The Angry Post

deviantart - girandzim111

I am angry.  I am angry at the world, I think, but mostly I am angry at the State of Texas.   I am angry at all of it's red tape and all of it's legally binding forms.  I am angry at the loops and flaming hoops I am being forced to jump through to complete a seemingly simple task.  I am angry at all of the bureaucratic bullshit that I am having to wade through to get something taken care of, something that is already emotionally and mentally exhausting.



newborn ladybug - very very angry...

I am not just angry.  I am pissed off.  Livid.  Enraged.  Furious.  Pugnacious- That's a good one.  I am ready to bite someone's head off.  I am bursting into tears every time I speak to one of these robot-voiced asshats who don't give a damn about what I'm going through, what I'm dealing with, how long I've been waiting.  They don't care- And then I start crying and I'm apologizing to these assbags that I really want to scream and yell and curse at, and they're sighing and sounding all annoyed because I'm being a tad emotional.



1y5m ladybug - snotty-faced angry

First it started with the birth certificate- I wanted Mark's name to be on our daughter's birth certificate.  This is his first, and perhaps only, child.  No, technically it doesn't matter that his name isn't there, but it matters to me.  And he won't admit it, but I know it must matter to him.  I can see it in his eyes.  There is no reason his name should not be on the birth certificate, unless you ask the State.  According to them, me being married to someone else, despite how long we have been seperated, despite Mark and I both there willing to sign legal documents stating paternity, no- No, Mark cannot be on the birth certificate until I go jump through a flaming death hoop.


"Get online, find the forms, get them notarized.  Oh, no, not that form the other form.  It should have a spot for the notary to notarize it.  Oh it does.  Yes, I know you're looking at the form and it says it's the correct form but I'm at my desk in my big fancy government office and I'm telling you that I make the rules and the rules say figure it out."




 2 mo - "Don't worry mom, I'll shoot 'em the bird for ya!!!"

Screw it.  I will get it changed some other time.  Later on, down the road.  It took me 7 months before I finally went and got a "Certified Copy" of my deceased daughter's birth certificate, with only my name listed as a parent.  I don't even have her original birth certificate.  I'll never have an "original" birth certificate.  And that makes me angry.

Well now, I'm thinking, geez, why haven't I gotten a death certificate yet?  I know I paid for 2 certified copies of it- Yet I haven't received either.  So I'm speaking with the nice ladies at the funeral home and nobody can figure out why the stupid death certificate is in State of Texas Purgatory, just waiting in limbo caught between the doctor's certification and signature, and the State's official seal of approval before being mailed to me.  So after over a week of back-and-forth phone calls between myeslf and the funeral home and the delivering doctor's assistant, finally we get it finalized.  Great, it will be here by Tuesday, at the latest.

Oh, and then Thursday arrived, Thursday arrives and I get a phone call from the funeral home.  They don't know why, but apparently when a death certificate gets finalized so far past the date of death, the State doesn't automatically send out the death certificate like they normally would.  You have to call them and actually ask them to send it out.  Isn't that just grand?  Isn't that so fucking peachy that the system works so fucking smoothly like that?  So the lady from the funeral home is apologizing, profusely, that they've never had this happen before.  That they should have done something sooner, that I shouldn't have had to call and ask them to figure it out-  That was their job.  They should have done it.  And I am not upset with them at all, and I try to convey to them that my incessant phone calls and heavy sighs are not due to an oversight on their part- That it's just frustration with everything in general.  I tell them over and over again how thankful I am for their patience with me, and for all of their help.  In the back of my mind, I'm wondering if their seemingly genuine apologies and extra effort to help me is becaues they really are that nice, because they really are that helpful, and really that courteous.... Or is it just to save face, because they are 1 out of 2 funeral homes in the area and they don't want to lose a potential future customer due to these circumstances?  I choose to believe they are genuine, if for no other reason than to salvage what little bit of hope and patience and feel-good I have left inside me right now.

