L.Y. Levand's Blog, page 8

8 Challenges For Women

"I wouldn't want to be a woman. It's hard."

My coworkers were talking about it. Both men, both married, both with a tone of awe in their voices as they talked about the challenges facing women, simply because of their gender. Being a woman, I know just how trying it can be. And, since I'm also a blogger, and one that hasn't yet done the ubiquitous list post, I thought I'd give it a try. Things that are uniquely woman issues, and some tips for male survival. ;) Multiple women have contributed their experiences to this (usually in the form of stories).

1: The monthly ability to take a perfectly normal comment as a mortal insult and treat it as such. The moment a perfectly innocuous comment or question sets us off is usually a dangerous moment. At least emotionally. Mostly because you have no idea why it's suddenly a sensitive subject (and sometimes you've said the exact same thing before with no reaction) and no idea how to fix what you just did.

Survive it: One way is to just shut up. That doesn't always work, of course, because that sometimes makes us angrier. (Don't ask why if that's what happens; that's probably one of those dangerous ones.) If shutting up doesn't work, try a sincere apology. Just don't get angry back. That gives us a target. Which is bad.

2: The (also monthly) period. In addition to the general mess, this includes the possibility of severe stomach-area cramps, lower back pain, headache, fatigue, and is sometimes accompanied by a ridiculous desire for chocolate and other junk food.

Survive it: Don't freak out if she's curled up with a rice bag or heating pad, is cranky from pain, or eats a bag of candy. If she's trying to lose weight, do not bring her candy or junk food to try and cheer her up. This might invoke number one. A movie is acceptable. If she's not trying to lose weight, then don't worry about it. She'll probably be thrilled to get her favorite flavor of ice cream.

3: Childbirth. Most people find it uncomfortable thinking about the idea of a woman's pelvis splitting to allow the passage of a baby through the birth canal. Sounds painful, yes? And then there are the contractions, which is the uterus squeezing, and all the discomforts of pregnancy. Mood swings, morning sickness, weight gain, swelling feet, weird cravings (my mother chewed on rubber bands), along with the possibility of gestational diabetes, and other diseases that only occur during pregnancy.

Survive it: Piece of advice number one, don't hold her hand during labor unless she's on pain meds or has a gargantuan amount of self-control. Piece of advice number two, talking about food while she's in extreme pain (labor) and not allowed to eat solid foods is a dangerous proposition (talking about cars is also a no-no). Piece of advice number three - if you feel terrible about her going through period cramps, be prepared for the ultimate guilt trip. Labor is worse. Much worse. If she has cravings and they're nothing dangerous for mother or child, then it might be in your best interest to help her indulge them. She might get sick during pregnancy, so don't freak out; it's normal. Basically, be solicitous and kind. Her body is going through a lot of crazy stuff.

4: Trying to explain why you're emotional about something stupid. It affects us, for real. It doesn't always make sense to you. In fact, it probably rarely does. Truthfully, it doesn't always even make sense to us. Sometimes we can't explain it, and sometimes asking us to try is a dangerous idea. Especially if we don't understand it, because that frustrates us on top of it.

Survive it: Understand that our emotions won't always make sense or be reasonable. And that sometimes, asking us to try is not the wisest idea. It might be a good idea to wait until later to find out.

5: Beauty. Men deal with this, too; the pressure to be attractive. But it's nothing on what women are pressured for. We're raised on Disney princess movies, where every princess has a tiny waist, huge eyes, and conforms to beauty ideals that are just not practical. And when we get older, we get chick flicks, where the pretty girl gets the guy, and the guy doesn't even notice her until after her makeover. We're bombarded in adulthood with airbrushed photos of supermodels, women who go nude in movies, and women who dress provocatively after spending thousands of dollars on personal trainers or plastic surgery. We're faced with ads for makeup that tell us that we can be sultry, sexy, and a man magnet if we have longer eyelashes, this eyeshadow, that lipstick, this foundation. Which, of course, makes us feel that we aren't already any of that.

How to survive it: Learn to appreciate real beauty, for one. Don't pressure us to try and match the beauty ideals around us. Love us for who we are inside, and love the way we already are outside. Don't make us feel inferior in your sight by being willing, or even wanting, to watch movies with nude or scantily-clad women. The same for pictures, magazines, and books. The woman in your life will appreciate it, I'm sure.

6: Low Self-Esteem. A lot of women have this, as a result of #5. We want that stuff. To be pretty, attractive, sexy, beautiful - whatever you want to call it. We rarely meet the arbitrary standards that we and others set up for us. There's a reason the question "does this make me look fat?" is a question with no right answer.

Survive it: Recognize this. A lot of the standards we have are ones we've chosen, and sometimes don't realize it. When we don't meet them, we feel inferior. If we ask if we look fat, it means we half-think it's true already, we don't want it to be, but already partially believe it's true. If you say yes, we'll be crushed. If you say no, we may think you're lying. The best thing you can do is do what you can to make sure you believe (and express) that we're beautiful as we are. If we feel safe, if we feel secure, it should be possible to answer that question honestly without fear of a breakdown.

7: The pressure to have and do it all. The world seems to expect women to be happily married, have happy, healthy, well-balanced children, a thriving and climbing career, able to keep her home clean, organized, well-decorated, feed her family home-cooked and healthy organic meals, wear fashionable dresses with heels, have perfect hair and makeup, while also exercising regularly. Does that seem like a ridiculously long and impossible list to anyone else? We feel that pressure with every perfect picture of a meal posted on Facebook that was cooked by someone else. Why can't our food look like that? Why can't our hair cooperate like the lady on that magazine we saw at the store? Why is it so hard to juggle a marriage, a job, and kids, not to mention your home, cooking, and your own health?

