Sometimes Shit Feels Dark, but It Gets Brighter or "First World Problems, Bitch. First. World. Problems."

I'm not sure why I'm in such a dark place today. I love the Winter Solstice. Yes, it's the shortest day of the year, but that means each day after it is that much brighter. Only a minute or two at first, and then suddenly it's summer and there is all the time in the world.

It's likely I've been sliding toward today for some time. It was inevitable, really. Anyone who's ever lost weight or changed their appearance in any way knows this feeling. There's a pharmacy term that applies beautifully to this phenomenon. Ready to learn a new word?

WTF, you might ask.

You know how you lose weight, or change your hair color, or develop a new skill and it's all new and exciting and shiny and shit? And then how over time it becomes routine, or boring, or you simply stop seeing the progress you've made? That's where I'm at right now. It's happened to me many times before. You see, there is a clear picture in my head of what I look like. It has no bearing on my actual appearance. It is constant and unchanging. When I change something up and see results, even lasting results, there comes a point at which I stop seeing what I am and return to seeing what I was. 

Tachyphylaxis. I've developed tolerance to my "new" appearance and skills and they have begun to look precisely like my "old" appearance and skills, and even with increased frequency of stimulus the response is diminished. I am desensitized. 

Senior Portrait. Sexy, right?

See that girl? That's 17 year old me. Gods, I hated her. She was too tall, too fat, and so ugly. I know that because people told me that. To my face. Well, not people. Teenaged boys, who I'm convinced are a different species entirely. That girl weighed 142 pounds. Those jeans are a 29/36. She was 5'8" tall. Everything was wrong with her. Ask anyone with a Y-chromosome within 100 yards. He would've told you. 

Fast forward.

How about this girl? That's 21 year old me (I'm the blonde). I hated her, too. She was too tall, too fat, and so ugly. I know that because she bore the stretch marks of a 50+ pound weight gain during college, and nobody wanted to date her. Not one person her entire college career. That girl weighed 197 pounds. Those jeans are a size 14. She was 5'10" tall. Everything was wrong with her. She was stressed out, overworked, and barely holding it together.

A year later.

What a difference a year made. I'm on the left in this shot. Sixty-five pounds lighter, a college graduate with a job offer on the table. Suddenly people were interested in me. I was both grateful and infuriated. 

Ah, memories.

At 26 I met someone who didn't think I was too tall, or too fat, or so ugly. Well, at least not after getting to know me. I fit in this dress at 140 pounds and I commenced pressuring myself to stay that small so as not to be "false advertising" even though he made it very clear he would love me at any size. I could graft into the couch and become immobile and he'd still love me. We wouldn't have sex...but he'd still love me. 

On our honeymoon cruise.

Two fisting it.

I wore a bikini for like the second time in my life on this cruise, and I was self-conscious as fuck about it. I probably shouldn't have been. I was young, I was tan, and unmarred by the ravages of childbirth. Though I did have some wicked stretch marks from gaining a shitload of weight my freshman year of college. 

The ravages I spoke of.

Ironically, I've never felt better about my body than when I was heavily pregnant with twins. This woman is 36 weeks pregnant and weighs 247# and she doesn't give a shit. Suddenly people were telling me how I was "all baby" (I definitely was not) and exclaiming about how lucky I was to be so tall, and wasn't I just beautiful. 

After giving birth I struggled for a long time with the aftermath. I lost a hundred pounds over the course of the boys first year. My body was wrecked and I felt cheated. So much work, so much care, and I was left with an apron of skin and non-existent breasts. It was such a low time for me. I should've felt triumphant. I had done it, after all...I had won. I lost all the baby weight plus...but I wasn't happy with myself.

Work Xmas party, about 10 months after giving birth.

I wore a Spanx tank top every day to keep my flap from getting caught in my fly. Hot stuff. I couldn't run without something to bind the skin down so it wouldn't flap my pants off. I barely needed a sports bra. This was success? Not being able to be comfortable in clothes because the skin of your abdomen draped over and under your waistline? So I had surgery to remove the apron and regain my bust line (plus a little extra, since they were going in anyway). 10 inches of skin. Gone. It was like a miracle. I felt like I'd started over again, better this time. I made the most of it.  And then tachyphylaxis set in again.

My beautiful family.

I hated the way I looked in this dress. I hated that it was a size 12. That number felt like failure. So much work, and there I was again. Tachyphylactic and needing a change.  So I changed. I've gone through several incarnations over the past couple of years. What hasn't changed is that I keep working. What has changed is that I love myself more often now. 

Photo magic.

I didn't love myself going into the photoshoot above, but I loved myself coming out of it. It was literally the first time in my life that I was told I was photogenic. I've always felt I photograph particularly badly. My face is uneven and I look like a troll when I smile, which is why I don't do it for no reason. Having someone tell me I photograph well was a shock. But I think about that often, and I hide from cameras less. I have very few photos of myself throughout my life as a result of ducking cameras at every opportunity. I'm better about it now. Not great, but better. 

