Blogger Replies to Affronted Working Mother! ClickBait!

To start, the source of my ire is this particular article, I'd recommend perusing it prior to continuing, but I summarize briefly, so your choice:

http://www.thenewportbuzz.com/working-mom-pens-open-letter-to-gwyneth-paltrow-and-absolutely-destroys-her/235550/

There are so many things wrong with this I can hardly stand it.

The dramatic reader-grabbing title just grates on me, I could barely force myself to click on such click-bait feculence (I'm lookin' at you, Christian Winthrop, article author). Once reading the article, the only entitlement that jumped off the page of me was that of the original letter writer. We spend so much time as women wallowing in feelings of inadequacy, that when someone else admits either their own ignorance or challenges some will leap forth and jump on that offered sore spot and tear it to pieces like the vicious harpies every one of us has inside.

The statement that so offended this working mother was this:

“I think it’s different when you have an office job, because it’s routine and, you know, you can do all the stuff in the morning and then you come home in the evening. When you’re shooting a movie, they’re like, ‘We need you to go to Wisconsin for two weeks,’ and then you work 14 hours a day and that part of it is very difficult." - Gwyneth Paltrow, TV interview regarding her divorce

The writer then begins to scathingly pick apart all she deems absurdest in the above quote, which based upon her reply seems to boil down to, "You don't know me! You've got money you crazy bitch! Your life is golden!" .....to paraphrase.

I get why the author of this open letter, that Gwynny Paltrow will likely never read or care about, would be so frustrated by that statement. It seems that Ms. Paltrow is saying that in her opinion, her job as a movie star is harder than working a 9 to 5. My question to this highly affronted mother is - did you ever stop to think about why Ms. Paltrow feels that way? Did you ever spare a spot of empathy to think about the tough time that this actress may be going through with her marriage falling apart and feeling like a failure as a mother for being away from her children? Or did you just consider the bed of money that you clearly feel that Ms. Paltrow sleeps upon to be comfort enough to ease those pains, soothe those wounds? While "ripping her apart" you have committed the same sin of assumption that has so angered you in the first place. You are correct - Ms. Paltrow doesn't understand your life, or your struggles, or your daily challenges with your bank account. On the same accord - you do not understand hers. That's the part you missed.

I'm not going to go into all of the imaginative thoughts that went through my head for why Ms. Paltrow said what she did, or why I only look upon those comments with empathy. That would take all day and none of that would convince you of your strongly held entitled opinion that "I've got it worse". What I will say, however, is that your opinion of movie stars appears to be culled from the pages of those glossy magazines that attract the eye from the aisles of the supermarket checkout line, and not from any direct contact.

Why not try a little empathy instead of affronted irritation? The difference between Ms. Paltrow and you, or myself, is that when you and I make assumptions about other people they are not blasted across the six o'clock news for sheer enjoyment of those who take delight in breaking others down. I know for a fact that 70% of the people in my life don't understand the job or the work I do, and I filter their comments about my particular line of employment through a filter of "they don't understand, all is well. I know the truth." While a bitter pill to swallow at times, I derive my satisfaction from that, as opposed to frothing at the mouth and wielding barbs of sarcasm.

We as women face so much in this world of ours, the last thing we need is to throw one more obstacle in the path of our sisters. Your letter, while witty, to me was just sad. You showed no empathy, and more than a little jealousy - exactly the opposite of what I think you were trying to convey. I won't pretend to know how hard your life is, but instead will wish you well and I hope you have a better day. Maybe writing that letter to a superstar actress made you feel better, I just wish you had found a better outlet for that irritation. Your vitriolic response is why we write hilarious and hyperbolic emails to best friends and why they invented the feature that allows us to make our blog posts, private.

Be well, my sister. The same to you, Gwyn Paltrow,

“There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
-Madeleine Albright

The Greek World Looking In - A Former GDI's Perspective

This rather lengthy piece was inspired by many occurrences over the past few days, but mostly by the nature with which I see others in student affairs react to the world of Greek Life. TL;DR - We're all on the same side, y'all. 

My undergraduate career took place at a 4 year, public, extremely urban institution. We didn't have a football team, we had more students living off campus than we did on - and most of those commuted, and one thing we certainly didn't have was a strong presence of Greek Life. When I was in undergrad I had all the incredibly stereotypical notions of what Greek Life was about, why I would never have rushed a sorority, and most of all: how dumb it was to pay for your friends. I scared all those in my social circle by adding  ΔΦA to my AIM (dating myself) profile my Freshman year - I had to assure all of my horrified friends that no, I was not drinking the Kool Aid, I had been inducted into the German Honors Society. Cue the collective sigh of relief. 