Moving on.

So I speak with the Medicaid office-  See, I was on Medicaid while pregnant with Mikaela (thankfully, or I never could have afforded the amazing specialists and doctors that I had during my pregnancy, but that's neither here nor there).  So when a pregnant lady is on medicaid, the baby is automatically put on Medicaid when born-  It took me months of calling the Health & Human Services Commission to get them to stop sending me medicaid cards for my deceased child.   Anyhow, I get the bright idea to get something printed out from HHSC, since it's a State Service, it's a State Document, and I should be able to use that as Mikaela's 2nd form of identity in order to get her social security number and card to be able to file her on my taxes.  I call the HHSC office and get put on hold 4 times, trying to verify before driving 30 minutes to the office with no driver's license, that I can, in fact, get something confirming that Mikaela is in fact a real person, and was in fact born in 2012.  Eventually, I get the answer I've been looking for- Yes, they can do that.

Fantastic.

Just to double check myself, I once again call the social security office to make sure that what I'm trying to do will work-  I have the birth certificate and something from Medicaid can be used as a 2nd form of identity.  I am on hold for nearly 20 minutes, but that's okay.  I expected it, actually, and I'm just relieved to be making progress.  Then, the lady on the other end of the line tells me that no, something like that would not be acceptable as second form of identity.  And, to make matters worse, she informs me that they are unable to issue a social security number to someone who is already deceased.  Now, why the other people I've talked to at that stupid administration could not tell me this, I am completely unsure.  At this point,  I am sniffling and failing miserably at holding back tears as I'm trying to explain to this lady that I'm sorry, I'm not upset with her, I'm just frustrated and I'm overwhelmed and that I just don't know what else to do.  She is repeating herself, "Ma'am- Ma'am I am trying to help you if you would just listen..." and although I'm not saying anything, she keeps asking me to listen.  Like my sniffling is making me deaf?  Sorry, lady, just say what you gotta say.  I'm trying my best here.

She tells me to call the IRS directly-  Of course she doesn't have their phone number, but if I just look them up online and get the number, call them and ask them what I need to do.  Alright- Another toll-free number, another automated messaging system telling me to press 1 for whatever and then * for whatever so  i just keep pressing buttons it doesn't name off until it finally gets pissed off and connects me to an operator (shhhh... that's my secret system, don't tell anybody).

I am, of course, on hold for upwards of half an hour.  Again, I expected it.  I'm relieved, the music is not quite as annoying as it normally is and I just sit back with the phone on speaker and continue to work on this post about being pissed off at all the red tape and what not.

I explain everything to the lady once she picks up-  My voice is shaky and I'm not even trying to hide how truly overwhelming this entire process has been for me.  I am stressed just about to my breaking point and I don't care who knows it.  She tells me that there is a chance that the IRS will deny my right to file her as a dependant because she passed away so soon after birth.

But then, something amazing happened-  She asked if she could put me on hold while she got out her big book of IRS secrets (my words, not hers)- She wanted to "research" (her words) what exactly I needed to do to file Mikaela on my taxes.  And she tells me that I don't need a social security number for her, nor do I need her death certificate.  All I need is proof that she was born, alive, in 2012, i.e. - a birth certificate.  I am elated- this is the best news I have had in weeks, and I tried my best to convey to her exactly how thankful I was that she took the time to look it up and explain it to me and was so unexpectedly helpful and nice and cheerful and patient.

I like the IRS.  At least, I like the fact that not everyone who works for them is some stuck up snooty pencil pusher with nothing better to do than pick on and bully the good honest working people of this country.  It's enlightening!

So for now, I am still angry, but only a little.  I am still angry at the State of Texas for making every little thing so damned difficult that you'd almost rather give up and live under a rock than take care of business.  But, I know, now, what to do if I am ever put in this circumstance again-  God willing this will become useless knowledge to me....