I wore this in public.

This was me last May. I was very proud of myself. I had worked hard, and I saw the results. Results that made me want to keep working. I wore shorts and felt good about it. It was a good time to be me.

You may not get it from the timbre of this blog, but I do love myself more often now. I like myself more days than I don't. I've always been at peace with who I am as a person...I embrace every awkward, introverted, socially inept, loud, profane, emotionless, robotic, boring, predictable facet of my personality. I'm better now at liking the candy shell surrounding it. Not perfect, certainly, and there are many days that I find myself stuck in a loop of negative self talk. I'm better at breaking out of it. I'll break out of today. Every day a brighter one here on in.

This was me this morning after CrossFit. I caught myself in the mirror and I admit that I saw the image of myself that I've carried around in my head since I was a teenager. Too tall, too fat, and so ugly. I took the photo mostly to force myself to look objectively. The camera doesn't lie. It sees what it sees, and this is what it saw. Not perfect, but in process. Progress. Always progress. It isn't linear, and there are bad days, but a bad day is not a bad life as the saying goes. Sometimes you feel a little ugly, and that's okay. 

Or a lot ugly, but that's okay too.

This is also me today. Trying something new, something I knew I wouldn't be entirely successful at. But that's how you grow. New stimulus, new growth...until it's time to change again.

They don't call them growing pains for nothing.

I'm not writing this to fish for compliments. Please don't go all "but you look great"...believe it or not, that doesn't help. It's not about what you might think of me, internet stranger. It's about what I think of me, the way I see myself. The way I talk to myself. The aim here is to point out that people wage internal wars you cannot see. The person you admire in the gym or on the street might be perfectly happy with themselves...or they might be tachyphylactic as hell and wondering how they got to that place. They might be backsliding, or in full on free fall. We all fight internal demons. Sometimes they win. Mine are winning today, but they won't win tomorrow. They can't win if I fight. I may be troubled, but I'm a formidable opponent.

Trust me, I know. I fight me all the time.

Day 2 on the Wagon or "Fuck You and the GHD You Rode In On"

I tried something new today! Egg whites in mah oatmeal. I've seen this all over the interwebs, but I've always been a little leery of microwaved eggs. Today I decided to give it a go, in order to check a protein box while simultaneously eating oatmeal.

So. Egg white oatmeal? Is motherfucking cake, y'all.

SO GOOD. OMNOMNOMNOM 

It is also ridiculously filling. Since you're going to ask, here's how I made it:

1/2c oats of your choice. Quick cooking, steel cut, Irish, whatever. I'm not your fucking mother.

1/2c milk of your choice. Dairy, soy, almond, hemp, goat, whatever. I used almond.

4 egg whites-ish. I suppose you could use more, but this was pretty cake-like. 

Place in microwave safe bowl (or don't, it's not my house...I don't care if you blow yourself to smithereens) and nuke for 3-5 minutes depending on what kind of oats you used and how many eggs you mixed in. Essentially cook it until it's done, you dig?

Mix in some shit you like. Pictured is about a cup of mixed berries and 15 almonds diced up pretty plus one packet of PureVia stevia. I hear PB and bananas is pretty great. 

You're welcome.

I wasn't going to go to the box this morning, but fantastic husband was going to go for the 915, there were squats programmed, and I was really sore. I love to squat when I'm sore. It's the only time I can actually feel my lazy glutes working. 6x2 starting at 70%. My last 2 were at 155#, and they were challenging but not soul sucking. Progress, bitches. I'm going to get that goddamn 200# squat in 2017. 

Then I came home to eat. 

And read. Also read.

I realize bacon sprouts don't really go with my "cut down on fat consumption" thing, but they were left over and you don't leave bacon sprouts. Unless you're a communist. And I'm not. A socialist, but not a communist.

This afternoon we got the *ahem* pleasure of watching two, count them TWO school Christmas pageants. We all know what a great mom I am, yeah? It shouldn't surprise you that sitting through these things is akin to pile driving a spike right into my brain. 

I know, I know. You love watching your speshul snoflayke sing and half ass dance for an hour twice a year. Great. You do you. In my opinion, elementary school programs should be classified as torture techniques by the Geneva Convention. In junior high, your kid joins band or choir and they care about that shit. They practice, they're proud. In elementary school? They have to participate. They have no choice. My youngest son spent his whole program stripping down to his t-shirt in a completely disinterested way. He was "bored" and "hot". HE was bored and hot? He was? This year there were recorders. Fucking recorders. 

Feel my pain, fuckers. FEEL IT.

I was dressed like Jem, so there was that. 

She was truly outrageous.

Once I had done my motherly duty, which included making faces at my youngest son for a good 20 minutes, we came home. I ate. Because that's what I do.

Highlighted by heaven, people.