My first year of graduate school meant big changes in my environment - I transition to a state school in the middle of nowhere and spent the next two years somewhat bemusedly appreciating the life that a majority of my friends had called 'college'. Greeks were EVERYWHERE. Our housing department had graduate assistants in what was called Greek Court - on campus houses for lucky fraternities and sororities. Becoming friends with some of those GAs afforded me the ability to look into an unfamiliar world. Visiting their apartments which were nestled cozily at the juncture between two houses, during break times meant that we got to watch TV in the Great Rooms of the houses. There was SO much to look at - hallways filled with portraits of the members, paddles as far as the eye could see, banners, plaques, trophies for unknown awards - I had a lot of questions. 

On top of all of this, nothing prepared me for the experience of Greek Week. The entire campus came alive with the competitions that each group had been practicing and training for since winter break. I finally understood the torn up fields and occasionally uprooted tree - practice for Tugs had been in full swing under the cover of night. My students that were walking back to the halls as I was leaving the library late at night looking exhausted and carrying bags with them had been practicing and putting together costumes for Airband. The occasional sprained ankle or mysterious bruises were a direct result of pyramids practice. As the building I worked in shook with the thundering concussion of cannon fire, I was the only one who reacted. Our secretary laughed at my concern, "Tugs, honey - they'll be firing it off at the start and finish of each one all week."

I took my ignorance into my own hands during my second year. My multicultural counseling class assigned each person to pick a demographic with which they were uncomfortable, and find a way to immerse oneself in that culture. As I sat there, convinced there was not one group on this earth with which I would find myself uncomfortable, the back of my mind whispered, "Greeeeeeeekssssss". After a day of ignoring it, I finally threw my hands in the air, and trudged over to Greek Court to speak with the Greek Life Coordinator. After a short conversation he encouraged me to seek an immersive experience not just with any Greek Life, but with the fraternities and sororities of the National Pan-Hellenic Council (NPHC) - the historically black fraternities and sororities on campus. Before I knew it, there I was, sitting in on an NPHC executive board meeting, slightly wild-eyed and extremely uneasy with how uneasy I was feeling. They accepted me - and my awkwardness - with a graciousness and humor that I wasn't expecting. They offered themselves and their organizations up for any questions I might have. The entire project ended up being one of the best experiences that I had in Grad School. 

Between that, my thesis advisor Dr. Charles Eberly - affectionately known by every Sigma Phi Epsilon brother on earth as 'Doc', and the daily experiences on my campus, my opinions and paradigms about Greek Life were fleshed out. I saw leadership where I once saw sheep, I perceived the potential for lifelong bonds where I once saw blind devotion, and most importantly I saw those who made mistakes and created a poor name for their organization as outliers - no longer the norm. I began to see the philanthropy work, the difficult jobs faced by executive board members, the pride and at times loving exasperation that advisors had for their students.

There has been quite a bit in the media lately regarding hazing and/or poor choices made by brothers or sisters. Compounding this is how these groups are portrayed in not only the reporting of these events, but in every Hollywood or prime time television depiction. Zac Efron’s got a movie coming out guys! His fraternity lives next to a family with a new born baby – expect hijinks and idiotic tomfoolery! No one will go to class! Enough alcohol to fell a football team! Parties large enough to cost the equivalent of a year of tuition at the Pretend University where this Pretend Fraternity is chartered!

My colleagues in Greek Life have their work cut out for them. I may battle the, “Come on, it’s COLLEGE” argument on a daily basis in conduct – but they fight an image that has been reinforced as a party environment far past and beyond any other group or experience out there. I respect both the care they have for their students, but also their unwavering dedication to help these organizations show the world just how fantastic ‘going Greek’ can be. In that I stand with them as a stalwart ally, pushing those around me to question the stereotypes in which they believe; to look for the good behavior, instead of seeking out news of the bad. For every chapter caught up in a hazing scandal, there are hundreds more who practice what they preach and uphold the tenants upon which they were founded.

Not every organization is headed in the right direction, and some make mistakes; that is why we have strong advisors and colleagues in Greek Life. We, being those who do not work with Greeks need to be sure we are not cutting the legs out from under our coworkers with dismissive opinions about Greek Life and those who do that work. We are – after all, brothers and sisters in this great world of student affairs. Work together, not against – and for the love of Mike, its Fraternity, not Frat.

Do you have thoughts on Greek Life? I’d love to hear them. 

Kids these days

When my friends and I get together at times the conversations will turn to things that have happened at my work. While I'm always respectful of privacy, there are certain stories just begging to be told under the heading of, "This is what the kids are doing these days...."