Bring Your Sexy Back

Speaking from experience here, the number one reason my libido has dropped over the years is because I just don't feel "it" anymore.  Not sex, I feel that just fine, but what I'm talking about is SEXY.  I just don't feel sexy anymore; Rarely, if ever, do I look at myself in the mirror and go, "Damn.  I'd do me."  How about you?  When I was preggers with Ladybug I thought I'd be this way, but to my surprise (and delight) I went back to pre-pregnancy size and shape and was delighted in my body's ability to "bounce back", so to speak.  Now, post-Butterfly-pregnancy, I have not been near as lucky.  The weight is gone, but the stretched out skin simply has no place to go and it leaves me feeling saggy and baggy and oh-so-lacking in the "I'm too sexy for my shirt" feeling that I used to feel in the bedroom.  It's not even just the physical aspect, it's mentally as well.  I'm so burdened by the lingering depression and stress and the everyday what-to-do's and what-didn't-happens...  It's overwhelming.  And I know I'm not the only one.  So many women I know feel the same way, I mean if you don't feel comfortable in your own skin, then it's pretty hard to feel sexually confident in the bedroom.  True story.


demotivational posters

One place I've found that really gets into the psychology of "feeling sexy" is this article at RedBook Mag Online called "Get Your Sexy Back".  They offer 21 ways to "tap into your sensual self".  Some of my favorites are:
5. Ditch the sweats. "If sweats have become your standard after-work uniform, then you are unlikely to feel sexy," says Sari Locker, the author of The Complete Idiot's Guide to Amazing Sex. You don't have to wear fishnets, "but buy some clothes that make you feel sexy when you're lounging, even if that's just a silky camisole and leggings."
     I'm the world's worst with this - I wear the same two pairs of blue jeans day in and day out (I do wash them.  Occasionally...), and if I don't have to work or go to town that day, my ass is happy sitting around in some baggy plaid or flannel pj bottoms and a tank top with no bra, often times with messy unwashed hair and yesterday's makeup.  I'm working on that!!!! *sigh* Moving on.

9. Make your most beautiful feature pop. Play up your eyes with a new eyeliner, or try a different gloss on your lips. Or, if you normally go natural, put on a little concealer. "When you feel beautiful, you feel sensual," says Debbie Mandel, the author of Turn On Your Inner Light. Take the extra three or four minutes to primp yourself and feel pretty — just for you
     This is something I used to do before "quality time", every time.  Fresh out of the shower, I would dab a little concealer under my eyes, a tad mascara and some nude-colored shadow (for shimmer), or maybe some light blush, and always chap stick for that fresh wet-lipped look.  I never do this anymore.  Again, working on that.

demotivational posters

10. Buy new underthings. Throw away those ripped, faded, you've-had-them-for-four-years granny panties and invest in some new underwear. The sexier, the better — but G-strings aren't required. New bikinis, boy shorts, or even basic briefs can make you feel special.
      Definitely my favorite.  A sexy new pair of panties can work wonders for my self esteem.  It doesn't have to be lacy or frilly or crotchless.  Something that matches my sense of style and my personality, but that's new and "cute" (cute is a relative term- take it the way you define it).  This is so important!!!

17. Change it up. Take an art class. Or book a last-minute weekend getaway. "Novelty is the greatest aphrodisiac," Gardos says. Switch up your routine to create spontaneity. "When you do something out of the ordinary, you're taking yourself off of autopilot, which creates excitement in your life," he says. "Excitement is always sexy."

One big thing is to stop tearing yourself down about that flabby tummy and stretch marks, stop beating yourself up over misplacing your keys and being late to work, or forgetting to pack the fruit slices in the kid's lunch for school.  You are your own worst enemy, and when it comes time to cuddle up next to you, those things are absolutely, positively guaranteed not to be on his mind.  He is just thinking about you, all of you, and how you make him feel, physically and probably mentally and emotionally as well.  So, if he's not thinking about all those other "little" things, then why should you?  Let it go and live in that moment!!!