Survive it: Well, helping out at home is always a plus. But maybe letting your girl know you don't expect all of that from her would be a better idea, and being appreciative of the things she does manage. You may have to ask her not to watch certain television shows so she doesn't build up unrealistic goals in her own mind, or something similar, because that's probably the core problem.

8: The differences in strength and body composition. First of all, it's a little humiliating realizing you can't open the jar of peanut butter. Or jelly. Or pickles. We're simply not as strong as men. Our bodies were built to be softer and smaller. My fiancee is only two inches taller than I am, but I'm still a lot smaller than he is. My feet compared to his look like a kid's feet; he weighs twenty to thirty pounds more than I do. I can't open the soda bottles with twist off metal caps because it rips into my skin. My dad can pop them off with no apparent effort, and no discomfort.

Survive it: Don't close the jars in the house an extra turn. Or there's a good chance you'll be asked to open it. If you're taller, you'll probably be asked to get things out of cupboards or off high shelves. Our skin is thinner, our bones more fragile and more likely to get injured, so be gentle. There are many things we can do for ourselves, but would appreciate if you did them for us, simply because it will be much easier for you. And I wouldn't suggest any ridicule, especially if the woman in question is sensitive. It might take a swallowing of pride to ask to begin with.

Big Announcement!

Some of you may have noticed that, with the exception of the last few weeks, I've been pretty quiet on my blog. For months.

Well, there's a reason for that, and I figured it's (finally) time for me to do some explaining.

At the beginning of August, I started dating. And, as of December, I'm engaged. I won't be getting married until April, at which time I'll also be moving across the country.

The good news for you guys, is that my fiancee is also a writer. In fact, he's published two full-length books, and will be joining me as admin of my Facebook page, as well as getting his own blog here.

We're planning a lot of cool stuff; a blog series, more regular posts, and even a book that we're planning on writing together.

The other good news is that I'm going to be quitting my job, and working with him. His job requires less time than mine currently does, which will give me more time to work on my writing projects and keep up with all the websites I've been neglecting. *cough*Goodreads*cough*

There are a few articles of bad news; like the boxes currently residing in my living room, and the fact that my posts will probably get sporadic again as the wedding gets closer, as well as the unfinished rough draft of Metamorphose that is residing on various electronic devices, begging to be completed. But there will be good things on the other side, I promise.

Over the next few weeks, the website is going to get a little bit bigger to accommodate my fiancee, and there are going to be some pretty big changes going on on the Facebook page as well. His writing will join mine, we'll make appearances on each other's blogs, and hopefully the page's posts will be more predictable, informative, and amusing.

So I'm going to introduce you to my almost-husband, S. A. Maus:

Hi everyone, I'm Seth (S.A. Maus) and you'll be seeing me more and more around here. I'm going to be marrying Laurel soon, and I am so excited to be working together with her on projects, both on the blog and in print! Our lives are going to be crazy for the next couple months, but I hope to post some cool things soon!

When Driving...

The person in the car in front of me was sitting at a green light. Just sitting. I was driving (shocking, I know; I've been putting off getting my license for years) and I was wondering if I needed to honk the horn, so they'd see the light was green, and realize they could go.

But as I looked around, I saw that it wasn't that they weren't paying attention. It was the pedestrian crossing the street.

In the state where I currently live, there's a law that was passed recently. Any driver has to wait for a pedestrian crossing the street to be eight feet away, or on the other side of a concrete divider or median before they can go. The person in front of me, waiting at the green light, was waiting for a pedestrian. They were following the law.

What struck me was how slow the pedestrian was moving.

Since the law was passed, it's not uncommon. People walking can step out into the street, and traffic has to come to a halt until they're at least one lane away. They don't have to worry about being hit, so they can walk as slow or as quickly as they'd like.

A lot of them walk very slowly.

Now, this bugged me when someone else was driving, too. Not really because we had to wait, more because the pedestrians are being inconsiderate when they step onto into the middle of a street, with no crosswalk (and they do this) expecting everything to just stop for them, and then not even make some attempt at thanking the people who made it possible for them to do that without getting killed.

Really? You're going to ignore the crosswalk half a block away, step into the road, expect everyone to stop for you, walk super slow across the street, and then not even make a token attempt at a "thank you"?

What bothers me even more is the thought that these same people probably have the same attitude when driving, and would get seriously ticked off at a pedestrian that did the same thing to them.

My uncle calls it the "me first" attitude.

I don't know what causes it, but I do know that it's annoying, aggravating, and can be dangerous.

If you just step out into the street expecting the world to stop, what happens if it doesn't? Do you get hit? Do you pay a long visit to the hospital? Or, worse, does it end in death?

Yeah, drivers have a lot of responsibility. They're driving massive vehicles that cause millions of dollars worth of damage every year. People die driving them all the time.

But that doesn't diminish the responsibility you have when you are the pedestrian. You want to stay alive and uninjured? Then be smart. Don't step in front of a speeding car and cuss them out when they don't stop fast enough and make you spill your coffee. Use a crosswalk. You know, a place where drivers expect people to be crossing the road. And then wait until the road is clear. Then, instead of walking super slow, maybe speed it up a little?

Some of us are required by law to wait for you. You could at least be courteous enough to make your passing as speedy as possible. In places where people aren't required to wait for you, it's doubly important. They don't have to do that; they don't have to sit in their cars while you step off the curb, and put their own lives and errands on hold while you saunter across the road with all the speed of a snail.

If you were in the car, wouldn't you want the pedestrian you're waiting for to take you into consideration?

Yeah, yeah, people driving have issues too. Believe me, I know. I had a tailgater for fifteen minutes on the way home the other night.

The idea is to think of the other people involved, whether you're walking, biking, or driving, there are people around you that you should be considerate of.