So, for your amusement, a short  and non comprehensive list of what the kids around me, are doing these days:
Disclaimer: Urban Dictionary and Google at your own peril

1. Smoking alcohol (this one is really creative and odd, all at once)
2. Soaking tampons in alcohol and putting them in places that God didn't intend. 
3. Confusing the hell out of me by crushing and lining their adderall to snort - it looks just like coke. Come on.
4. Fanny packs are coming back! This time with speakers - and they are called Jammy packs.
5. Neknominate - the Youtube drinking game that at last count has killed 5 students
6. New marijuana blunts that leave no roaches behind! [Translation: no evidence left but ashes]


That's what the hooligans are doing these days.

Nightmares

Trigger warning for sexual assault.


Last night I had a horrifying dream. I was reasonably prepared to have vivid images in my head as I slept because I had gone to bed early, done some form of physical activity that day, taken some meletonin to help me get to sleep, and was going to get a solid and very much needed 10 hours. All of that in my world is a recipe for my trademark realistic dreams. When they are good dreams I have to do all I can not to smash my phone against the wall when my alarm goes off - Tropical beach? Yes, please. Magical flying super powers? Hell yes! Benedict Cumberbatch? Thank you, more please.

However, they aren't always nice dreams and unfortunately when they are bad ones they are just as, if not more, realistic.

Last night in my dream I was sexually assaulted by someone I know. While that in and of itself should be enough to be ranked as top tier nightmare, the worst part of the dream was yet to come.  That, time-wise, played a relatively small part - he took me by surprise, it happened swiftly, and it became a fight once dream-me got over my shock of what was happening. 

He was enraged at my reaction and after a swift but violent fight that followed I escaped and he began chasing me. We were in a relatively public place that was, as it turned out, packed with people that I know. It turned into one of those clawing fighting biting trying to get away moving through mud kind of dreams. As I passed these people that I knew I was sobbing, trying to explain what happened as he was trying to drag me backwards, intent on retribution. They stared at me with blank faces and patronizing glances - "Why are you being so dramatic, why are you causing a scene? What are you talking about? Him? He's a nice guy! You slept with him? Lucky!"  On top of all of that because this wasn't reality, once I eluded my attacker I could still hear him, both speaking to me, "You're worthless, you wanted it" and speaking to other people, "What a bitch - I give her some and she has the gall to say she didn't want it?" And so on, for the majority of the rest of my dream.

Waking up meant an escape from the situation, but the memory of the crushing feelings of despair, shame, and anger at those around me whom I thought I could trust, remained - along with the realization that this will probably be one of the most realistic dreams that I ever have. Every day survivors of sexual assault face this type of disbelief, lack of support and shaming that I experienced in dream-form. Their responses, their actions, the fight they did or did not put up, how they were dressed, the prior relationship they had with their attacker all will be laid bare to be picked over like a carcass on the side of the road. They will be charged as guilty of wanting it until all signs point to a struggle, a protest, of fitting into a 10 item checklist of "how victims should react". Often it is only then that they have even the hope of being taken seriously, of having their needs met, of being told, "it wasn't your fault." 

I, as someone who has assisted with sexual assault investigations in the past, am not saying that every report must be immediately taken at face value with no further inquiry - rights extend to both the survivor and the accused. But we need to start checking our biases and disbelief, especially if we are not the investigator. We must learn to offer nonjudgmental, non-accusatory support. Anything else will compound and exacerbate an already unimaginable pain.

The end of my story, my dream, is that I woke up. I had the opportunity to wake up from the simulacrum of a nightmare that so many others must live everyday without hope of an alarm clock to bring them out. I have the luxury of leaving this experience behind, because truly - it didn't really exist for me.  I'll be reflecting on this dream for a long time and I think we all need to reflect on how we feed into victim blaming and rape culture every day. It isn't fun to think about, but to live the reality - of which I only experienced in the world of a dream - is hell. We must spend time thinking about how we as bystanders, family, and friends can serve as supporters - not contributing monsters to the nightmare that some live day in, day out, waking and asleep. We have to do better.

The Agony and the Education, Apologies and Gratitude

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." - J.R.R. Tolkien


It is two weeks and a day from the marathon. I'm feeling unprepared because I haven't been able to run this week at all. Work has been stressful, and I've been working late - late enough to make running not an option or at least enough to be exhausting. Thankfully there are not a lot of duty days left between now and the big day.

I really still haven't faced the reality that I'm actually going to be running a marathon. It has been a long journey to get to this point and I think I expected to feel like a different person. The Miranda of February wasn't a Miranda that could run a marathon, but the Miranda that is sitting here on the couch doesn't feel any different. I still struggle with getting out to go and work out, and the challenges of running are still present.