I found another really great article from EverydayHealth.com here.

Since Butterfly's birth and passing, my relationship with the STBH (Soon-To-Be-Hubs, aka Mark) has strengthened immensely, however my sexual prowess has become nearly non-existent.  So tonight I am challenging myself, and hopefully you will do the same.  My vow is to try three of these things listed in these two articles over the next week and see what that does to increase my desire for some under cover lovin'.  Let me know how it works for y'all!!!

One Night Stand

A long time ago, I was laying around, flipping through what I'm sure was a Cosmo magazine (it's been that long, I really can't remember for sure), I came across an article about spicing up a love life that has gotten too comfortable. It was the same typical mumbo-jumbo that you still see littering the pages of the Cosmo to this day.

However.

There was one thing. One little idea that has stuck with me over all these years that I have never done, that I'm not sure I could convince any man, ever, to agree to, but that I want to try. I want to try it so bad. You wanna know what it is? It's gonna give you some insight into the way my mind works and how much of a freak I really am. So there ya go, that's your "Mature Content" warning. You sure you're ready?  Okay, it's not really that dirty, but still...  Here it goes.





taboo lounge - 123inspiration

Picture this- You're in the big city for the night, you had a business meeting and fly back home tomorrow.  You're sitting in the hotel room bar, sipping on a martini and catching up on your reading. You're dressed to the nines, that little black dress, those adorable little heels you never have a reason to wear. Hair and make-up immaculate. You are single, you are successful, but you are bored. You want to have a little fun, be a little spontaneous. And just as you're thinking, what could there possibly be to do, what risk could you take, just for that one night that would make you feel alive again. Something exciting, something new.

 And then, just at that moment, a man walks into the bar. He orders himself a cocktail and looks around, catching your eye.  A little smile as his eyes lock on yours. He accepts his drink and decides to take the chance, to walk over to your table for two, occupied only by one. He pauses, takes a breath and asks, "May I join you?"  You nibble your bottom lip, deep in the trance of the potential excitement that is lurking ahead of you.  The two of you make small talk, you laugh a little, and he just keeps staring at you, like you are the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. You both know what's happening, and you're convinced this is what you want, what you need to do.  This is that chance that you were asking for to just go for it, to throw caution and proper behavior out the window.  Not forever, just tonight. You're both on the same page, both young and free. So you invite him up to your room, and have an incredible night with this handsome stranger.

Only, here's the kicker. He's not a stranger, and neither of you are single. You're not even there on business. See where this is headed? I bet you do, you're a smart cookie.

That's right, it's your husband/fiance/significant other. It's a game, a role-play for the evening, just a little build up of lust and passion and excitement.  The two of you have rented a room for the night, and you left for the bar a little before he does.  Nobody knows you are together, you never break character, even once back in the room.  For the entire night you are strangers to one another, living only in the moment of bliss and passion and sexuality and lust.

That's my fantasy. That's something I want to do, and that I will do one of these days, if I have to roofie Mark to get him to agree...

Question: What do you want? What's something that's kind of wild, kind of crazy, kind of out-of-the-norm and out-of-the-box that you would love to explore with your lover?

Break that box, guys and gals. Be spontaneous :) and SHARE!!!! Don't leave me hanging here, I want feedback!!!

***********************************************************************************
As an added bonus, and because I have taken so long to publish this damned post,  I've been doing a little research. Need a little help vamping up your alone time with your significant other? Here's my little compilation from personal experience and the world wide web of little things you can do for yourself (or maybe to yourself?) to bring sexy back into your life!!!

