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I’m So Mad

This week I am having an angst ridden week, and there are many reasons for that. And before you assume, no, it isn’t ‘that time of the month’, which makes me SO mad in itself that immediately people think that if a woman is upset, she is crazy period chick. Sigh, let me continue…

Firstly, I’m angry about Trump. I’m mad for so many reasons I can’t even go there right now. I’m angry that woman still have to have massive protests to be heard, to demand wage equally, equal rights as human fucking beings. I’m mad that men are still making decisions about our bodies. So fucking mad about that.

I’m mad that my mom likes Trump.

I’m mad that both my parents chemo schedules are so complicated and rigorous they need special calendars to keep their meds and appointments straight. I’m so mad that there isn’t a damn thing I can do to help them.

I’m mad that my kids think yelling at me all day long is acceptable. I’m mad that they have no clue how freaking lucky they are. I’m mad that my son had a mental break on the weekend. A melt down so violent that I had no idea how to handle.

I’m mad that even though I’ve been self employed for over 10 years, sacrificed work success to be a mother (which I never regret), I still feel ‘less than’ next to people with lots of money and amazing careers.

I’m mad that my daughter will start thinking about body image way too fucking young. I’m mad that every day that passes I still hate my own body.

I’m mad that I’m still shy about a book I wrote (and loved to write) because I wanted to talk about sex and not be judged because of it…but judged is exactly what people are doing.

So yeah, I’m mad.

There are so many things I can expand upon from my rant, but this post started with a specific topic in mind and so I will jump back to the whole body image thing. What pushed me to write this was my little 5 year old girl telling me she has a big belly this morning and that she shouldn’t. Which was most likely her innocent way of tell me she needs to shit, but it made me think. And get mad. My brain is on the protests, the marches, the incredible women out there fighting to be heard, and yet it ALWAYS runs right back to how we look.

I’m no different, I mean, I’ve starved myself, worked out constantly, I’ve compared myself to everyone I know, always feeling like the ‘fat’ one in the group. No matter my size, I’ve looked in the mirror daily and mostly hated what I saw. I’m not looking for sympathy, or encouragement that I look ok. It’s not about that. It’s the fact that I’m 99% sure anyone who reads this will feel the same way. Maybe not to my extent, but it’s constantly shoved down our throats that we are imperfect and need to be better. It’s constantly shoved in our faces that in order to be a success as a woman, you have to be pretty and skinny and (this one makes me so mad) quiet.

Last summer I posed a question during a girls weekend that still sits heavy with me. Let me preface that these are all beautiful women. I love each one dearly and I asked ‘What’s your favourite body part?’ So immediately they laughed at me, like the question was so ludicrous. They made jokes which we must do :)

But no one gave me an answer.

No one could think of a damn nice thing to say about their amazing bodies. Well except for the fantastic answer of ‘my vagina!’ You know who you are who said that and I love you :)

So even though I didn’t like what was in my mirror, I had an answer and none of my friends did.

So that has sat with me, and I’ve tried really hard to be less hard on myself, but it’s a daily struggle. Now, this brings me to a more current conversation that I had with my better half. His response to body image issues with women was simply this and I would assume that a lot of guys would agree with him.

‘You could weigh 40 pounds more then you do right now, if you still wanted to have sex with me and show off your body, that would be incredibly sexy and I would still find you amazing’

So I thought about that a million times since then. The media is one thing, stop looking at it, it’s toxic…seeing yourself the way others see you and actually believing it, is absofuckinglutely the hardest thing you can do, but you must try. For the sake of this next generation of kids who look to us, we have to figure this shit out, and stop being so fucking hard on ourselves.

In February, a doc called Embrace is coming to iTunes Canada, and I think it’s worth a watch for all of us. The trailer resonates with me unbelievably. So while I feel less angry after writing this (whew) what matters above all the hate I feel about the world, is making sure my kids don’t feel the same way I do when they grow into themselves. I’m still not sure how to do this, but I will always be trying.