Fantastic husband went to the grocery store and I settled down with my book while the smalls did homework. Babylon's Ashes...the 6th book in the Expanse series. Ye gods, I love this series. And the kids kept trying to talk at me. I'm reading. You're reading. Reading is a quiet recorder free activity. 

When fantastic husband got home, I got my Xmas present! I mean, I schlepped it in from the driveway where the UPS guy gave up, so I kind of knew what it was.

They are so beautiful. Black and shiny, like my heart.

We went down to my mom cave and talked about plate storage and space utilization. We spoke of folding Rogue racks for the garage, and he didn't roll his eyes at me. I'm making headway towards a full-on garage gym. I wonder if I could hide a GHD somewhere...

Speaking of GHDs, I did 50 yesterday thinking "I need to go back to doing GHDs every other day". Today's WOD? Fucking GHDs. My abdominal wall is crying. Yoga is going to be super-fun and special tonight. You know, if upward facing dog doesn't tear something free.

The pose for today in the 12 poses of Xmas was "Quiet Seat". Check this out.

It lasted for like 4 seconds. Four. Glorious. Seconds.

Dinner tonight was simple. Chicken chickpea salad with some apples and almonds. It was tasty. 

Easy. Plenty of leftovers.

I still have a protein and a dairy left for today. Maybe I'll mix some chocolate whey into a greek yogurt later. That sounds like an excellent idea, actually. Go me. Ooo...also a fruit. There's some strawberries yet. Yay.

Ah fuck it. Snacks now.

Every muscle in my body hurts. 

Can't wait to do it again tomorrow.

Pictures of Food or "I Have No Self-Control"

I've used blogging of and on to keep myself accountable to various things. Training programs, eating programs, knitting goals. For some reason dropping random shit into cyberspace keeps me from going down the rabbit hole. I go down the rabbit hole to self-destruction pretty easily. I fall prey to all-or-nothing thinking and once I'm off the rails, well, look out belooooooow. 

Over the past couple of months I've managed to regain about 4lbs. Maybe some of that is muscle, but Imma say probably not. I'm guessing it's more just lazy eating. Aside from an incident with a container of dark chocolate sea salt caramels in November, I haven't done badly from a food quantity perspective (in that I haven't overeaten the way only I can overeat) but I've slipped on the food quality front. Relying too much on protein bars and cafeteria salads with too much dressing, that kind of thing.

In anticipation of a BIA on 1/5 that will set my baseline for the year, I've been checking boxes for the last few days. Friday I pretty much had one kielbasa, two cookies, and a bottle of fizzy wine. Not the greatest showing, I grant you. Today I did well. Still have about 40oz of water to suck down, but I'm 100oz in and I still have a few hours to bedtime.

One of the things I probably need to get a handle on is my fat consumption. The fats I eat are all of the "good" variety...avocados, olive oil, coconut oil, that kind of thing. I do eat a shitload of it, though, and that runs into calories. I maybe don't need to cook my eggs in quite so much bacon fat, and maybe I could steam a vegetable from time to time instead of roasting them all in olive oil. I'll give it a go.

This morning was a clusterfuck around here. You know how it's so cold it'll freeze your balls off? Well, if you have balls, and I don't. About 15 minutes before we needed to leave for school I started in with the prodding. "Guys, finish up breakfast, you need all your gear this morning and it takes a while to get it all on"

"Yeah, mom, we know"

10 minutes before we need to leave for school. "Seriously, hurry the fuck up, you need to be getting dressed ASAP"

"Yeah, mom, we knoooooooooooow"

5 minutes before we need to leave. "All you little bastards better be 75% dressed or we're going to be late! What have I been saying for the past 10 minutes?!?"

"Mom, I can't find my mitten!"

It is at this point that I totally lose my shit and start screaming profanities at a 6 year old. A quick text to my husband locates the missing mitten, but we're still not all dressed and it's 7:35. So I'm stuffing kids into clothes and cramming them into the car, tossing backpacks in willy nilly so I can drive them the 400m to school while they finish dressing themselves.

What can I say? I am a great mom. 

Once they successfully tumbled out of the car and into the school, I hustled home to change clothes and make breakfast before heading to the gym. When I have a hot minute to cook, I make a nice morning meal for myself.

I don't really need the guac. That should probably go.

Today is day 6 of the 12 poses of Xmas at Jenstar yoga. I did it last year and it was fun and challenging. This year I've got my kids doing it, too (voluntarily, they ask all the time when they can go to yoga again). After breakfast this morning I figured I'd take my photo for IG and get it over with. The kids will have theirs done tonight before bed. 

Wild Thing. No, seriously, that's what the pose is called.

Looking at this picture is what made me realize I've let myself go a bit. Ain't no abs there no more. Hell of a lot of leg, but no abs. I liked the abs. So I'll be a little more diligent on the food front and remember to do my GHDs. My belly is the first place I put weight on, but it's also the first place it comes off, so there's that. 