If you're driving, for instance, tailgating is a pretty stupid way to try and make someone in front of you go faster. I, for one, will only go slower. For two reasons. One, it annoys me that you're going to be that close to me, and think that you can make me go faster by doing something stupid (it's not very nice of me, but hey. I have another reason). Two, the slower I go, the slower you go, which means the less dangerous it's going to be if you hit me - which is more likely because you're following so close.

Another thing you can do if you're driving is pay attention to the pedestrians. And, if you're not in a hurry and someone is waiting to cross the road, maybe slow down and let them go?

When I'm walking on the sidewalk and I need to cross the street, I stand on the sidewalk and wait until it's clear. But sometimes, a patient motorist will see me waiting, and stop to let me go first. I've always appreciated that. Because I wait to step into the street, they aren't required to wait for me, but they do it anyway.

Not everyone is going to appreciate any effort you make to be considerate or accommodating. But some of us will. And some of us will remember that.

Think about other people. And if they're smart, they'll appreciate it.

Fat Shaming

It keeps popping up. On Yahoo! news, and various other news outlets, blogs, and websites. At first, I thought it was great. But now that I think about it, maybe it's not.

The idea of women learning to appreciate their body types is a great thing. No stereotypical women's body type can possibly cover all the ways a feminine body can be beautiful. Women either starving themselves or working out constantly to the point of exhaustion is a terrible and dangerous thing to do, especially in an attempt to match up to the "perfect" woman ideal.

But this has also led to another movement that I feel strongly is detrimental.

It's called fat pride.

The idea that fat is beautiful, that fat should be accepted, that being fat is healthy, and for those ideas to be plastered all over the place...well, there's a host of evidence pointing to it being unhealthy. That alone is enough for me.

Loving our bodies the way they are is one thing. Appreciating the beauty we have is great. But making it okay to be overweight is unhealthy.

Don't get me wrong, it's possible to be overweight or even obese and be really, truly beautiful. And there's nothing wrong with appreciating our bodies the way they are. But trumpeting the fact that you are overweight and proud of it is far from helpful, or healthy.

The more overweight people you see, the heavier a weight you'll accept as normal. And Americans are as overweight as ever.

By portraying such a heavy weight as being a positive, it's increasing what we view as a healthy weight. The more overweight people you see, the heavier you think normal is.

While the women who proudly display pictures of themselves as overweight have a lot of courage, I believe they are contributing to a rising health problem in our country.

Obesity is a major cause for health problems across the US. Obesity is a risk factor for heart disease, diabetes, and even cancer. It can also bring on osteoarthritis, from extra weight on the joints.

I don't think people should be discriminated against for being overweight. They are still people, with thoughts, feelings, dreams. And they're living in a world that places a very high emphasis on being thin and being attractive. They are different, and being discriminatory is...disrespectful and unkind.

But fighting to make it acceptable, and even something to be proud of, is going to have dire consequences for Americans. Our obesity rate is rising, and weight-related health problems are the second highest cause of death.

Being proud of your body the way it is, is great. Appreciate your own unique brand of beauty. But if you are overweight, if you are obese, perhaps you should think twice about joining the fat pride movement. I personally don't want you to suffer health problems, and I certainly don't want you to contribute to a growing problem in this world that I'll be raising my children in.

Fat and proud is not a slogan I want to see a relative of mine promoting. I have some overweight relatives that I love very much. Some of them now have heart problems and diabetes. I don't want them to be proud of what their weight is doing to them. I want them to be healthy.

In fact, I'm going to say something so not politically correct that it'll probably make some people angry. If it will save the lives of my friends and family, I may do my own version of fat shaming.

Sometimes, people need to feel shame. Sometimes, people have to get over their feelings of being hurt, their feelings of being inadequate, and realize that there is a problem and they have the power to do something about it.

I'm not saying be mean, and I'm not saying be hurtful.

But instead of making people believe that it's okay to be so overweight that their joints hurt, tell them the truth. Being overweight, being obese, is dangerous. It's detrimental to their health. It can kill you. Don't tell them fat is beautiful.

Just like with being thin, it's not worth it if it's bad for your health.

There's a very big difference between appreciating the beauty you have and promoting an unhealthy lifestyle. Yes, learn to love what you're like now. But don't let that stop you from making healthier choices, either. By making it okay to be overweight or obese, you're promoting unhealthy weight among both the young and the old, and changing our perception of what is healthy and what is not.

Fat is not beautiful - you are beautiful. And that fat could be shortening your life.

Where Are the Mothers?

She collapsed on the sidewalk, wheezing and coughing. The other girl with asthma was sitting on a low stone wall, holding her chest and breathing hard.

Both girls had asthma, both needed inhalers, but there was a crowd around the girl on the sidewalk. She was coughing loudly, dramatically, her head bobbing as she supported herself on the concrete with both hands.

They'd both collapsed with asthma attacks in the middle of a run. I knew both girls personally, and knew something most bystanders probably wouldn't have. It was probably the girl sitting on the wall that needed more help than the one on the ground.

The girl on the ground had a history. Not a bad one, just...one that made it rather difficult to believe it was as bad as she was trying to make us think it was.

She liked attention, you see. She would say and do things that were totally unnecessary, simply because it would get people to look at her, laugh at her, watch her. Everything she did, she did dramatically. She wanted to excel, and she wanted people to notice it when she did.

It really got to me.

I've come across a number of girls that seek attention. By being loud, by being competitive, by dressing provocatively.

As someone who doesn't understand the allure of that kind of attention, it grates on my nerves and strikes me as grasping at straws. To me, it smacks of desperation, and my first inclination is to ignore them. To not give them what they are so obviously seeking.

And I have two reasons for wanting to do that. One is shallow and could be rightly labeled as a little mean-spirited. They want it, they're doing whatever they can to get it, so I think they shouldn't have it. I have my faults, too, in case you were wondering, lol.