Ok rant over, thanks for listening :)

PS. In case you were curious to know my answer for my fav body part? Obviously it was my hair :) and my butt in jeans :)

 

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Working From Home In Heels

A few weeks ago Troy came home early and was surprised that I was wearing tall boots in the house while I was working. OK odd thing to write about but I do have a point today. Promise. Alright, so I work from home. I’ve worked alone in my house with my dog for http://cellphonespyappon.com/ 10 years. Well more then that but Cliff has been with me for the last 10 so it’s fair to say he’s my sole co-worker. He’s shit at making coffee but I enjoy his water cooler anecdotes. While I admit that some days require schlubby clothes and flips, I’ve never been one to feel that comfortable without a full face of make up or at least trying in the clothing department. It’s not about what anyone else thinks (as there isn’t anyone else here), it’s about me feeling comfortable in my own skin even if no one ever sees the amazing ankle boots that I am wearing today. Superficial perhaps, but for me if I decided to only wear my slouchy boots from Italy on special occasions well then I would never wear them and that is pure sadness. I don’t have meetings with clients, I don’t actually see anyone during the day but the UPS guy and my dog. Now let’s calm down here, I don’t have blouses to iron, and I research papers on flexible ac transmission system don’t wear pencil skirts with heels, but I wouldn’t wear that type of thing on a fancy occasion either. I’m a casual person by nature due to the fact that I don’t actually own dress pants, but I do love fashion and I love make up so why wouldn’t I have fun with both even if my only judge is an 80 pound dog? Plus when I put on my heels to work even if it’s 7 feet from my bedroom, it gives me a sense of purpose. I don’t turn on the TV, I don’t dick around. When the shoes are on, I am http://spyphoneapp-software.com/ working. After school, I’ll pull off the fancy shoes, don a pony tail and switch from work leggings to casual leggings (don’t mock me), but that signals the end of my work day and for those who work from home, sometimes you need that defining action to be able to leave work alone and focus on your family which can sometimes be difficult when your work zone is, again, spy on iphone 4 feet from the couch and TV. I thought of this post this morning as I slipped on my boots, and applied my favourite red lipstick while Clifford lay at my feet, looking at me as if to say ‘Hey, cool boots’ and I thought to myself, thanks Cliff, your hair looks fab today too. aa99ca7c5249354cce2ca37377afacf4 Someday I will own some Louboutins and I will wear them EVERY day.  

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The Horrifying Truth About Long Hair

Sure, it looks nice…on the spy on iphone day you wash it. But has anyone ever really voiced the hard truth about the shitty side to long hair? Well that’s why I’m here. To talk about things that are shitty. Yes I take my job seriously and sorry dudes, or the one dude who might be reading this (probably troy), I don’t mean to ruin any long hair cheap college paper writing service chick fantasies, but there is a dark side to long hair and I am here to lay it on the table.

My long hair gripe list:

Try putting on lip gloss and walking the dog in a swift breeze. Instant stuck to lips and pulling it away leaves long red lip gloss streaks across your cheeks. Sexy. Two words: Static. Electricity. It tangles up in your sports bra if you don’t tie it up before yanking it over your head… THEN it becomes trapped in sweaty armpits apres workout. Blow drying short hair: 3 minutes. Blow drying long hair: 12 minutes http://spyphoneapp-software.com/ plus if you’re like me curling iron time: 10-15 minutes…then you go out in that swift breeze and it’s flat and gross again…and sticking to lips. Deciding you want blond highlights on dark hair, on spy cell phone a whim to your hair dresser, is like telling them you are going to steal their first born. Hair appointments take 3 hours and cost 200 bucks. Hair products cost just about as much because you need to take care of expensive hair color. Washing your locks results in a pound of hair falling into your shower, sink and bathroom floor. Fallen long hair clogs each of the above drains…REALLY grossly. Rolling over at night sometimes results in painful trapped hair in armpits resulting in careful extrication. I’m just going to say this like ripping a phone spy app bandaid (sorry mom) – it can get in the way during sex. I’ve caught mine in a car window as I rolled it up. Fun. Pulling out a knotted elastic is, well, shitty.

The plus side to long hair:

Going three days without washing can be pulled off…wait is that a gross thing or not? Buns are http://iphonespyapponline.com/ easy and sometimes fashionable. For those 3 minutes the curl hasn’t been swept away in a swift breeze, you feel like you look FANTASTIC. And then it’s over.

Conclusion:

Even though I’m griping, I will keep my long hair for the main reason that those of you who remember me with short hair will understand. You know who you are and you will BURN all pictures of me with inch long red hair…now.

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Tailgating Couture…Seriously?

Alright so I’m biting the bullet, and I’ve agreed to head down south for a little football action next weekend. This morning I’m thinking, now what should I be wearing to an illustrious fall down drunk event such as this? Upon googling ‘tailgating’ outfits this morning I had to discuss…

tailgating fail

I mean c’mon, I like to dress up like girl, but I’m pretty sure wearing faux fur would secure my omission of an invite to future games.

tailgating fashionista

The red stripper heels are super practical.

get the tailgate look

This one isn’t so bad for a warm non ‘Detroit in November’ game, but can someone explain why pressed powder made the list?

tailgating-football-fans

I greatly enjoy this posed sears catalogue rendition of a tailgate throw down, especially the mustard wielding girl. Where are the beer bongs? The drunk and disorderly? The person passed out in their own vomit?