Today's workout was an unexpected lung burner. It's been a long ass time since I've done wall balls in a WOD. Combined with weighted step ups and dead lifts after a bunch of tabata stuff...I was gassed. WTF happened to my engine. I need to run more, clearly, which I'll do after the first of the year. The 17.75k is in March after all, training begins 1/1. 

I wasn't going to squat afterward, but I figured if I didn't do it right then I wouldn't do it at all. So I did it. Pause squats to 125#. It wasn't as awful as I thought. And then those damn GHDs. 

I sat in the hole with 125#. It was a proud moment. Heaviest pause set ever.

After the WOD I mashed a pepper and some string cheese into my face. No picture. I'll be better about it. It was a red pepper and it was delicious.

Friday I started transitioning my hair to pink. I washed and Overtoned my hair again today, and it's definitely picking up the pink. The violet base is still there, but the pink shows through more than I anticipated. It's going to be fun to make this change. 

This paisley hat really compliments the crazy hair color.

I'm just gonna wear it forever.

My lunch was super fucking lazy. Basically it was a protein shake and this.

I was going to cut them into sticks, but why?

I'll do better. 

School pick up was fun. 85 layers and still cold. Only had to stand outside for 20 minutes, though, so there's that. Next year? These kids are walking themselves home. I'm too old for this shit.

WEAR ALL THE CLOTHES!

We did all the usual Monday shit and then came home for supper. I did well with supper today. I sat at the table and ate food like a goddamn adult. It's so easy to fall into just eating something standing up while finishing up whatever needs finishing. I do better when I plate my food in an attractive way and sit down and consider it vs. just shoveling it into my head. Snacks, sure. Cram 'em in there. Meals? No. Pretty. Fucking. Food. 

Leftovers.

After dinner I spent some funtastic time wrestling toys out of packages. Why is that shit bolted down with bands and ties and plastic stays? To make life a misery for parents? Kids bouncing up and down while you try not to dismember yourself, then realize you can't find the right size Phillips head screwdriver? But, you know, fun!

Since I was feeling stressed out and I'm trying to be a good child and not stress eat or booze myself into oblivion (because abs are not made of fizzy wine, bitches), I did some coloring. My SIL gave me a fantastic Giftmas present in the form of a coloring book and colored pencils. What do you think?

It's looking pretty boss so far.

In about an hour I'll treat myself to a bedtime snack. I fell out of the habit of doing this, too. I'm not sure why. It's nice to have a bedtime snack. I don't wake up so ravenous when I eat one.

Look at all those checked boxes?

As I suck down my 120th oz of water, I'm ready to tuck into my new book. After I pee. I've been waiting for this book for a year and I've only had time to get a few pages in and I'm already hooked. I should resurface in a couple of days. 

My two current favorite series. The Expanse, and Throne of Glass.

Now if only my final skein of yarn for my Zodiac afghan would arrive. I need a fire, some comfort knitting, and my book. That's pretty much my introvert trifecta right there. Warmth, something productive to do with my hands, and something distracting to do with my mind. Heaven. 

Well, there you have it. Another Day One. If you don't feel like looking at pictures of food for the next year or so, it's cool if you leave. I won't think any less of you, random internet stranger.

Preparing for 2017 or "Badass Is As Badass Does"

I'm going to be 40 in 260 days. Two hundred and sixty days. I have 260 days to get my "accomplish before 40" goals squared away.  Being as I already have a fair amount going for me in the life department, the majority of my goals are fitness focused.

Disclaimer: I'm pretty happy with my body. Yeah, I whine about my flat ass or my lack of abs, but I feel more than good about myself like 83% of the time. I don't think there was ever a point in my life that I was more body-confident than I am now...except possibly when I was pregnant with my boys. Because HELLO I am growing two humans simultaneously and I am LARGE and IN-CHARGE and can eat chilidogs whenever I damn well please. 

What I'm saying is my goals aren't really aesthetic, even if they may sound that way. Of course I wanna look hot in shorts. You do, too. You can say you don't, but you're lying. I'm headed full steam at 40. I have stretch marks (hoo-boy, do I have stretch marks) from being fat and being pregnant (I was pretty fat in my early 20s and pretty pregnant in my early 30s). I have cellulite. I have scars and bruises and spider veins and varicosities (I know, stop with the sexy talk). I don't care about all that shit. There are more important things to worry about (like the end of civilization #MAGA). Yes, I'd like to look a certain way...but that's the happy side effect, not the goal at this point.

I fail the "barbell test".

One of my running themes is irritation with the flatness of my ass. It's genetic. Wide and flat, that's my backside. I've been working really, really hard for the last year to counteract my flat-ass genes. Yes, this is an aesthetic thing. It's also a strength thing. My glutes are lazy AF. I'm trying to fix that. Strong glutes help so many things. Lifting, running, fuck even your posture is affected if your posterior chain is weak. I'm so much stronger now than I was a year ago, but there is more work to do.

By 40 my ass will not fit under this barbell. By the end of 2017 I will squat 200#. By the end of 2017 I will deadlift 250#. 