Go to "Bring Your Sexy Back"

Pass Not Ye Judgement Here

   The soon-to-be-hubs and I (that's right folks, I'm officially not only married soon-to-be-divorced but also soon-to-be-hitched-again ;) Put that in your pipe and smoke it) went on a double date recently with one of my girlfriends and her new beau; An old friend of hers from childhood that she had recently reconnected with.  I had talked to her about a week before this double-date happened about how she shacked up with this guy for nearly a week, in a cabin, got snowed in.  Come on, you get the point right?  Things had been going quite well.  They really had a lot of chemistry and a real connection.  They shared a lot of things, including a somewhat dry sense of humor and a little bit of a twisted kinda state-of-mind (not in a bad way!).

   So the night comes that we have our date, dinner at a local bar/restaurant that Mark and I used to work at, then bowling at a little bowling alley just outside of town.  Dinner was fine, my friend, let's call her Jane, and her beau, we'll call him John, seemed to be getting along fine.  At one point after we had finished our meal, I pulled out my phone and showed "Jane" some pictures of our new terroris- I mean - Puppy (more on that later).  Then "John" pulls out his phone and is showing me some little e-cards and political funnies about anti-gun-bans and what not.  Pretty much Anti-Obama stuff in general.  While I don't always agree with these little posts I see splattered all over my Facebook News Feed, a lot of times I will share them or pass them along to friends because they are humorous or because I know that friend will find it to be true and would appreciate it.

   Anywho, we decide to leave, but we're going to stop by her house for a short before leaving to go bowling.  When we get there, "John" starts making lots of comments about welfare, comments about food stamps and medicaid and "Obama Phones".  Example:  "I outta quit my high paying with benefits job so I don't have to pay my own bills anymore" or "Too bad I work, I could get me ______ from Obama."  At this point I notice my dear friend getting a little tense.  See, here's some background:  She is a single mom, her ex (who is a close childhood friend of mine for probably the last 15 years) rarely has steady work, tends to be a bit of a screw-up, and isn't much help in the financial department.  She got lucky a couple years back and got a job working at a local business that her uncle owns.  She makes decent money, she pays her own bills, she keeps her house and her car in great condition, her child always looks nice and is well-bathed and well-groomed (let's face it, I'm from the country folks, you don't see this stuff a lot, especially in a single mom), and she always managed to eat healthy and exercise.  She is responsible, she works hard, but she's doing it alone.  Jane gets a small amount of food stamps each month.  Jane's son is on Medicaid.


   Apparently, earlier before dinner, they had got on the subject of government assistance, and finances.  John suddenly went from charming and sweet to obnoxious and condescending.  He basically turned up his nose at the kind of money she is making and tore her down for needing a little bit of help.

    So now my point;  Why is this such a bad thing?  There are people out there who are abusing the system- Selling their foodstamps for beer and cigarettes, using their welfare checks for drugs, living off the government for their entire lives because they're lazy and would rather work the system than make an honest living.  I get that.  But there are also people in this world, like my friend, who work hard and take care of their families but sometimes it's just not quite enough.  Sometimes, people need help.  Ask anybody who has ever been an addict, who has ever been depressed, who has ever been down on their luck or suffered a loss, needing help does not make you a bad person.  It does not make you weak.  It makes you human.

   Would you rather see a single mom out there busting her ass at a job 5-6 days a week and getting a little assistance from the government, or a woman raising her children with a man who refuses to get a job and just living off of welfare and being entirely dependant on assistance from others?  It's not the same thing, and yet they are both judged equally by so many.

   "How about you take your judgements and your big paycheck and your guaranteed overtime and shove them up your ass?" I wanted to tell "John" after I heard the full story.  I mean, how dare he treat her differently than he had for over a month because now he knows that she is on government assistance.  Sometimes, people just need help.  And if you are not one of those people, that's fantastic.  It really is.  But if you are that person who needs help, in any way, don't let people who are running their mouths tell you what you need or don't need, and don't you dare let them make you feel like you are somehow below them.  You are a good person, and being able to reach out for help when you need it takes an amount of strength that not everyone in this world has.  Hold your head up high, and shoot for the moon, because "even if you miss, you'll land among the stars".