But the second is different.

Why do they want attention? Is this really what they're wanting? Or are they wanting something else, something that's missing in their lives?

When a girl does stupid things to make people laugh at her because she wants attention, it's not really what she wants.

At one point in my life, I wanted a certain kind of attention, too. I wanted someone I respected, a teacher, to do something very simple. To see that I could be better than I was, and to help me achieve that "better." I saw other people I knew getting that kind of attention, and I thought that maybe if I was more like them I'd get it too. So I tried to change. I tried to be different, more like them. I wanted to be better, and labeled what they were doing as better than what I was doing.

I wanted something. I needed something. I wasn't getting it, and doing what I was doing wasn't getting me what I needed. So I reached out in the only way I knew how. The only way that I saw was working.

The problem was that it didn't work. And it didn't work because I tried to be like someone else, and part of what I needed was to be seen for who I already was, and valued for that.

The girls that are seeking attention are probably not looking for that for its own sake. They need something that they aren't getting. Maybe love from a parent, maybe recognition for something, maybe something else entirely. But if you simply give them what they seem to be looking for, you may not be helping them at all.

I used to try and help the girls who did stuff like that. I tried to talk to them, befriend them, protect them. All of that didn't help them at all. What they needed wasn't something I could give them.

These girls do need help. But sometimes we can't give it to them. I'm not saying to let them fend for themselves, or to ignore their needs. Far from it. Love them, care for them. But a lot of the needs they have can be filled by a mother.

I knew a woman that tried to help me, once. I didn't need her help, or want it, but she tried anyway. It was invasive, and it really bothered me how she was trying to insert herself into my life as a second mother figure. Now, I can see this woman's daughter in need of more help than I ever was.

I want mothers, aunts, grandmothers, sisters - all of you to focus on the girls in your own life. Don't look at someone else's daughter and take on a project that causes you to create another hurting girl in your own house. Focus on your own family first. Helping a young girl is not the job of a stranger, it's the job of a mother (or a father). Only when a mother fails, or simply doesn't try, should someone else have to step in. Most women have their hands full raising their own daughters. And they should be. Focus on not creating troubled girls to begin with. Then maybe you can help the ones for whom it's too late.

These girls need their mothers. And mothers need to love their daughters. Then maybe we won't have broken girls hurting, desperate for things that should have been given freely.

Maybe it's Time to Get Over it.

Throwing the box of kazoos is usually not a good idea.

But sometimes, you just want to throw the box of plastic kazoos anyway. At someone. The doofus at work who didn't know how to play one and decided to put it in his mouth to try it out, for one. (Due to the health laws in my state, we cannot take something back that's been put in the mouth. When I told him this, and that he had to pay for the item, well...let's just say it damaged our already fragile relationship.)

My point is...yeah, it's annoying when that guy walks into your store, ignores all the signs warning him, and promptly puts a brand new kazoo in his mouth. It's even more aggravating when he pitches a little fit because he has to pay for it.

It's frustrating when someone does something stupid, or mean, or hurtful.

And I've been lecturing about trying not to do that for months now. It's only polite. I mean, everyone knows how few polite people there are nowadays, and being part of an endangered species should make you feel special. But what about the people who just don't get it? The people who don't care, the ones who look right at you and do it anyway?

Well, they aren't going to go away. They just aren't. Even if most people are miraculously affected by my blog posts, and behavior takes a turn for the better, there's still going to be one grumpy-pants person that does whatever he or she wants at the expense of someone else.

So what do you do? Freak out and start a petition? Take it to heart and feel like the whole world hates you? Go after the person like they've mortally offended you and deserve social annihilation? Assume that you're a bad person and it's your fault they're treating you badly?

Please, no.

Just...no.

Being polite, being kind, is an important part of life. It's something we should all strive for. It makes living with each other until death a far more pleasant prospect.

However (yes, there's a however) we're all still imperfect, flawed beings trying to get along in a world where no two of us are the same. And, while blunt, angry people have their quirks that drive us all crazy, so do the rest of us. They might walk into a store and throw a tantrum because you don't do what they want. But is that better or worse than a person who holds it in, develops a grudge, and lets it color every aspect of their lives for who knows how long?

Is a person who is obviously a little cranky better or worse than a person who fakes it because they feel so pressured by the people around them to be happy all the time?

Someone who doesn't care diddly-squat what you think. Is that better or worse than the person who falls apart at every little implied criticism that flies out of your mouth?

I know some sensitive people. I'm not going to lie. And I've had some difficulties with it myself. But there's something important I learned from it.

While people who are in-your-face can be unpleasant to deal with, at least you know where you stand and why. You always know what bugs them, because they spout it at you every time you do it. You always know when they're unhappy and need cheering up, because they let it all hang out.

Being too sensitive is as much a problem as being too tough or insensitive.

We're not made of sugar. Rain won't make us melt. Something unpleasant shouldn't send us so off course that we obsess over it for days. Neither should something so small be something we feel the need to extract revenge for. We're not children fighting over the crayon box.

Little things sometimes bother you. I get that. I've dealt with it myself on a regular basis.

But it shouldn't control our lives. That grumpy customer didn't tie you up with puppet strings. In fact, if they're there at all, you probably did it yourself.

So think about it. Sometimes, we have to just deal with it, learn not to take it personally, or, even better, appreciate the differences in the people around us. They're not (most of them) after us with a criticism bazooka in an attempt to commit emotional murder, so stop acting like it. And maybe if you stop acting like it, the people who really do want to hurt you won't get any more pleasure out of it.

And, for that matter, what about the time you went shopping on a bad day? Did you snap at the cashier? Did you slam stuff on the counter? Did they say something that ordinarily wouldn't have fazed you, but on top of everything else that happened that day, was just too much?