This is my barbell. I will make it my friend.

I've been doing some programming through Barbell Shrugged. It's had me doing tempo squats among other things. Tempo squats are kicking me in the teeth. Pause squats initially made me so panicky that I felt ill. Going on 3 weeks in it's astounding how much better everything feels. I did pause squats today and I felt...not comfortable...but not totally freaked out in the hole. That's progress. 

I had a moment the other day after doing a bunch of shoulder work. It was a good moment. Now, my body fat percentage is good. For a woman my age it's pretty fucking great, but it's not really low enough to see huge amounts of definition. However...

With a decent pump I can almost believe people can tell I work out. 

My shoulders and back have come a LONG way over the past year. It all started with chaturangas during the October challenge at Jenstar in 2015. Developing confidence in that movement and doing it often gave me the strength I lacked to get my chin up over the bar for my first pull-ups. Now I'm benching, barbell rowing, and changing up my push-up routine...and my back is strong enough that I think chest-to-bar pull-ups are close on the horizon (overhand grip, that is, I can do them underhand). 

That's another goal. Overhand grip C2B. I also really want to learn to butterfly my pull-ups. It'll be a while before I get there, I have other accessory work to do...but it seems possible now, and it didn't before. 

In 2017 I will also run my final marathon. Fantastic husband and I are running the Marine Corps 17.75k in March in order to guarantee entry into the Marine Corps Marathon in October. I wanted to end my distance running career with a bang, and this is it. I'm sure I'll still run a half marathon here or there, but the fire I used to have for running is gone. I still do it, because it's good for me, but I don't enjoy it like I used to. Maybe I'll find that again this year, but I doubt it. 

I'm back on the wagon with my eating as well. Not that I was really off the wagon, but I wasn't as consistent as I have been, and I wasn't getting enough water by half. So it's back to drinking water like it's my job and eating all the things every day, not just some days. Here's some shit I've eaten recently.

Spaghetti squash and sauce from scratch.

MY VERY FAVORITE SNACK!

Pomegranates. So fucking pretty. So fucking labor intensive.

Eggs, they're not just for breakfast anymore.

Fish at midnight.

Right now I'm so full of food and water I feel like someone inflated me.

I made this. It made me laugh. 

I'm actually really excited to work towards these goals this year. Strength takes time, and time I have in spades. I also have an endless well of self-discipline, as long as I let myself tap it. Self-sabotage is a looming specter. While I'm pretty damn great at carrying out a plan, I am equally as great at sneakily derailing myself, sometimes before I realize what is happening. 

It's in interesting place, the inside of my head. Abandon hope all ye who enter here. 

So here's the launch of a year long journey to do some shit 20 year old me would never have considered. I'm pretty excited to be 40 year old me, to tell you the truth. Saying "I'm 39" feels lame as fuck. 

Deep thoughts with stolen internet memes.

By way of recap, in 2017 I will:

1. Snatch 100# (I didn't mention that one, but it is A Thing)

2. Back squat 200#

3. Deadlift 250#

4. C2B overhand grip

5. Ring dips, no band (again, didn't mention it, but I'm working on it)

6. Hike the West Highland Way with my love (95 miles in 7 days-my birthday present)

7. Run the Marine Corps Marathon

8. Make my booty big enough to stop a barbell free-rolling across the floor. 

9. Prevent myself from hacking off my hair with a garden shears before June.

10. EPIC bounce house 'n booze adults only 40th birthday party. 

I have got to find this motherfucker.

Have you got a pack of goals for 2017? I'm not talking about resolutions, those are stupid. I'm talking about goals. Climb K2, swim the English channel, eat your weight in dark chocolate salted caramels (I may have done this), knit a sheep, punch a baby. Whatever. 

What are you working towards? What gets your motor running? Wanna come over and work out?

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

There is so much going on in my brain right now. So much that I'm having a hard time processing. I'll just dump it right here for you, faceless internet reader, and maybe you can sort it out.

I tried drinking. I tried eating candy. I tried watching comedy shows that turned into tragedy shows before my eyes. I tried sleeping. I tried coffee. I tried going outside to exercise.  And now...now I'm just sitting here breathing.

Namastay in my house from now on.

I am a middle-aged heterosexual cis-gendered white middle-class female. As a result, very little is likely to change in my life. I'm already educated, I'm already employed, I'm already paid as much as my male colleagues, I've already had children and been subsequently sterilized. Aside from cringing every time I hear President Trump speak, my life will more than likely not change at all. In fact, people may even assume I voted for Trump...something like half of women in my demographic did (and WTF was that about, sister suffragette?).

So why do I feel so violated? It's difficult to describe this feeling. It's very much like the way I felt after being mugged. I had a lot of WTF just happened here? followed by a feeling of hollowness, as though a cavern had opened up in my chest. I felt like I needed to cross my arms over my ribs to hold my body together. I actually did that this morning. Tried to hold my body together. 