I've learned a lot though. I've figured out what shoe size I wear -  a surprisingly mysterious number. I've learned that it is possible to have a toe that is all blisters, and then get more blisters on top of the original ones. I know what an iliotibial bands are, and that mine are constant complainers and are extremely high maintenance. I've gotten an idea of how often I need to re-energize on long runs, and I don't care what Nick thinks - vanilla bean Gu is freaking delicious. I've been inspired and humbled by the runners that I see on the lakefront every week, when a 60 year old woman, 80-ish year old man, 300lb person is there every Saturday running mile after mile it is hard to make excuses. For that matter I've decided that running is 90% mental. If you make the decision to get up and go, the battle is nearly won. It's the choice to make that first step out of bed and into your running clothes that is the hardest one of them all.  Most of all I've realized that first step is still hard and will likely always be hard, but I've also realized that once I make it I can accomplish more than I ever thought possible. One week ago today I ran 20 miles. 8 months ago I never would have believed that possible.

This journey hasn't been without sacrifice and it hasn't been my all my own. I owe so much to so many - both thank yous, and apologies. I'm sorry that throughout this arduous training I've drifted away from almost everyone in my social circle. I'm sorry that I'm not making my Autumn trip to Boston and will be missing so very much this year. I'm missing the wedding that I've been looking forward to for over 3 years now and I wish it was remotely possible to attend. I haven't and won't get to see one of my very best friends this year, and I miss him. I'm sorry to my body - you weren't ready and I've pushed you to the limit, you've held up so well, two more weeks - hang in there. I'm sorry to my husband, without whom I wouldn't have have the confidence to get this far. He's helped patch up my toes, rubbed out knots, cooked mounds of pasta, and wiped away so many tears. His own injury has slowed him down but not done anything to stem the tide of unwavering support. He's had confidence since the beginning, even when I had doubts.

I have so much gratitude that I might burst with it. I'm so grateful for my experience with Team in Training - I wouldn't have been able to train for this run without them. I can't thank enough to everyone who has donated to my my fundraiser - your support has been overwhelming and so appreciated. I'm planning a fun way to say thank you officially after the race. I'm thankful for everyone who has offered me advice, words of wisdom and reassuring words. I'm thankful beyond words that I've had such a support network from my athletics Alma Mater. Due to one special person, I've had fears put to rest, injuries treated and further ones prevented. I would not be here without you.

There are things to do and more miles to run before the big day, but pervasively, the reality of that this journey is nearing it's end is starting to enter my consciousness. I am simultaneously anxiously awaiting and fearing that day, both due to the magnitude of it but also because it marks the end of a really long and life-altering odyssey, and I don't fully know what is on the other side - hopefully a finish line. For now, however, I'm going to stay here in this moment and trust that these past 8 months have prepared me to take on this trial that I never could have imagined.


"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start"
- John Bingham

Hey there, Coppertop: A blog post about robots and gratitude.

One of my biggest faults is that I don't express gratitude or positive reinforcement very well. I've also gotten the feedback that I tend to be an emotional sponge - I am a pro at sucking up the emotions, concerns and thoughts of others, but when it comes time to actually share of myself in return the response is superficial and emotionless. This was a surprising critique for me to receive - I always feel the opposite, like I'm spouting out personal information and emotional explosions like a broken water main. I can't deny the consistent feedback however, and through self-reflection [god forbid it be reflection to someone else] I've come to realize that I'm a deflection motor mouth. I'll talk with you and express opinions about everything under the sun, I'll even rudely dominate the conversation out of sheer conversing excitement [I swear, it's not because I like to hear myself talk, I just love information], however if the conversation starts taking a personal direction, the questions will become about you, your life, your family - and I'll listen [and provide commentary]. Unless you are one of a very select group of people (N,P,N,M,B) I won't discuss my emotional state, how things have really affected me or what I fear. You might inquire, but without even realizing it I will deflect. I'm a death star with better Ben Kenobi prevention.

What does this have to do with gratitude and positive reinforcement you might ask? Saying thank you [in person] or telling someone they did a good job is awkward for me. Watch me do it [please, don't] sometime - it's almost as bad as watching me say good bye. Saying thank you and expressing gratitude is an out reach of emotion that I don't do very well. My 'good jobs' unless rehearsed come out worse than an absent father's pats on the back: "Good on ya.... uh.... buddy." In a job where I oversee many students who crave public emotional and positive reinforcement this doesn't go over very well.

Several recent events have led me to consider why bad things happen to good people and how my answer [because they do, and there is nothing you can do about it] means that we have to take advantage of every precious moment and get better at telling people that they have made an impact upon our lives. You really might not get another chance. So, in honor of this, I provide you below a list of things and people [by no means an exhaustive list] that I am thankful/grateful for. Throwing it out to the webz in general is a bit of a chicken shit way of expressing emotion and gratitude, but baby steps:

Things Miranda is Thankful For:

- My epic parents who have faced every health problem with grace and shown me how a loving couple can pull through anything. They fostered my love for reading, theater, travel and odd things. Thank you.