You've been on the other side of it too, my friends.

Take a deep breath. Let it out. Realize that people are not the same as you. Realize that just because they are different is not an excuse to get all hurt and pouty like a kid in timeout. But, most of all, realize that if you get hurt feelings from someone being what you perceive as mean to you, you can control how hurt you are.

You can decide you aren't going to let it bug you.

The blame may lay mostly (and sometimes entirely) on the other person. But you can't fix them, can you? The only thing you can really do with benign rudeness or ill temper is to let it bounce right off, or take steps to avoid them. It's going to happen anyway. You can either be all hurt and sulky, or you can shrug it off, chalk it up to a bad day for them, and get over it.

I know which option sounds better to me.

Apples and Grapes

I was sitting in the bathroom, feeling sorry for myself. My self esteem had taken a nosedive, which happens occasionally, and taken my mood right along with it.

I felt like I looked awful. In fact, in that moment, to myself, I did look awful. Terrible. I was all set to have a nice little pity party, when my inner counselor (the part of my brain that doesn't let me stay messed up for very long) started asking questions. Sometimes, when I do this to myself, I get annoyed. I don't want to answer questions, I just want to feel bad. Unfortunately, since this inner counselor is part of me, she comes with my brand of stubbornness. Which pits me against myself in a no-win situation. Since I felt bad and didn't really want to, I decided to play along.

Well, my inner counselor thought, why do I feel like I look terrible?

Because, the rest of me wailed.

That's not a good answer, my inner counselor reminded me. Why? There has to be a reason.

Because I don't look the way I should, came the answer.

Oh? And who decides how you "should" look? My inner counselor replied.

At that point, I snapped out of it. That question was like a bolt of lightning. Who, indeed? Because it obviously wasn't me. If it was up to me, then what would I have chosen to define as beauty? Myself, of course. Who wouldn't have jumped at the chance to make themselves considered the most beautiful?

Who decides what women "should" look like? Well, obviously models are considered the pinnacle of pretty. But they didn't choose that, did they? So models aren't the answer. They don't have any more control over that than I do. They would be just like me, if...if what?

Well, if they hadn't been chosen as being the most beautiful by people who want to make money.

The people who want to make money choose who they view as the most attractive people to advertise their products. Because they want to make money. And how does that make money? Well, for women, they're tapping into a desire to look like the model on the screen, and being told that if they buy this product, they'll look like that.

They don't spell it out, of course, because that would land them in hot water for perpetuating the low-self-esteem epidemic. But it's there. I've seen enough cosmetics commercials.

So, because models were made out to be the height of beauty, every American does what? Aspires to be that. Of course. Women take that to heart because they've been conditioned to try and look pretty. So they want to look the way models do. Men want that in their women, too. I'm speaking in broad terms, of course, these don't apply to everyone. But in general, I don't think it's going too far to say that it's pretty accurate.

But my point is this: models typically have one body type. Tall and thin.

Comparing me, for instance, to one is like comparing the prettiness of apples and grapes. Both are fruit, but they have different aspects that make them appealing. Maybe you like the color red, so you prefer apples. Maybe you like the appearance of a cluster of grapes, so you like them. But you can't compare them to each other properly.

You can compare an apple to another apple, sure. This one is shinier, the color is more even, it's not lopsided. But you can't use the same criteria for grapes. Some grapes are simply not shiny. Most bunches of grapes don't have even color across the whole bunch, and anyone that's seen a bunch of grapes can tell you it's extremely unlikely to be even.

The things that make models beautiful, and the things that make me beautiful, are different. The things that make you beautiful, and the things that make me beautiful are different, too.

What we're doing to ourselves, and to others, is expecting the grapes to look like apples. Because we're comparing two completely different things to each other, and deciding that one is prettier. But...you can't do that, can you? You can't say an apple is prettier than grapes, because they're not similar enough for you to tell.

Putting a model on a higher plane of attractiveness based on length of leg, color of eyes, shape of nose or mouth...that's just not fair, and it's inaccurate. It's like saying an apple is better because it's red, when other fruits simply can't be red. They can still be just as beautiful. But because they aren't red, they can't see it in themselves, and they're compared negatively to the apples.

The truth is, models are pretty. They have to be, to do their jobs.

But for the rest of us...comparing ourselves to them, comparing others to them...is like comparing apples and grapes. You could be the most gorgeous bunch of grapes in the world, and you'll never measure up to an apple. But that's because you're not an apple. Not because you aren't as pretty. Not because you're not beautiful enough. Because you're on a different level of beauty altogether, and that beauty plays by different rules. If you're going to define beauty by the color red, the shinyness of an apple skin, then the grapes will never be beautiful. But the same can be said for the other way around. If you define beauty by the color purple, by the versatility of a bunch of grapes, the way they can drape over the edge of a bowl - then an apple will never be beautiful, either.

So my stint in the bathroom told me a lot about how I see myself. Basically? Not an apple. Therefore, not pretty. But that wasn't right, was it? Continuing the fruit analogy, I'm the bunch of grapes, that was trying to be an apple. Impossible, right? I was telling myself I wasn't pretty, because I didn't match the prevailing idea of what was pretty. Which was tailored to - you guessed it - apples.

So who decided what a woman should look like?

...I did. I didn't think I had, but I did. I decided that a bunch of grapes wasn't pretty, because they didn't look like apples.

I think most women do that to themselves. It's really easy to do, when models are splashed across magazines and proclaimed beautiful by everyone. It narrows the view to apples. And the grapes, and the strawberries, and the blueberries, and oranges...well, they just aren't as pretty, right?

Wrong. Just because you aren't an apple doesn't make you less beautiful. It just means you don't fit the chosen stereotype, and shouldn't try. And no one else should try, either.