I need someone to explain Trump's appeal to me. And not in slogans and platitudes. Really, truly explain to me. I want to understand. 

America isn't a reality show. Real, actual people are going to be affected by the policies a GOP controlled legislature with Trump at the helm could enact. He is not focused, he is not measured. He is a showman, and a damn good one...but can he govern?  And if he doesn't, who will? Mike Pence? Pray-the-gay-away-prove-it-was-a-miscarriage Mike Pence?  Several supreme court Justices are very elderly and there is already one vacancy. Have we just elected the President who will overturn Roe v. Wade? Undo the legalization of gay marriage? 

Who are his advisers? Newt Gingrich? Rudy Giuliani? Chris Christie? These are your Christian paragons of virtue? All you Family Values voters...these are your moral leaders? And please don't go all "But Bill Clinton had orgies with underaged donkeys and smoked cigars made of the pussies of virgins!" because 1. Bill wasn't the candidate and 2. Pics or it didn't happen. Also 3. I have no problem with the word pussy. Pussypussypussypussypussy. I have a problem with the idea that the violation of a woman's body is a punchline and everyone seems sort of fine with that. 

I am atheist AF and I don't hide it, which in this climate means I could never hold public office, so don't tell me to run. Polls indicate Americans would rather elect rapists than atheists. And I can sure see why, with such fine, upstanding Jesus-is-my-homeboy types just clambering to fake-pray their way into office. 

My consolation is this. There's no one to blame now. The GOP has been handed the reigns. There's no more Obama to point the finger at or Hillary to vilify. It's on Trump now. 

When Obama was elected I heard a lot of people express outright that they not only wanted him to fail, they would do everything in their power to make that happen. You know what that is? That's being a shitty American. You don't hope a President fails. I can hope Trump's plans to dial social justice back to 1948 fail. That's just self preservation. I need my own credit card to purchase leggings and multi-colored conditioners for my hair. 

I think the campaign promises Trump ran on are outrageous and impractical, and I think that once he sees how government actually works he is in for a very rude awakening. America is NOT a business, and it can't be run like one. The adjustment period is going to be ugly, but I can't hope for a government to fail. I can hope for people to see reason. I can work to make sure people are informed. I can stand up for friends and strangers who are experiencing injustice. I can make good and damn sure people don't sit out the midterm elections.

I can hope...I can hope... I can hope.

But just as a public service announcement? If anyone tries to grab my pussy I'm going to cut your heart out and eat it in front of you. You dig?

Now with 100% more nasty.

You're Just Another Brick and I'm a Sledgehammer.

As I age, I'm realizing more and more that I'm a sledgehammer. Some women are warm and giving, natural nurturers, the type of person you want to be your mom or grandma. That's not me. Some women are iron fists in velvet gloves, they keep order and rule the roost but with a soft touch that lets you think everything was your idea. That's not me either. Some women use their wiles to wheedle and cajole, hiding cunning minds behind smiles and fluttered eyelashes. That couldn't be me if I wanted it to be.

It's time to take down a wall.

I am a sledgehammer. I'm cold and hard with blunt edges made for laying waste. When I want something, I get it...by sheer force of will and application of brute strength. I can't pick a lock, but I can sure as hell break down a door.

Where am I going with this? Brace yourself, I'm going to get all feminist for a bit. I try to keep my politics off social media, because Facebook is for pictures of kids and dogs and races. I realize that my brand of godless liberalism doesn't jibe with most people's positions and I don't feel like fighting about it in a forum that just creates bad blood and (let's be honest) changes no minds. 

Now, Bernie Sanders was my horse in this race from the announcement of his candidacy. Why? Because his brand of democratic socialism aligns nearly 100% with my own ideals. That's a good reason to vote for a candidate. Second on my list was Hillary Clinton. There's a few minor policy points that I lean farther left on, but nothing that would keep me from voting for her with a clear conscience. 

So why don't people like Clinton? I'll tell you what I think: She's a woman.  Yeah, she's got some scandals (or perceived scandals) in her past. Show me a politician who doesn't. The difference is, she's got two X chromosomes and she's seeking power and people can't stand it. Women aren't supposed to be ambitious. We aren't supposed to want power. We're supposed to be good little girls, quiet and biddable, smiling in the corner while the men do the "real" work.

Sexism is everywhere. It is sometimes subtle, but it's there. 

Ever been told you'd be prettier if you smiled? No? Then you're probably a dude.

I'll smile when I fucking feel like it and only when I feel like it.

Ever been catcalled on the street, then had the guy go full "Fuck you, bitch, you're fat anyway!" when you don't engage? No? Then you're probably a dude.

I am not your goddamn ornament, asshole, and your approval is neither required nor desired.

Ever been told you're too loud, or that your personality is abrasive? No? Then you're probably a dude.

I'll raise my voice to be heard, and I don't need to be your friend to get shit done.

