Day 39: Hair and Nonsense

If you don't want to uproot your life, but you need something to change, appearance is always a good way to go.  Now, changing your body might be a goal, but it's not like you can do that sort of thing overnight.  And changing your wardrobe is fun, but an expensive proposition.  Hair though...  Hair can go through an infinite variety of changes.

Normally I change the color.  I LOVE dying my hair.  At the moment, though, I have a show coming up, and my director is pretty firm on the idea that a Jewish girl in 1940's Russia wouldn't have purple hair.  It makes me sad, but I see her point.

Sometimes I change the length, although I'm pretty set on letting it grow out right now.  Not only would an A-line bob be inappropriate for the aforementioned Russian Jewish girl, I also think I'm just ready to return to the long hair of my youth.  Long hair is pretty awesome.  So I'm not cutting it.

It's cool though.  I have a thing I can change with absolutely no monetary investment, relatively little time, and no long term effects.

That's right y'all, I'm talking about texture.

It's a three step process.  Step one:  Braid your hair.

 One of my friends was on video chat and asked me if I had put in locs.  I rolled my eyes.  I wish.  I can't loc my hair for two very good reasons.  (1) My hair won't do it.  I have white girl hair, and it just won't lock together properly.  (2) I am a white girl, and I would rather go my whole life without locs than upset even one person or make them think I was disrespecting their culture.  That being said, I'm a little wistful that braids is the closest I'll ever get.

Next you wait for your hair to dry.  Or, if you're me, you wait about three days because when your hair is in a bunch of teeny tiny braids you don't have to do anything to take care of it.  At any rate, whenever you're tired of the braids you move on to step two: unbraiding.

 Unbraiding leaves you with hair that is all kinds of wonky waves, particularly if you're me, and you braided much smaller braids in the back, and much larger braids in the front.  Still, it's mostly pretty tame.






Step three is where the magic happens!!!!  APPLY THE BRUSH!!!!!

  

MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Voila!  I have wookie hair!!!!

Day 38: The Faces I Make

A quick primer:
 

This is the face I make when I realize I am completely behind the eight-ball, due entirely to my own lack of time management.

This is the face I make when I try to pretend like everything's fine, and no one needs to worry about me.

Day 37: How to Piss Me Off, Part Three

Did everyone read Part One and Part Two?  Good.  Then here we go!

5) Revealing Day-to-Night Ensembles

What does this even mean?  I thought a day-to-night ensemble was something that you could wear to the office and then also out on the town.  I know moms who go to work during the day, and I know moms that go out at night, but I find it's a rare breed of mom that works all day and then also goes out and parties at night.  Because, you know, THEY HAVE CHILDREN.* It gets in the way of the whole day-to-night lifestyle.

However, since apparently the author knows tons of moms who are busting their butts in the corporate world by day, and hitting the dance floor at night, let's see what they have to say about the appropriate dress...

"Moms, lead by example! If you don’t want your daughter wearing ultra-revealing, tight tops paired with teeny tiny bottoms, then you can’t either. Even if you look and feel amazing, which we’re sure you do, it’s best to restrict these sexy tops to the bedroom. This goes for your dance moves, too … "

Damn, if I had ever been exposed to gamma rays I would probably be turning green and smashing things right about now.

Listen, let's clear some stuff up.  First, my daughter gets to wear what she wants.  I tend to suggest she wear warm clothing in the winter, and cooler clothing in the summer, but these are merely suggestions.  The only time I put my foot down is when she wants to wear her bathing suit in the snow.  Other than that, I apply a very simple metric:  HER BODY, HER RULES.

So, I don't really feel the need to set an example by NOT wearing things that make me happy, so that she can ALSO learn not to wear things that make her happy.  THAT IS NOT THE KIND OF THING I WANT TO TEACH HER AT ALL!  In fact, I am kind of hoping to teach her the EXACT OPPOSITE!

Second--do not EVEN START on my dance moves.  I boogie how I want to boogie, and if you don't like it you can kiss my sweet ass.

*Clarification: It is possible that you are the rare breed of mother that can work all day and party all night.  If you are, I am not passing judgement.  Simply saying that you are few and far between. 


4) Impractical Pumps

"Steer clear of “stripper heels,” thigh-high boots and knee-length gladiator sandals.  This footwear is definitely  more “sleazy” than “supermom.” Moms need to be fashionable and practical, am I right?"

I don't think I can BEGIN to describe how very much you are not right.

Moms don't NEED to be anything, other than loving parents.  They don't have to be fashionable, because fashion does not in any way impact their quality as a parent.  They also don't have to be practical!  It can help, at times, but sometimes the dreamy, idealistic, adventuresome moms teach their kids the best lessons.  So, no, you are not right.  You are 100% wrong.

Furthermore--on the subject of shoes--are you saying that this ensemble is too much?

Have I mentioned that I cosplay?*
No?
Well, I do.
And, for the record, those shoes are awesome.
So, you know... Bite me.


*No, I haven't joined a burlesque troop.  If you don't read Penny Arcade, you might not get the reference.  Allow me to enlighten you.