So stop comparing the apples and the grapes. Don't compare me to a model. They have their class, and they will always win. But I have mine, too. And they can never beat me at it. Don't compare yourself to a model. They have their class, and they'll always win. But you have yours, too. And when you compare an apple and grapes by the rules of what makes grapes pretty, who wins?

I'll let you in on a secret. *whispers* The grapes trounce the apples.

My sisters are trying to kill me

Sometimes, I wonder if my sisters are trying to kill me.

I sprained my ankle a few weeks ago (stepping off a porch; couldn't even have been something awesome) and I've been swinging around on crutches since then. I've sprained my ankles before, so I at least know how to use them. But that doesn't save me from hopping through the house.

My sisters are usually in bed before I am, and of course we share a room. That means when I head to bed, it's dark. Which wouldn't be so bad, if clothes didn't jump out from the corners to try and strangle the crutches and dump me on the floor. Again. Oh, or the toys that the youngest sibling decides to leave out because she's not done with them (and then stay there for a week without being touched).

So I hop carefully through the minefield of the bedroom, hoping to reach my bed alive. I have a lamp on the dresser right next to it, and I kinda need it on so I can see what I'm doing. But I go to turn it on and...nothing. It's somehow been unplugged. The little gremlins have attacked the plugin sometime during the day. Unfortunately, I'm not able to bend over, or get on my hands and knees to plug it back in, since that would be akin to suicide on that floor.

So I get to climb into bed in the dark, and hope that leaning the crutches against the dresser won't be a mistake.

Climbing into bed is also like a minefield. Because someone has left their schoolbooks there. Which, once I've dumped onto the floor, results in me finding a pencil in the general area of the pillow. And a gameboy of some sort (there are apparently different models, which I always get wrong) blinking at me where someone left it on.

Crutches for three weeks is no picnic. It's more like a roller coaster of death, as I figured out the first day I went back to work and promptly fell out of the roller chair they brought out for me so I could get around.

Fun, fun, fun, right?

Sometimes. Being able to swing along faster than some people can walk is, occasionally, fun. Crutches are also good for doing things like turning lights off and on without having to vacate the chair you're sitting in.

But it also presents a number of difficulties.

One, carrying things. Especially cups full of water. Want a cold bath? That can be arranged. Another would be showering. If you need crutches, and can't put weight on your foot, getting into the shower is always an experience. It is also hard to do normal things like grocery shopping and cooking.

If I lived by myself, I'd have to find a way to do it all. I also probably would have avoided medications like the plague, despite the fact that my ankle was swollen to twice it's normal size. I also probably would have started trying to walk the first or second day afterward, which probably would have been counterproductive in my situation.

But, despite the fact that I've almost toppled, crutches and all, in the mess of my bedroom - I haven't had as many challenges.

Why?

Well, because my family stepped it up to help me. Yeah, I've gotten about fifty different nicknames, mostly varying versions of crip, cripple, or gimpy. But I haven't had to cook on crutches often. I haven't even had to try and figure how in the world I'm going to carry my clothes into the bathroom to shower. There's always a pair of willing hands to help me out.

Being the stubborn and independent person I am (or like to believe myself to be) I got frustrated very quickly with not being able to do anything. I wanted to cook, clean, do my own laundry, and, for goodness sake, walk to the bathroom without people freaking out because I smacked a crutch on the wall and they thought I'd lost my balance. I wanted to be able to get in and out of the car as fast as everyone else, and not have to try and wedge crutches into the seat with me.

It's been a trial. As I'm writing this, there are crutches nearby and a brace on my ankle.

It's been a challenge. I learned how to adjust my balance for carrying a heavy bag in one hand while on crutches. I learned how to maneuver through tight spaces (sideways) and how not to roll a roller chair.

But the most important thing I learned?

The people who drive you the craziest are sometimes the biggest help when you need it. Yes, the room is a disaster, and I've almost fallen several times. But you know why? Because I forgot to ask my sister to clear a path for me. I can't count the times she's done that for me so I wouldn't fall and hurt myself again.

My brother carries my things to and from the car before and after work. When he's not driving me insane by whistling the exact same tune over and over. My youngest sister, Her Royal Hyperness herself, helped me fix my lunches for work, spending ten minutes on the floor searching for the right size container. My dad gently wrapped my ankle in our ice pack - before sitting down to eat his lunch. My mom talked me into taking pain medications when I didn't want to, so it would bring down the swelling. All of them retrieved things for me when I needed them.

And they're not the only ones.

The manager at work made sure all the lights were on before I walked through the store, so I wouldn't trip over something I couldn't see. He also drove me to a relative's house so I wouldn't be walking, on crutches, in the dark.

When I sprained my ankle, I was in another state. My boyfriend and his family had me at Urgent Care within the hour for x-rays.

There are countless others, some that I don't know and will never see again, that worked to make things easier for me. The flight attendants on the way home, the people who hold the door for me, the people who tell me not to get up, they can do it themselves.

A lot of my blog posts are brought into existence because of a complaint I have. Because of something I saw that I didn't like, or that bothered me.

But sometimes, we have to flip the coin over and look at the other side of it. Sometimes we need motivation for speaking up that doesn't have its heart and core founded in the negative.

My family drives me crazy. Random strangers annoy and anger me sometimes.

But my family also looks after me better than anyone else in the world. And random strangers have also done things that have made my day better, easier, simpler, more enjoyable.

So, yes. Complain. By all means. But don't forget to flip the coin over. ;)

In Which I'd Rather Swallow My Tongue

I was listening to the nice, cooing mommy talk to her adorable baby boy when I saw it. I had just been wondering when my urge to pen another rant would hit, since it's been a while, when it came hurtling through my Facebook newsfeed like a ton of radioactive waste.