Ever been in a group of people when a concept is introduced, then had a male co-worker lean over and start man-splaining it to you? No? Then you're probably a dude.

I wrote the presentation, asshole.

Along with that, ever presented an idea at a meeting, had it be dismissed or ignored, then had a male co-worker say the exact same goddamn thing and be acknowledged? No? Then you're probably a dude.

And you bet your ass I say (LOUDLY) "I JUST SAID THAT."

This kind of thing is what's been happening to HRC from the beginning of this campaign. We get snide comments about her suits (stop calling them "pants suits", goddammit, no one calls a man's suit a "pants suit"). We get commentary about her voice (She's loud! She's shrill!). We get nasty remarks about the way she laughs (She sounds like a hyena!). We get the classic "She should smile more" but when she does? "Oh, she looks smug." 

Men are "assertive", women are "agressive". Men are "direct", women are "abrasive". Men are "strong leaders", women are "bitchy". Men are "stern" and women need to smile more. 

If you want I'll bare my teeth at you.

This is a person who is possibly the most qualified candidate for President in recent memory, if not ever. She is educated, she is articulate, she is experienced. I say if she wants to be stone faced, let her. If she's smug on the debate stage, she has a right to be. Personally, I'm impressed as fuck that she didn't start laughing her goddamn hyena laugh mid-debate with that word-salad spewing, self-aggrandizing, lying, cheating, swaggering blowhard. It is an insult that she is forced to compete with him at all. 

I recall very distinctly the first time I heard "A woman could never be President, could you imagine her with her finger on the button every 28 days?!? Yuck yuck yuck, hardee har har". I was 1984, when Geraldine Ferraro was Mondale's running mate. It was infuriating then, and it's infuriating now...particularly coming out of the mouths of women who back Trump. Well guess what, people. That pretty much makes a post-menopausal woman the ideal candidate for President. None of those pesky hormones getting in the way of good government. 

We've been trying to poke holes in the patriarchy for decades. Women like our own Tammy Baldwin and Tammy Duckworth and Elizabeth Warren made it into government and made some noise. Women like Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Sandra Day O'Connor and Sandra Sotomayor made inroads. But poking holes isn't getting us far enough. It isn't getting us equal pay, paid maternity leave, quality affordable childcare, and access to health care without the government dictating what that means. We've had 200+ years of men running this bitch, and for some reason now that everything is (apparently) a giant shitshow we've decided that the way to fix it is to put another man into office. 

It's time to get out the motherfucking sledgehammer and lay waste. And the sledgehammer in me recognizes the sledgehammer in HRC. I want a strong, competent woman to go out there and fucking govern. It is time. Screw cookie baking contests. Rise up with your RBF, slap on those sunglasses, and let's ride. 

If you're a Libertarian, I think you can vote for Gary Johnson in good conscience. Go for it. If you're a disgruntled Bernie supporter, please don't fuck us all by protest voting. Please. If you're a Republican and you can vote for Trump...well, I won't pretend to understand, because he isn't a Republican any more than I am. And if you can't bring yourself to vote for any of them? That is your right, but at lease go to the polls and write in Micky Mouse if you have to...but go vote the down ticket races. That is where shit gets done.

I felt the Bern. I did. But come November? #imwithher and I won't apologize for it. 

I Played Dress Up and It Was Awesome or "Front Door Fashion is my BFF and StitchFix Can Suck It"

So I've been getting boxes from StitchFix for a while now. I've gotten some awesome jeans, a couple of cute tops and camisoles, a maxi skirt or two, and lately? A large number of total head scratchers. Clothes that don't remotely fit, or make me look like a box, or fit like a bag, or get stuck on my shoulders. Also, with StitchFix you're getting unrelated pieces, not cohesive looks.

Newsflash, I can't dress myself. I mean, I can dress myself for the gym and I can throw a pair of black scrubs together like a boss, but regular clothes? Yeah. Forget it. Jeans and a t-shirt all the way.

Which makes my deep love of high heeled shoes hard to justify. When you're always in jeans and a hoodie, there's not a lot of call for knee high boots.

I still buy the boots...it's just harder to find a reason to wear them besides walking around the house being the very tallest person here! You all look like ants HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! 

So about a month ago, at 3am, I stumbled upon Front Door Fashion. Historically, every idea I've ever had at 3am has been a super-fantastic one, so I dove in. This is a Dallas based company that assembles full looks including accessories and ships them to your door. The idea is that instead of getting a shirt, or a pair of pants that you like but have no idea how to wear...you get entire outfits that you can mix and match, along with instructions on how to do that. Style cards, shoe suggestions for each look, and notes from the sylist about how to make it work for your body type.

It's the size of a suitcase. Signature required because there 

is $1000 worth of clothes and shit in there.

The profile you fill out is pretty lengthy, and you're encouraged to leave detailed notes for the stylist...and boy did I ever. My overly-long-but-not-skinny legs, my freakishly long arms, my easily-stuck-in-tailored-clothes shoulders...right down to "Hey, my hair is super-hero blue! Don't send me blue shirts!!" 