-My partner. Someone who loves me, cares for me, supports me, supports my insane ideas and stands guard against my insecurities, always reminding me that I can do anything - except say hi to every dog I meet on the street. He told me that was weird [It is NOT].

-The remaining list of people (P,N,M,B): you all bring something extremely special to my life. You are the rare besties (N/B) and siblings (P/M) that someone can go weeks or months without speaking to, but pick up literally, with every inside joke intact, where we left off. You four have supported me through it all with love and just the right amount of critical judgment.

- Our tiny, adorable, lovely apartment.

- Good health and high spirits, specifically the latter when one doesn't have the former.

- Working at a job where I am supported, encouraged, teased [bitches, you just don't get mah weirdness! It's awesome!] and challenged. Where everyone else works with professionalism [sometimes] and energy [always].

- The thrill of options for the future, and the privilege to have them.

- Traveling. Stay tuned for more exciting updates.

- Students who come in defensive and lower their own shields to have honest conversations with me

- My insane family, blood, marriage and by choice related. In your own way you teach me lessons every single day about good things and bad and how not to act. 90% of you are off your rockers, but you likely argue that about me as well.

- My marathon training, and all the lessons I've learned while putting one foot in front of the other for each mile I run. I'm learning patience, discipline, how to swallow my unhealthy amount of pride, how to commit to something and follow through, what body glide is and how it can save your life,  and most importantly, how to come in last with a smile.

- All of the people that I call friends.

- Coffee, elixir of the gods.

- Everyone who contributed to my studies of Judaism. I don't talk about this part of my education much, but it was one of the most impacting areas of study of my entire educational career.

- Ditto on the above with my Master's thesis. That bitch didn't write itself, and it certainly didn't come from me alone.

- Flan. Judge me.

- Living on State St in one of the best cities in the world. I wake up and look out our 17th floor window every morning and I don't think I'll ever get tired of this view or of telling people who ask, "Oh do you live around here?" "Yeah..... on this street, a few blocks that way."

- All the mentors who have provided reality checks and criticism.

- The opportunity I had to work in the food service industry - try it, it'll change your perspective on people and those who wait on you. Tip yo servers!

- The baby blanket I still have. JUDGE ME.

- Puppies. Big ones.

- You. For taking the time to read what I have to say when you likely had much better things to be doing. Thanks, yo.

To everyone I know fighting battles, I love you. Cancer's a bitch, Drunk Driving is dumb as hell, and infidelity sucks. But guess what - you're awesome. Really you are, and the best part about life sucking is eventually it gets better and easier. You're stronger than you know - and more loved than you could imagine.


How is that for an outpouring of emotion? I'm going to go robot my way through the rest of my day as I just expended my daily amount into one blog post. It wasn't as awkward as I thought.

Don't Sacrifice The Gift

In the event you feel that this post is telling you a tale but you missed the backstory, bravo - you are perceptive, Watson. This post is a part of a separate post that I have chosen to keep private for various reasons. With some edits, this excerpt was very public blog-worthy (and yes, the title is Pre inspired).


I have been doing some soul searching, a continuing work in progress. Along this winding stream of consciousness I have had a few thoughts float to the surface that I feel are important enough to hold onto.

I need to work on living in the moment, because right now I'm stressing out about a dream I have that is at least 2 years at the earliest away from any sort of valid attempt, and agonizing about perceived future complications has been giving me a headache. A lot can change in 2 years (I'm looking at you, grad school). I have never seriously made the attempt to alter my thought process from future forward to live in the moment. YOLO was an easy excuse to live in the moment and do stupid things when I was younger, even if we didn't have a fancy acronym and celebrity spokespeople for it. This time though, is different. This time I want to do this for me, to improve my life. Staying in the here and now will hopefully relieve some of my seemingly overwhelming anxieties about the future.

I have decided that a huge part of grounding myself in the here and now means becoming my best self in every aspect of this present life. The best Miranda I can be. I want to be the best at my job, not for advancement, just for mastery. I want to be the best member of my professional organizations - not for recognition, just for competence. I want to be the best wife I can be purely to keep our relationship healthy in all possible ways. I want to be in the best shape I can be to feel good about myself and to achieve short term goals for my fitness.

The question keeps up as a litany in my head "are you being the best you can be right now?" "is this making you the best, or tearing you down?" "are these thoughts productive?" That sort of thinking has some downsides, but I'm working to deal with that fallout as productively as possible.


I need to pack some of my future desperate desires and dreams away for a while, and focus on being me. The best me I can be.

The thoughts will still be there - but I have bigger plans at the moment. I know they wait patiently for me to return my attention back to them. All of my solutions and long term plans that I have developed in just 24 hours of attempting not to think about my dreams have been put on hiatus.

They're still with me, and they can wait.