Naturally, it hit like a meteor and set off a chain reaction in my head, culminating in me signing into my site and putting fingers to keyboard, resolved to lecture the world and right wrongs. (We all know how well that works out, but I was determined to try.)

It wasn't her happiness at the start of a television show she loved that did it. It was the comments. Usually it's the comments. Everything happens in the comments, that's why the Michael Jackson meme. I just came to read the comments.

But I didn't find these comments particularly entertaining. They bugged me, actually. Quite a bit. Obviously, since I'm here to subject everyone to another bout of "I can't believe this, and this is why!"

Apparently, a few of the male characters on the show are generally considered attractive. I haven't seen it, so I wouldn't know. But I was forcibly made aware of the public opinion by the aforesaid Facebook post. Which I read with much distaste, lots of forehead slapping, and a few ?!?!?!?! thrown in for good measure.

What married woman would start swooning and daydreaming over an actor, or fictional character, in a television show?

Stupid question, I guess, since I didn't even have to ask the question to be presented with the answer in my very own newsfeed. Lots of them. Which shouldn't have surprised me, since the furor over ridiculous "literature" like Fifty Shades of Gray. It did shock me to see it in people I know, however. Call it my rose colored glasses, but I didn't appreciate my high opinions of people in general being smashed like that.

Maybe I'm overreacting. I've been told it's a regular occurrence.

Or, maybe, it's because my mother has never - ever - expressed such a carnal interest in a man other than my father, and I believed that to be normal. My mother loves my father, and would never swap him for any actor, singer, or attractive fictional character in the world. She respects my dad, and that's the way it should be.

So. I haven't seen the show. But even if I had seen it, I'd rather swallow my tongue than say one of the actors was attractive in a public place. For several reasons.

One, I probably wouldn't agree with the general consensus, so it wouldn't be true for me to say it. If I'm in a committed relationship, there is no one else. Period. Men generally considered attractive just don't appeal to me anymore.

Two, I find it disrespectful. If, for some reason, I were to find them attractive, I still wouldn't say so at all, let alone in a public place. Why? Because of my boyfriend. Because I'd find it extremely disrespectful to say something like that about anyone but him. Especially in a place where others could read it.

Come on, ladies. You're married. Why are you drooling over some unavailable guy, when the man of your dreams is supposedly linked to you for the rest of your lives? But you're going to gush about this unavailable male in public?

Just...wow. You vowed to love and honor him for the rest of your lives. Maybe my view is antiquated and old fashioned, but gushing about so-and-so being soooooo cute (accompanied by kissey faces and hearts) on your Facebook status isn't exactly honoring your husband.

I feel a little sickened when I read mushy posts people write about their significant others. I'm a believer that the most romantic words are said for one pair of ears. But that would be preferable to married women rhapsodizing about the physical attributes of some random male in a show or movie they are obsessed with.

Obsessing over actors/musicians/stars in general is pretty strange.

Wake up, world. The chance of you meeting them is slim, the chance of a relationship with them is even slimmer, and you'd probably find things you hated about them anyway if you viewed them as people instead of attractive cardboard cutouts - with conveniently marketed traits of your favorite book/movie characters.

There's something cute about a prepubescent girl squealing over a boy band. That cuteness evaporates about the age of twenty. It turns into full-blown weirdness once you're married or thirty, whichever comes first.

I've met girls with fixations on various actors, singers, or people in some other famous occupation, and, while I guess I can understand it, it always rather confused me. Why? Why do you screech over some guy you've never met? Sure, he might be cute. He might be attractive. But why? Why scream and swoon and drool over some guy you'll never meet, when there's a guy down the street that's nice? One that actually, you know, is aware of your existence?

But that doesn't even begin to apply to married women who act like this.

If a man spoke like that about a woman other than his wife, she would probably exact revenge in several million different ways. One of them possibly having to do with shaving off his eyebrows while sleeping. What makes it different about a woman doing it?

Even if your husband/boyfriend says he doesn't care, or doesn't mind, it should still matter to you.

You should want to show him respect. Even in ways he doesn't expect from you. Maybe in ways he wouldn't expect from himself. It's just a nice thing to do, for the sake of people you claim to love.

Respect : 1. Admire (someone or something) deeply, as a result of their abilities, qualities, or achievements."she was respected by everyone she worked with" synonyms:esteem, admire, think highly of, have a high opinion of, hold in high regard, hold in (high) esteem, look up to, revere, reverence, honor "she is highly respected in the book industry"have due regard for the feelings, wishes, rights, or traditions of."I respected his views"synonyms:show consideration for, have regard for, observe, be mindful of, be heedful of; take cognizance of "they respected our privacy"
Freaking out about the physical appearance of a man other than your husband/boyfriend doesn't sound like you respect him very much. He's not holding the highest place in your heart or your words; that's been usurped by some guy on tv that you find attractive. And if that's not true, if he really does hold the highest place in your heart, then why are your words presenting a different image? Why is your behavior telling the world "my husband isn't enough; I have to stare at other men, and not just that, but squeal about them in public, too"?

If those thoughts are in your head, then perhaps you should consider keeping them there.

And if you don't respect your husband, you've got bigger problems.

When People Strike

There are some days that I really, truly, love everyone. These are the same days that I love people in general, am happy to help you, will bend over backward to get you what you want, and bounce around like a happy rubber ball.

I haven't had one of those days in about two weeks.

The other morning, I was so stressed and tired out that I woke up half an hour before I had to, with my shoulders and neck feeling like wooden boards. Later that morning I almost burst into tears because I went to cut a stack of paper and it cut crooked (I call this being emotionally apocalyptic - and if that's not a thing, it should be).

I wanted to play Minecraft and be ignored by everyone. All day. I didn't want to answer phones, or talk to people, and the first cranky customer probably would have made me start crying. Nothing was funny, and I felt like crying for no real reason.