You're also asked specific questions about what sizes you take and how different garments fit you. I gave exhaustive detail. To the point that I was worried the stylist was going to think I was unbalanced. But if I was gonna do this, I was gonna do it right. 

Since this is a full styling service, it takes a few weeks to get your stuff. It was about 3 weeks for me. The delivery is signature required, which is kind of a pain, but I get why. This is a huge box with a LOT of stuff in it. A thief would be very well dressed indeed. 

So what was in the box? OMG so much awesome! I feel a little guilty that I didn't do my hair and put on make-up to play dress up with this stuff. Please excuse my plain face and hospital hair...I have to work tonight.

Fancy.

Everything was in a garment bag, labeled and named to correspond with the stylists notes and the style cards included. There's also a packing slip with everything itemized by outfit. You have 5 business days from receipt of the box to decide what you want. A return label is included...you just slap it back on the original box.

Look at all this stuff! 

I'm too lazy to go look now, but the total number of items was staggering. Earrings, necklaces, belts, shirts, pants, camisoles, scarves, jackets, jeans, etc. A ton of shit. It was all beautiful stuff, too. Nice colors, nice fabrics. The stylist even referenced my love of high boots in the style notes...she built two outfits around my boots!!!  YAAASSS QUEEEEENNNN.

The first outfit was coated leggings in a dark wine color. Kind of a leather look, which I found alarming at first, but holy shit they looked awesome and are so comfortable!!! It also included a long camisole, an asymmetrical hem knit shirt (with thumb holes! eeeeeee!) and a scarf. Honestly, I thought it looked pretty good (if a little basic white bitch), but even if I don't keep the scarf and the long t-shirt I'm keeping the damn leggings. Susan? Leggings are totally pants and now I have proof. I love the sort of loose-fitting-over-tight-fitting look on other people, but it always makes me feel...large. Maybe because I'm so tall? I'm always afraid I look like a barge. 

I felt almost fashionable.

The second outfit had a camisole, two different shirts, and a pair of distressed straight legged jeans (and a couple of necklaces and some earrings). The plaid is actually something I would wear...I love plaid shirts, and the camisole was awesome. These jeans are not at all stretchy, so getting them over my booty was a challenge, but they fit fine once I cleared that hurdle. I never know how to feel about the peek-a-boo shoulder type shirt, but I didn't hate this one.

This box was worth it for the goddamn camisoles.

The next outfit included a pair of trouser jeans. These were never really my bag, but I'm open. They were really comfy, just a little bit of stretch, and long enough to wear high heels (thanks, stylist!). I like the flannel shirt, it is soft and fit nicely. I'd probably put a t-shirt of camisole under it. The belt was great, and I needed a brown belt. Not a fan of the earrings (also, I wasn't going to try on earrings...seems icky). The alternate shirt was this loose red cross neck. A leftover from my many varied stints as a fat girl is that loose clothes make me feel big. I didn't hate this top, for all that it was loose and blouse-y, I'll need to consider it again in the next day or two. It's a good color for me at any rate.

It's maybe a little 1970s, but then...so am I.

The next outfit was skinny jeans (which I don't need, but boy were these nice), and a couple of tanks. There was also this jacket which was weird as hell, but I kind of liked it. Sadly, it didn't fit. The sleeves wouldn't come up over the head of my shoulder, and when I bent my arm they were uncomfortably tight over my biceps. I'd never be able to get a shirt under this, and I don't think sizing it up would help...the sleeves were a bit short. This outfit came with an awesome necklace, though.

The black tank says "Save water, drink champagne"

So, yeah. That was Front Door Fashion: Take One. I was impressed. The stylist actually read my notes and everything aside from the jacket fit really well. Pants were all the perfect length, nothing too small or too big, everything comfortable and cute. Patterns that weren't totally off the wall, and even my shitty fashion eye could see many different combinations among the assembled outfits. It's going to be hard to decide what to keep...and my last few StitchFixes have all been "HAHAHAHAHA NO" and back in the mail the same day. 

This is pricier than StitchFix, and if you already have a decent wardrobe you may not need this kind of thing. My wardrobe is non-existent. Seriously...sad as fuck. I need jeans like I need another hole in my head, but a couple of these pairs may stay. And the leggings...sweet baby dolphins I loved those things. I can't believe it...I kind of shopped, and it was fun. Mostly because it didn't involve other people or dressing rooms and I didn't have to comb my hair.

Also today arrived my new swim suit from Savage Swim. It's my goal to wear it proudly in Hawai'i. I tried it on, and it is cute-ish if somewhat intimidating in white. You won't see a picture of it on me here, I have 30 days to make it look as good as possible...then all winter to build up a booty worthy of white bikini bottoms for next summer. 

So. Cute. And Scary.

That's all I got. Just pictures of clothes I got in the mail. Sorry not sorry.