Obligatory, and Honest

What do I want to do in this new year? It's easier to focus on this than the year gone past - one that at times was gloriously, deliriously happy - and at others just maddening and sad. While I described 2012 in the last post I attempted to write as one of extremes, I would have to admit it was one of balance. While life was out of kilter in many tragic ways, it was also a time of celebration and happiness.

So, 2013.

In the inspiration of this post, which I recommend you all read:

http://www.cracked.com/blog/6-harsh-truths-that-will-make-you-better-person_p2/

I'm going to say what I will accomplish in 2013, though, as that article says, everything in me fights improvement:

1. I will be a fluent speaker of German again 365 days from now.

2. I will run. I really can't say how fast or how far - but enough that I'll enjoy it once again.

3. I will take better care of my health.

4. I will spend time reflecting on what makes me a good wife - and work to live up to that.

5. We will travel out of this country, and we'll like it - damn it.

(I'll get a tattoo. Secret wish)

6. I will write more, and get published again at least once.

7. I will be better with things like paperwork and bills. I'll attempt to lose the crippling anxiety that comes with that type of organization.

8. I will hold a committee position in a professional development organization by the end of the year.

I think that's enough for now.

Happiest of new years to you all, and for the love of Mike - stop shooting fireworks off of your balconies in the Loop. It's rather unnerving to see explosions at the 17th floor.

Hope, always.

For "The One" the bell tolls.

A lie has been pereptrated amongst the youth of industrial society. I'm speaking in the sense of the 1st world - those in the 2nd and 3rd have their own interpretations. For the sake of my context I'm going to stick mostly to english speaking 1st world societies  - Lord knows I don't have time to do background research on anything else (or, full disclosure, the interest). Onto my ruminations.

The lie that I emphatically speak of has to do with relationships and commitment, be that marriage, common law or just the fact that you've been together so long that you're just too lazy to search out someone else.

The lie: "You will find the One."

What an intriguing, confusing and manipulating concept. Clearly it states that somewhere out there is the half to make me whole, the cheese to my macaroni or whatever else the kids are saying these days. It means that there is a PERSON that I'm destined to be with. It's been written in the stars, a bell will sound and when we find each other life will make sense as we collide in a shower of fireworks and attracted-to-each-other sparks. We'll know that this is it - we've found the person we're going to spend the rest of our life annoying.

I'm calling bullshit.

The one? The ONE?! Excuse my gales of laughter. If this was the case, and a there was a one for every person.... Knowing the type of person that I am, I would have second guessed 'IS THIS THE ONE?!?!?!"sixty bajillion times, and never would have gotten married. I'd have been too concerned about making the wrong choice.

To be honest, however -I worried about that for a long time. I have friends that have told me that the knew immediately that they wanted to marry their significant other. They met, they talked, they swapped spit, and apparently that was that. 48 hours later they had given up every other avenue of pursuit. Other guys or girls? Shut down! They'd found the ONE!

I don't get it and I never have. 48 hours, are you kidding me? To be as honest a blogger as possible, I need to tell you that I mentally placed my first name with the last name of every guy I've ever even briefly dated - let me tell you how ridiculous 98% of them sounded. HOWEVER - that didn't mean I ever wanted to get hitched. After a bad break up in my late teens I decided that I was settling on nothing but the best and even made out a detailed list describing the things that I would prefer a perfect guy to bring to the table.

Now, I'm married (and still slightly surprised by the concept), so something had to have worked out. That something however didn't come easily and it cost the both of us quite a bit. The "Price of Admission" as Dan Savage of Savage Love in his letters and podcast would call it. There have been sacrifices, we have hurt each other, we have been confused and angry and furious and downright pissed off. That, just going off of Webster's, is not perfection.

However. We love each other. We seek strength in the other when we are weak, we organize what is crazy, we clean what is messy, we shake up what is stagnant and we push, push, push, each other out of our comfort zones.

This wasn't obtained by some magic immediate connection. This wasn't fostered due to the fact that we were 'meant' to be together. This worked because at the end of the days, against all of the long odds and obstacles stacked against us we looked at each other's baggage, family, passions, life and loves and said, "I can dig it."

Can you dig it? The important part is that it has to be a two way street of DISCOVERY. Not immediate passion or lust - though those will lead to some incredible fun for a while. - but the solidness that comes after some digging. Do they know you? Do you know them? Fears. loves, hates, joys. family, friends, meaningful moments and places, meaningful holidays; what are they, and why?

I will always believe in attraction at first sight. That can hit you anywhere - married or single, from across a crowded bar. The important part is how you respond to it. Is this forever, or the next five minutes? Are you willing to take that chance?