I Am ___________ (Who Are You?)

So, as I scour the web for countless hours, reading every blog I can find looking for inspiration; to write, to clean, to love, to breathe, to live, to do whatever it is I want to do... I come across a writing prompt that the awesome lady over at You Know It Happens At Your House Too did.  Here's what she did, and what she challenged her readers to do.

Sit down, open up notepad or wordpad of office or whatever document program you use, or grab a pen and paper, or a stone and chisel, whatever, and set a timer for 5 minutes.  Just as she knows, I know that 5 minutes seems like a long time that you could be doing something else, something "more productive" or "more entertaining".  But seriously, it goes by really fast and you'd be surprised what you accomplish in that 5 minutes.  Do it for yourself, it's interesting what you might learn.

So you have your timer set, I want you to complete this sentence as many times as you can in that 5 minutes:  "I Am _________________."

Easy?  Totally.  Enlightening, too.  Do not proofread or edit it.  Just  put down whatever comes to mind during that 5 minutes, just roll with it.  You don't have to share this with me, but I would love for you to do so.  Email me, Private Message me on Facebook, or for the more brave comment right here in the blog or post it directly to My Facebook Page.  I hope you all take the time to do this, and to show how much I love and support all of you, very much, I'm going to post mine, not anonymously, publically, out here in the World Wide Web for all to see.

If anyone does choose to publically share, I request that any and all readers be respectful of whatever is admitted to here.  This is about opening up, freeing yourself from the confines of external opinion and judgement.  It kind of blows that if some ass hat decides to start trolling.  Well!!! Here goes:


I am Sheila.

I am a first-time blogger.

I am a mommy to a crazy, rambunctious, brilliant, and terrifying terroristic 4 year old that makes my heart dance.

I am a mommy to an angel, a sweet perfect little girl that will be 44 minutes old for all eternity.

I am a SURVIVOR of domestic violence- From childhood and a marriage.

I am engaged to a REAL man who treats me, and my daughter, like we are all he could ever need.

I am kind of crazy - Scratch kind of. Read: Bat shit.  It's genetic, and I'm pretty sure my parents worked hard to make me that way.

I was raised in East Texas and taught to say "yes ma'am" "no ma'am" "yes sir" "no sir" and PRAY when life gets tough.

I have failed the people I love, but I have also made them proud.

I am infinitely lazy- I try to do better but that motivation just escapes me.

I hate that I'm so lazy - It's hard to change that about myself, even though I really want to.

I talk too much - And usually when I'm talking I'm ranting about something, but it's because I have values and morals and I don't take those things lightly.

I want my daughter to have every opportunity in the world, and I'm so afraid that I'm going to screw her pretty little head up that sometimes I just try to avoid spending time with her.... Because sometimes I think that she'd be better off for it.

I get angry, and when I'm angry it's hard to shut it off.

I suffer from depression, every day and night, and it's hard not to let myself believe that I am as worthless as I feel most of the time.

I have people who love me more than life itself, and I love them just the same.  And it's scary, but it's beautiful.


So there you have it.  That's who I am, typed in 5 minutes, not edited or changed in any way.  That's me, and that's as real as it gets.

I really hope at least a few of you participate in this-- It's a great way to end a rough day, you don't have to focus on the positive (I didn't) but it's good to throw that reality in there, to accept the good and the bad.  It's kind of my theme of the year, Embracing the Crust and what-not!!!

Does This Diaper Make My Butt Look Big?

So I'm in a fit of emotion right now.  I just read a couple articles, it started with the mother of a 3 year old waxing her daughter's eyebrows.  One of the "Teen Mom" stars... And I use that term VERY loosely.  You can read this article here.  So I go from there to the video showing the 5 year old from "Toddlers and Tiaras" being forced to have her eyebrows waxed.  The mom saying that the girl had a "bad experience" and the wax was too hot and it "ripped her skin off".  You can see that video here.  And then I come across the worst one of all, here.   And 8 year old girl, getting botox injections from her "part-time aesthetician" mother.  An 8 year old, beautiful little girl, who is worried about wrinkles.  Fucking wrinkles.

