposed to be about rape culture (even though my naive ass thought first the “blurred lines” between Daniel & Addy as boss and employee, but whatever). 

We as women have lost the place in society that Susan B and Jane Addams and good ‘ole Lizzie Cady Stanton worked so hard for us to have. As the economy got better we allowed our husbands once again to become breadwinners, confining ourselves to the kitchens to bake. Don’t believe me? Go be the working mom at a regional scouting event or a local playground. You’ll be told how much you’re missing having a career, just enough to make you doubt yourself to tears all the way home. We’ve let politicians pander to gender bias and roles, having local meet and greets at nail salons and jewelry boutiques. Barbie’s job selections as you peruse the toy store include only “women’s traditional” jobs or ones that a man can do, but Barbie can do wearing a cute swimsuit. Other popular girls toys are based on TV characters that bemoan math, science and school in general while gushing over the captain of the football team asking them to prom. 

A prom they will spend $500 on a dress for. 

And people will think that’s cute. 

I have even seen more religious friends post Bible versus talking about not supporting their husbands but SUBMITTING TO THEM. I took an ENTIRE women and the Bible class. Guess what? Jesus thought we were equals. 

Just saying.

What happened to you people? 

You see, the problem with Miley Cyrus isn’t that she set women back, because we’ve already beat her to it! Hell, we freak out if a lesbian couple doesn’t have a “butch” one in it (and by ‘we’ I mean straight people who only know gay from TV) because heaven forbid two women in love don’t even fit our stereotype of them either. We created the environment in which a Miley Cyrus can thrive and get attention by allowing our gender to be pigeon-holed only because we have different parts. 

So, the next time you decide to rant about that latest big popular trend for ranting that you see on TV and radio ask yourself the following: 

Am I living my life to its potential or am I worried about if that makes me look like a ‘proper’ lady? 

Did I tell my daughter to be _______ little girl, not because she really needs to be but because that’s her gender role? 

Am I allowing the role models of the my daughter/niece/sister to be boy-obsessed under achievers only concerned with their appearance? 

Am I staring in a mirror, where my daughter can hear, calling myself fat and obsessing because I don’t look like a Victoria’s Secret model? 

And does my daughter think we eat right to be thin rather than to avoid heart disease or diabetes? 

And even then, you shouldn’t be worrying about Miley. Let her live her life. Her parents, manager, etc. are gonna have to deal with her bad choices, not you. 

Then go take your daughter for a walk, and talk about the stars and how they are within her reach.

 Because all she has to do is try. 


Girl or not. 

Monday, August 12, 2013

How To Panic

How to Panic
Subtitle: OMA I should have never asked Karen to do a countdown because I am gonna run a marathon in 95 days and I am really scared I am gonna die and that is why I am so sensitive lately. 


Step 1: Make a bad choice. This is honestly and truly easier said than done because we make stupid choices all of the time. We say the wrong things, tell the Mongolian man more spice, going 46 in a 45 in DC to pass the geezer bobbing and weaving, but I mean REALLY make a bad choice. Get all super inspired by a hot fictional archaeologist and start doing things off of your bucket list of life, among those things running in a marathon. Run a 5K, a 10K, a half marathon and then, like an idiot, sign up for a marathon. 


What have I done??

Step 2: Tell every frakkin' person you know. Because in your head you think that by telling everyone that you have made this bad choice that you won't back out. And I mean tell everyone. Put it on every last damn social media that you have, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, rent a biplane to pull a banner across the beach, tell every stranger that you have ever met, "Hi my name is Bri and I'm running a marathon in November..." 

Because then they start asking you about it, and talking about it, and well, we will see how this goes. 

Step 3: Prepare to carry out your bad choice. If you have decided in step one, oh, Bri's got a GREAT idea, let's sign up for a marathon, even though the word marathon itself came from the story of a young man (Pheidippides) running from the Battle of Marathon to Athens to warn the Greeks and he DIED when he got there....


...but anyway, if you are joining me in this insanity you need a guide. I recommend the internet, hell, aren't we using that now instead of a real doctor??

Step 4: Train. Ok, so maybe you aren't running a marathon but I am, this is my blogs so POOPS to you. Let me explain what I do Monday through Sunday, voluntarily and not being chased: 

Monday - Run 4 miles, work upper body.
Tuesday - Crosstrain (i.e. ride bike for an hour), work lower body.
Wednesday - Run 10K (6.25 miles), work upper body
Thursday - Run 4 miles, work lower body or practice yoga
Friday - Crosstrain (see above)
Saturday - Rest (I am a mom so that is a joke)
Sunday - Run 11 miles.

Dude, that's NOW. NOW. As of 9/1 that JUMPS UP LIKE CRAZY.....

What am I doing to myself??

Step 5: Start taking everything personally. Long story short: I don't fit in. Never have. I am Southern and live in the South, but I am not what a Southern woman is supposed to be. Let's add to the mix that my father, who of COURSE has been weighing in on this, left us, and has spent my entire life telling me how beautiful the strippers he takes calendar pictures of are and how heavy and mannish looking YOU (me) am, but anyway. I'm a sensitive person in the first place, but what's got me freaking out right now is that every time I am 'not good enough' for something, it translates to this. 

I'm not as pretty as my dad's latest -> I can't do this. 
You don't accept me --> I am not good enough to do this. 
I got bad news at work - > I don't deserve this. 
I've gained weight that I can't explain and am not pregnant ---> See idiot, you can't do this...

So, if I have an outburst on Twitter, Facebook or on here, this is what it is. Nothing personal, nothing funny, just it is what it is. 

I'm terrified. 

Step 6: Ask a friend to make a countdown. You need this EVERY single time you go to give up because it's like your friends way of saying DO THIS. 

DO IT. 

OR else. 

Step 7: Start having strange dreams. Like really strange. Ok, I love Michael Shanks, I do, but my fantasies, and you people know what I mean by fantasy, if not you are too young to be reading this, but my fantasies are DANIEL JACKSON. NOT a happily married man. And in said fantasy, I am Dr. Adrienne Rowan (Jackson - depending on where in my storyline I want to imagine). But, in the stress of this all, I have starting dreaming. 

About MICHAEL frakkin SHANKS. 

REPEATEDLY. 

What in the heck?! 

And then I wake up feeling guilty, which leads to not being good enough again because a nasty home wrecker doesn't deserve a marathon medal which takes us back to step 6....

PLEASE dream about Daniel tonight....

Step 8: Try to scratch off another bucket list item. Like find a PhD program and meet with the director and think oh I have a year to do this because you are supposed to take a good year or at least six months only to find out that they want you application THIS cycle, in less than six months and start your frantic request for recommendation letters, and register for GRE (I HAVE NOT DONE THIS IN YEARS), drive around for transcripts like a mad woman. 

Seriously, why are you people letting me do this?
Real friends stop friends from doing stupid things...
Just saying. 

Step 9: Run, sweat, refocus, and take a breath. 

I might be able to do this. 

Maybe? 

It's 26.2 miles and I can run 11 without any pain. 

I have a half marathon on September 22nd and I'm not panicking about that...

Yet...

Ok, Bri, you Changed Your Stars, you can do this...

Step 10: Blog about it. Trust me, it's cathartic. You sit down, looking at the three ringed circus that is your life, mock it, laugh about it, and reflect on it. And to be honest, maybe there is another nut who is going through the same thing and just wants to know that they are not alone. You're not. Trust me. 

We can just get committed together....