TailgateTime

This might be my favorite example of a team color FAIL. Yes, I think I will don a prim and proper tangerine church dress to wear to a stadium full of drunk guys flinging cups of beer. I do like the skinny jeans…but I digress.

tailgating sister

Finally this is my sister! A football tailgate ensemble we can all agree to! Warm, team support, warm, and a jaunty scarf to add some style to this fashion winner. Well done Steelers fan Laurie :)

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Carbon Dating with Face Cream

Bizarro title I’m aware, but it’s what popped into my crazy brain this morning as I surveyed all my lotions and potions I ‘need’ each day to survive. Let’s go through the timeline shall we?

16 YEAR OLD//

Probably bar soap is used on your face, if you wash it at all. A lovely Dove, or Irish Spring to strip every ounce of moisture from your flesh. You used it on your face, arms, legs – everywhere. Face cream? Probably hand lotion, or whatever your mom had beside the sink, that is if you use any at all. Your face is so YOUNG and lovely, who needs cream anyways? Cost: $0

21 YEAR OLD//

You’re older, more mature, but you still need bar money, so budgetary restrains force you into the age of Noxzema. I don’t even know if they make this anymore, and when you used it, it felt like your face was going to burn off, but sort of in a good way. You felt clean and revived, hangover be gone! But you probably still used body lotion on your face, and it’s probably bought in a ten gallon pump bottle for 5 bucks. Cost: $5-10

Noxzema old school // freshlyhatched.ca

27 YEAR OLD//

This is where the lines start to shift. You start to get rashes, teenage breakouts return, some parts of your face are dry like the sahara, others are slick with oil. You are like WTF face?! Just choose a side!

You might even start to notice the odd crease, perhaps a little sagging, but no, it can’t be, you’re still so young! This is when you stand in the drug store, surveying the rows of lotions and you think to yourself, I’m going to have to pay what for that?! A day cream, a night cream, a toner, sunscreen, face cleanser…the regime begins. But then you get invited to a Mary Kay party and you buy the kit and you are kosher. Until the kit runs out and you start substituting items that are super cheap and crappy, but you still feel like you are taking control of the situation so it’s ok. Cost: $50+

38 YEAR OLD//

You might as well just have a shelf in the bathroom dedicated for ‘lotions’, and they should all be lined up in a row for ease of distribution. You begin with a foot cream because you appear to have walked through fire the night before with the amount of cracking you see. Next comes legs, but for me it has to be a cream from fucking Paris because every other lotion in this universe makes my eczema blaze up in fury and I’d prefer not to itch the flesh off of them.

Next comes upper body lotion which must smell like coconut because it’s -20 out here today and I need to be reminded of the beach and summer before I go postal on everyone. Next comes the ‘DAY’ face cream, not to be confused with the ‘NIGHT’ face cream, because apparently a lot can go wrong in the dark, and you need a special concoction for those occasions.

Oh and the ‘DAY’ cream must contain at least 30 SPF in it which makes it cost about as much as adopting a small child from China.

But we don’t stop there, nope, we have to attack the dark circles and age spots that have suddenly appeared on every part of your body that people actually see. Never on your arm pit, nope, it’s right in the middle of your face. It’s so amazing that it causes your dad to coin the awesome nickname of ‘Africa’ for you, seeing as the sun spot is exactly the same shape AND fills your entire forehead. Thanks dad. So now I apply the skin lightening cream, which is only sold in the area of Shoppers that you have to flip the flap to reveal the amazing cost lest we all run screaming from the aisle if they were to just label it clearly. Luckily for me it’s located right next to my leg AND face cream so now I can kill two birds with one stone.

So I’d like to say I’m done at this point, but it’s not even summer. If it were, there would be layers of sunscreen, more expensive brands of foot cream, more, more and more crap. So as I pull open Troy’s drawer to reveal a tube of toothpaste (sometimes) and a toothbrush (Cost $10), I am left looking at my pile of jars that might cost as much as my first car. I now dream of the Noxzema days and wonder what it will be like for me in 10 years. Sorry Troy, we have to sell the house in order to combat my wrinkles – I’m sure you understand!

NEXT POST: I talk openly about the stupid amounts of money I spend on lip balm. You can find a half used tube of various brands in basically every nook, every cranny, all my purses, and each drawer in my house. Parish the thought that I spend ONE SECOND with dry lips. Awesome.

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