So often I hear people talk about the person that is in store for the, the person that is out there - apparently waiting patiently just for them. As much as I would like to be as selfish as to believe that my husband was constructed just for me - I don't believe that and I can't. What I can believe is that through each obstacle we have encountered we have had the ability to either deal with it together, or to talk it over after the fact. We tear it apart and wade through the mess until we reach an understanding and forgiveness. We make each other laugh more that we frustrate the other and as far as I know both of us really like having the other around.  At the same time, in the darkest parts of my brain, I have thought - could I have been happy if my life had taken a different turn? If I had married someone else?

The answer to that question is yes. Had my life been completely different, I still would have found different ways to be happy. This life however, that I live now, is one I'm grateful for. This IS my happy.

That lie of 'The One' in my opinion is damaging. It allows us complacency in our efforts and puts the blame elsewhere. "The universe will provide for me" "My deity has something in store for my life". Please don't thing I am using this to belittle any religious belief - but I feel it is time to get away from the concept of "The One" being apart of the nebulous ether that exists beyond ourselves, and realizing "The One" that we are waiting for, The One that will love us unconditionally and always support us......... is ourselves. You can have no love for someone else before you love and take care of yourself. Being happy in oneself means you exude that happiness onto others - and they want to be a part of that.

It may not be the answer to all the questions, but being able to love yourself means that you can finally provide full love to others. Look at you, take care of you, focus on you. The rest will be gravy.


Just rambling thoughts.
Merry Christmas, to all of you.


(Extra points to anyone who gets my usage of 'bells' in reference to finding "The One. Facebook me and let me know what you think and I'll shower you with adoration and a celebratory shout out in my next post.)

Need vs Want: The Coach Edition

I tend to be a very rough and tumble person. My husband has been known to affectionately call me his little tornado. Things seen to go missing/break/fly across the room/end up in very odd locations (cell phone in the freezer comes to mind) in my presence. I'm really a terrible stereotypical girl, perfect examples:

1. I've recently begun taking impromptu make up lessons from a girl at work. I diligently take pictures of my face/eyes for her critique - whenever I actually put on real make up.
2. Did you know eye primer is a fantastic and amazing substance that with some work instantly fixes all of your make up woes? Because I didn't.
3. I own fewer shoes than my husband. My shoes are also often in a bedraggled state because I bought them at Payless. I looked for the lowest priced ones I could aesthetically abide and then I wore them until they died. I usually have one black pair and one brown pair that are on a rotation of sorts for work ad nauseum. That's it. 2 pairs. 
4. I have recently made a new addition to my wardrobe - blouses. I didn't have them before and I'm choosing to call the new things in my closet blouses because it makes me feel special and refined - not because they were actually labeled 'blouses'. 
5. Does it involve dirt? sweating? hard work? contact sport? I'm in.
6. I'm almost always the strongest girl in the room - residuals from turning into the Hulk during my college athletic years. I also don't hide this fact and am usually the first person to volunteer to help lift heavy objects. I become quite ruffled if the response I get hints at all that my strength is being doubted. 
7. I should not be trusted around fabrics that cannot be stain-sticked and machine washed. 
8. I dress for warmth. My office must think that I assume we have a uniform: I wear dress pants and our branded thermal coat almost every day. 
9. Hair. Ugh. If you're ever told that 'short hair is so easy!' Slap that ignorant advice spouter for me. It's a LIE. I have to shower in the morning to actually get my hair to look nice. I consider this a hardship. 
10. I have never gone more than 3 days without damaging nail polish. I also went 8 months once with the remnants of one pedicure on my toes. It was from a special occasion and I just couldn't be bothered to remove the tattered remains. 
11. Can someone please tell me what accessories are, and what one does with them?
12. In the last 2 years I have walked away from every purse I have owned somewhere in the mall. Someones looking out for me because I've always gotten them back. Because of these incidents I am under a self-imposed penance of only using a wristlet as I cannot be trusted with purses. 
13. It was an easier mental decision to spend money on a computer game than it was to go buy a new, much needed, pair of shoes (see item #3).
14. My husband has been known to look at me and tragically sigh at my appearance. He tries to hide it - but I see that tell-tale shoulder shrug and the pitying look in his eye. That's usually when I make him pick out a new outfit for me. 
15. I swear like a sailor.
16. I hate most chick flicks.

I'll stop there. I actually amazed myself a little bit at the proliferation of examples I was able to come up with without hesitation. The purpose of this little exercise in self awareness and feminine failure you might ask? It provides a substantial foundation for my biggest personal oxymoron:

In the space of my mind where I envision my best self I'm absolutely fabulous, proper, polite, quiet, witty, subdued, organized and impeccably dressed. I never spill, I'm always perfectly groomed and my fashion sense is to die for. This is the me that I would love to be happy being. That me also is swimming in my favorite brand - Coach. 