I am speechless.  I am stunned, and in awe.  Recently, I've been paying more attention to the sexualization of young girls, and I'm not talking about men pimping out underage children.  It's much more subtle, it's much less in-your-face, and really it's become completely normal, completely acceptable.  I'm talking about parading young girls around in tube tops and mini-skirts, high heels and talking about wrinkles, or preschoolers wearing makeup, and it's getting worse.

Source: Total Life Counseling

These things are due to media influence.  You look at the female pop stars from the 80's and you have long flowy skirts and a little blush or lip gloss and some cute high top sneakers.  Then bring on the 90's.  You start seeing Britney Spears and everyone that follows.  We've got midriff-baring shirts, mega-cleavage that I don't have at 25 and they not only had but flaunted at 16.  They are wearing leather pants that may have just been painted on for all I can tell.  Stiletto heels.  Miley Cyrus "pole dancing" at the Teen Choice Awards (yes- I saw the video. And my liberal ass didn't even approve).

Even Barbie dresses sluttier.  Our society is so shallow and focused on the aesthetically-pleasing slim figures, big boobs, flashing as much skin as we can get away with.  When did this become ok?  When did we lower our standards not just for ourselves, but for our children.  Why is it okay to dress up your 8 year old like a "lady of the night" to send her to school?  And the beauty pageant circuit is only making it worse.  They don't promote anything other than the message that a little girl is only as good as she looks, that her entire worth to herself and everyone around her is based on her brow line, her jaw structure, her slim hips and flat belly.  There are 1st graders with eating disorders, for Christ's sake!!!  And we just go on about our business, because this has become the "norm".  This is what our society is- Pimping out our little girls for everyone's amusement, despite the deep psychological problems that are absolutely inevitable for children who spend their entire "childhood" watching what they eat and how they dress and how they wear their hair.

FUCK. THAT.

Let that little girl jump in a mud puddle, don't let her shave her legs before she is even allowed to use scissors without supervision.  Don't worry more about her messing up her hair than if she's enjoying herself, having fun, being a kid.  Maybe I should go to school to become a shrink, because from what I'm seeing that profession is about to experience a serious boom, I mean, how could it not?

We are telling our children that it's okay to care solely about your physical appearance, that everything else should come next.  Is that really how we want to raise our daughters?  To be botoxed up box blond bimbos who can't spell words like "you" or "that" and think that their only value is as arm candy trophy wife and that it's okay if they get knocked up before high school because then MTV will pay them a lot of money and they can go get $16,000 worth of plastic surgery they don't even really need.

I'm freaking out a little.  I like to dress up, I like to wear high heels and too much make up and low cut shirts and dance a little risque sometimes, but I don't want that to be the only thing I portray to my daughter.  My mom was the same way, she spent her summers wearing belly-baring tube tops and short-shorts with high heels and she kept her hair fixed and makeup done and body nice my entire childhood.  I did not start dressing like that until I was 18, and felt like I had the right to do so.  As a teenager, I walked around in big black baggy pants and long t-shirts sporting my favorite heavy metal band.  I read books and thumbed through Cosmo-Girls.  I enjoyed the glimmer and the glamour but I did not let it define me.  I defined who I was and who I wanted to be, through more than just the clothes I wore.  I listened to Stevie Nicks, and I listened to Britney Spears.  I listened to Black Sabbath, and the Backstreet Boys.  I snuck into my mom's room and tried on her dresses, long and short, and her high heels.  I played with my grandma's make up (although it was usually to pretend to be a ghost or a mummy-- the woman was pale...)