Stress does that to me.

I'm an introvert. I work in retail. It is the busiest month of our whole year. Not a good combination. About four in the afternoon one day shortly after the start of the season, two hours from closing, all I wanted to do was lock myself in a room and never come out. A lady asked me a simple question to which I knew the answer; I went to think, and there was nothing there. I simply stared at her for a long moment with a vast blank space between my ears before my brain started working again.

The idea of facing a cranky customer, which makes me wince at the best of times, was the unfortunate equivalent of threatening to eat me alive. But even worse than a cranky customer, is a cranky rental customer with bad credit that wants the most expensive instrument we have (I work in a music store) and insists on reading every line of the contract, inspecting the instrument with a magnifying glass, asking for everything free, and wanting the nicest-looking instrument and case we own, making me run across the store three or four times while a line of other customers are waiting to be helped.

Even describing this would have made me want to melt into a puddle on the floor at about five-thirty. Because we get a line of people who do one or more of those things. Thankfully, I haven't met one that does them all. But if I did I might just run screaming from the building, shrieking about nightmares come to life.

The store looks like a hurricane swept through, we can never find our price cheat sheet because we never have the time to put it back, I spent five or ten minutes running around with an untied shoelace because I didn't have the thirty seconds it would take to tie it (and somehow managed not to trip), we are out of half the books people need, plus accessories required by schools with music programs, and we are rapidly running out of instruments to rent.

We are still in the first three weeks of an almost two-month-long period.

Oh, and there are still the regular customers that come in looking for strings, or audio equipment, or, for some weird reason, used furniture. And, of course, the obligatory line of phone callers wanting to know when we close, and the other line of phone callers who don't pay attention when I answer the phone and state the name of the business, who reply by asking if this is the business whose name I just said.

It gets even better.

Some customers simply don't know when to quit. So determined are they to get their way that they can, and will, attempt to find loopholes in our policies, forcing other customers to wait, and forcing you to call a manager at home - three times.

You know you're not having a good day when your poor, innocent pen almost gets snapped in two.

The results of this busyness and the customers that make me want to yank my hair out, is that I sleep like the dead at night, and slowly, slowly but surely, I develop stress headaches. My neck does not loosen up and relax at night. When I wake up the next morning, it's tight and I can feel it. After a few mornings of this, it starts to hurt. I get short-tempered, cranky, and easily frustrated.

But then I get the customer that thanks me for "being wonderful" as she walks out the door.

These customers are few, and far between, and they make me want to cry. Not like that gentleman who got angry at me for a store policy over which I have no control, but because someone appreciates what we're trying to do for them.

The people who come in in a good mood, the ones that are kind, and flexible, and understanding....I live for those customers. I try to help the ones that come in in a bad mood, of course. But there's a moment of silly joy when you realize the person with a complicated thing for you to take care of is patient, understanding, and sometimes funny.

At a time when more cranky people come in, annoyed already because of the pressures of getting kids ready for school, than any other time of year, a happy customer, or a funny customer, is a balm to the soul.

And there are so few of them. They don't come in every day, and sometimes you can go a week without seeing one. But when you do, you wish that all of your customers were calm and happy, and you almost want to weep.

I've had customers call me a bad employee for following store policy. I've had them pitch tantrums in the middle of the sales floor. I've had them storm out the door, because I told them they would still get their free items, it would just take a little longer because of a high demand for them. I've had some curse at me, and some repeat everything three or four times in a very loud voice, because apparently I'm deaf - and stupid, too.

The joys of working in retail. It's part of the job; I'm paid to deal with these people, no matter how hard they are to handle, no matter how terrible or stressful it is to deal with people who blame me for the rules the owner of the business has put down.

But, as an employee in a retail business, I can tell you how much I treasure those that are flexible, kind, funny, and understanding. It is always an unexpected bright spot in my day. I say unexpected because it rarely happens. Most of them are harried, frazzled, grumpy, or they expect the worst in everything.

To those of you who come in demanding, or expecting workers to be terrible at their jobs, I'd like to offer this:

I want to help people. I want customers to leave the store happy. I want to give you what you ask for, and do what it will take to make your experience a pleasure. I want to do what you expect of us, and do it well.

That said, I am just as human as you are. You can demand perfection all day every day, and all you'll accomplish is making everyone else stressed, and, maybe, even dread your company. You can expect us to do badly, and that gives us no incentive to perform better. We should try, certainly. But if you expect terrible service, and you come in and treat us like we already did terribly, then we're not too likely to try and change your mind. It's frustrating; we didn't even get the chance to try before you drew your negative conclusions.

If you expect perfect service every time, then you will disappointed. If you expect us to always bend over backward and treat you like royalty, then you will also be disappointed. There's not much we can do to retain our dignity in situations like that if we want to keep our jobs, so we'll endure much worse than we ordinarily would, for the sake of a paycheck. But that doesn't give you the license to treat us as subhuman.

In most situations, the rules you don't like are not of our making. Taking out your frustrations on us because you dislike a store's policy is unfair, rude, and inconsiderate. We can (or at least I can) understand your frustrations and anger. But there is only so much we can do to help you, and the people who accept that with grace and understanding are people that I appreciate - greatly. It is rude to expect us to bend our rules for you, and even more rude for you to throw a tantrum if we don't do it.

Sure, I could process those situations differently. A large part of my stress issue has to do with the way I handle it, and how I take it all personally. That's true. That's an issue that I need to work on for myself.

But something that I've learned from all of this is that I don't want to be the kind of customer that sends employees running the other direction.

I want to be the one that makes them smile.

I want to treat people in the same situation as me with the same kindness and courtesy that makes my day easier when on the receiving end. Don't you?