I could wax eloquent about how much I love this brand, how much walking into their one of their stores gives me a very dramatic sense of euphoria. I scour their websites, I visit their stores, I track my favorite lines (omg you guys - their new lines coming out are the best I've seen. I die.), and I dream in fabrics of softened leather and canvas with perfect stitching. I think it is appropriate to say that if some of these bags were people, restraining orders would have been obtained by now. 

The funny thing is, however, that my thrifty side always wins. Sure, I'll go in and chat with the sales people and walk around with my newest obsession for an inappropriately long time, but when I leave I'll be leaving alone having just placed my new best friend back on its shelf. I'll plaintively say good bye and depart with promises to return for another trip around the showroom floor. It just isn't our time, friend.

Today, however was different - yet similar all at once. I have been researching (read: stalking) Coach Weekender bags for a year, ever since I saw this on a friends blog early last January:

Gorgeous isn't it? My perfectly poised and polished self is already envisioning our fancy and fashionable weekend trips. My practical self is thinking, "that's a hell of a carry on. Won't we look nice in the airport?"

That, and an exhaustive across-brands search, led me to this:

Hello, Handsome. Coach's newest line, Legacy, offers modern twists on vintage flair and their past forays into gaudy brand displays have been left behind for the elegance of understatement. This bag doesn't need you to know that it's high end by screaming "LOOK I'M FROM COACH" in big ostentatious patterned prints of C's. You just need to know it's fabulous - and you do so by observing its clean lines, solid hardware, the grain of it's softened leather, the strength of the reinforced handles, the minute and perfect stitching. It's perfect. It's what I've been looking for. It costs over $600 dollars.

Duh. It's Coach. It is from the new Legacy line and is a flagship example of the direction they appear to be going with this collection and hopefully, if I had my way, with the rest of the brand. I didn't have any sticker shock, I knew (research!) what the ballpark would be before I even crossed the store after my eyes locked on it like a homing missile. So, as with many other expensive desires, I placed it back on the shelf, stalked the hell out of it online, and visited often. 

Today was another one of those visits with high hopes and very low expectations. The difference being that we were visiting one of the outlet stores so I had even lower expectations. Garish displays of branding everywhere!!

Imagine my surprise when I found a full leather duffle (slightly bigger than a Weekender) on ridiculous clearance calling my name from a top shelf. It was wonderful. I put it on and insisted on visiting every other item in the store with it slung over my shoulder. I managed to take out at least four customers with  oblivious turning and had all the salesmen eyeing me oddly. I was convinced. I needed it - this was my bag. I smiled at it...... and then went to put it back. 

On my way back to the shelf however, my eye was caught - once again by a top shelf. A weekender that I had previously overlooked sat resplendent in all of it's sensibly travel sized glory. A furious comparison began between my first selection and this new contender. The latter had the high end impact with the leather - you can't beat it, it's the best fabric they have - while the former was mostly comprised of one my lesser favorites - coated canvas. It gives the material a sheen and a bit of a plastic look. The canvas bag, however, had its perks - it was the right size, and the price was right. With the sales they were running it was under $120 dollars, down from it's original priced of almost $450. 

Walk away? Go with the dream? or compromise for sensible, still beautiful, reality?

I'm not sure if you'll be surprised by my choice - because I was. I didn't shoot for the moon, but I didn't walk away. Allow me to present my brand new beautiful Coach Men's Tattersall Tartan Weekender:

Simple, elegant. The coated canvas may not be my favorite fabric, but it's practical. It would be impractical to assume that I would suddenly be this fictitious Miranda of feminine success that I dream of who never spills, never damages her belongings and isn't hard on everything she owns. That's not reality. The other part of truth here is one that I really had to think about before realizing it was fact: that dream bag in the second picture? I never would have bought it. I'm too realistic, too practical and too sensible to blow that amount of money - even on something I want as badly as that bag. 

So, I may not be the quintessential woman, but between my natural tendencies and my absurd self-portrait I think I've learned that I can find a happy medium if I'm willing to compromise on both ends. I'll likely never be able to keep track of everything I own, my irresponsibility will lead to something else getting broken and I secretly still want to stay home some nights and play my dorky computer game as opposed to being social. However, perhaps I can wear nice clothing and lift heavy things all at the same time.

Much like that bag above there will be compromises, and I won't get everything I want. The outcome of this particular mental bargain has given me a gorgeous bag with the perfect functionality and the amazing ability to allow me to lay my head down tonight and not give a single guilty thought to the amount of money I spent today - I've had $20.00 shoes that I've lost more sleep over. I've done the research - I know it's money well spent.

The final clincher on the decision was when I ran my hand over the label on the front of the bag and smiled as I realized for the first time that every solid brown part on the bag was not, as my eye led me to believe, coated canvas. It was gorgeous soften leather. The perfect balance, indeed.