How now can we expect our children to come up with that broad of an influence when the vast majority of media is shoving the idea down their throats that they are only beautiful when they are perfectly conformed, perfectly sculpted by whatever means necessary, that "natural beauty" does not exist and what matters is only skin deep.  It makes me want to wrap her up in a poncho and lock her in my closet for the next 16 years.  My heart aches for her that there are so many people in our world that want to strip that innocent childhood away and replace it with "Diamonds are a girl's best friend" and "Really, you're going out in that?"

My heart is heavy.
My mind is angry.
And I just don't know what we can do to stop it,
But I know, we can't do it alone.

Also: Watch this about women who are dressing their daughter's up like Dolly Parton, or Julia Robert's role in "Pretty Woman" - yes, the prostitute.

WAKE UP PEOPLE.... THESE ARE OUR CHILDREN.  Let them be kids, for God's sake, and for theirs.

Embrace The Crust!!!

So I've been inspired by this amazing blogger that I read here - Doyin over' at Daddy Doin' Work wrote about the loss of his longtime friend, Wade.  In the post, he writes about needing to love the crust of people, including yourself.  So, in honor of the new year, we are going to admit to our crusty bits (not intended as gross as it sounds) and we are going to embrace them.  Prepare to be crusted!!  I'll start with me:

• I eat ice- Constantly.
  I list this because it drives Mark totally bonkers, but it's just a habit I have.  I mean, it's not like I'm on meth and constantly smokin' it up, it's frozen freaking water.  It could be worse.  Embrace that shit.
• I cuss too much.
  I'm not sure there's actually a "bright side" to this, and I tell myself all the time "I'm going to stop doing that" but I fucking slip up without realizing it.  Maybe one day, one New Years Resolution at some point. Maybe, damnit, maybe.
• I'm judgemental.
  I hate a Judgy McJudgerson, I really do.  But all too often I will hear/see/read something and I catch myself making a snap judgement on the issue.  I keep these judgements to myself,  I catch myself doing it and reprimand myself for doing it.  I hate when it happens.  But I have the best of intentions and the utmost respect for others in my heart, just sometimes that heart-to-brain wave takes a couple of seconds to catch up.  I silently repent, every time.  I love everybody, including their crusts. I truly, deeply do.
• I'm lazy.
  I wish I had just a little touch of OCD, just a smidgen to help kick me in the ass to get things done around here.  But my house is not "dirty", it's cluttered, and very lived in.  I'm not a person of filth nor do I enjoy living in that type of environment, and I am trying to get better.  The biggest problem is:
• I procrastinate.
  I'm definately an "I'll do that tomorrow/later/whenever" type of gal.  I'm actually getting better about it, sometimes.  Sometimes I do it just for the hell of it.
• I have no follow-through.
  I am the queen of unfinished projects.  Case in point, my Domestic Violence series.  I'm not done writing it, I'm not going to stop with My Story. But I always have this flash of motivation to do things and then that passes, not because it's not important.  I think this really falls deep into the "Procrastination" layer of my crust.  These layers are definately connected.

So I'm sure that's just the tip of the tip of the iceburg of my issues, but all in all, I'm really not such a bad person.  I love deeply everyone around me, and I have been a bitch and a bad friend and a bad girlfriend and a bad daughter.  Who hasn't had those times in their life that they look back on and go, "What the hell was wrong with me?"  But I don't live my life looking back with constant regret and sorrow.  I can take these things I don't love about myself and admit, "yes, I could be/do/say/act better or differently, but I'm me. And I'm okay with that."  Are you brave enough to embrace the crust?  Are you committed to loving the crust in others, as they should love the crust in you?

I dare you, all of you, the embrace your crust, right here, in this blog.  Leave me a comment below, or on my FB Page, telling me about you or your partners crust, just one thing, that is the not-so-glamorous, that you embrace, that you cherish, that you just put up with 'cause you love 'em.

GO!!!!

OH!! And Keep a watchful eye out for Part 2 of Embrace Your Crust, assuming my partner in crime *coughLIZZYcough* will ever write her part. ;)