3) Tees that Talk

"Freedom of expression is great — until it’s obnoxiously splayed across your graphic tee. Save bragging about how you “Woke Up Like This” or your self-proclaimed status as a “MILF” for girls’ nights."

I.  Cannot.  Even.

FIRST OF ALL...  if this three part series has not made it abundantly clear by now, I DID WAKE UP LIKE THIS.  Certainly I have not gone to the lengths that the author of this article seems to think necessary in order to change my appearance.

Second... I hope all mom's are MILF's to someone.  And if they are, then I don't see why they can't be happy about that fact.  I mean, unless you're one of those tight ass people who think sexual desirability is WRONG, and that mothers should adhere to some misguided ideal of chastity.

Third, and possibly most important, if I did not have shirts that said things, how would you know who was in charge?

No, what?

 You tell 'em, shirt.

2) Giant Purses 

"Oversized, slouchy, embellished hobo bags that fit a week’s worth of clothes and beauty products might be perfect for the busy life of a mom. But the second-rate fabrics, distracting patterns, floor-length fringes and potato-sack-sizes make these bags impossible to incorporate into a look without coming off as lazy and disheveled."

*Raises hand*

Can someone please find one of these for me?  Cause, all I'm saying is, my current purse isn't big enough.

 Need help.  Send bigger purse.

Seriously, has the author even thought about what they're saying?  And, at this point, is there anyone here who doubts how completely willing I am to look both lazy AND disheveled?


1) Strapless Numbers and Plunging Necklines. 

"It’s true that if you’ve got it, flaunt it. But when it comes to cleavage, no one wants to feel like their mom is about to have a Janet Jackson moment."

No legs, no belly, no butt, and NOW NO BOOBS EITHER?  WTF, internet author?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Well... you know what I say to to that?

Heck off,                                                   Heck off,

HECK OFF!!

So, to sum up, what you're saying is:
Don't be sexy.
Don't have fun.
Don't be whimsical.
Don't stand out.
Don't do anything that expresses who you are, or how you feel.  Be a drone, an automaton, a Stepford Wife.  Once you bring life into this world you shouldn't go on being you.  Instead you should be something between June Cleaver and a Nun, because otherwise you will bring shame to yourself and your family.

Well, you know what I think?

(Come on, everyone, say it with me.)

I THINK YOU CAN BITE ME.

Day 36: How to Piss Me Off, Part Two

Have we all read Part One?  Are we all aware of why Jessica is rage blogging?  If not, go read this, it'll have you caught up in no time.

NOW ONWARD, TO SARTORIAL SCANDAL!!!

10) Tiaras

This is the pearl of wisdom our esteemed writer is laying on us, regarding sparkly headgear:

"You’re preschool-aged daughter makes the cutest pretend princess in her pretty pink tiara. You, on the other hand, look like a washed-up beauty queen wannabe when you go outside wearing a glittery tiara — even if the diamonds are real."

All I want to do when I read this is find the author and punch them in the face.  I mean, seriously, f-you, you pretentious, tight-assed critic.  First of all, when I wear a tiara I am not a Princess.  I am a Queen.  

 Queen Jessica, ruler of her own damn self.

I'm not prancing around, waiting for my prince to come, pouting about my step-mother and making nice with all the forest animal.  I rule my own kingdom, and my ability to wear a tiara if I so please is just ONE of the manifestations of the supreme power that I wield over myself.

9) Mix and Match Socks

"Did your 4-year-old dress you? Because this is a fashion faux pas that only a child would approve of. Settling for a pair of mismatched socks is just lazy. And don’t even try to convince yourself it will go unnoticed; you’ll regret it, trust us!"

AHAHAHAAHAH!!!!!  YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING!!!  HAVE WE MET?

First of all... I am totally lazy.  It's fine with me if my sock choices reflect that.  In fact, it's MORE than fine.  I take abject delight in the fact that my socks reflect who I am on the inside.  Someone who is both lazy AND whimsical.

 Not just mismatched, but covered in ponies, too.

I will NEVER regret it.  Trust me.

8) Destroyed Denim

Now, once upon a time, when I was regularly in a shop, I called these "work pants."  They weren't items of fashion so much as imminent practicality. 

 I'm sorry to say that I can't find a good picture of my most favorite work pants, but you're just going to have to take my word for it.  The pants in this picture were ripped, covered in paint, and had a large dark splotch on the butt from some unknown substance.

I frequently wore them in public.

I don't do as much work with table saws anymore, but I DO still own work pants.  I think they definitely qualify for at least the first half of this statement:

"If it looks like it was run over by a bus or bedazzled by a tween, it doesn’t belong in your closet. Pants that are too distressed, too sparkly, too embellished or too low are not mommy material."

I'm sorry.  What, pray tell, is "Mommy Material"?  Is this some kind of Buffalo Bill situation?  It puts the cold cream on it's skin or else it gets publicly shamed again?

Well, I think you know by now what my response is to that.

BITE ME

7) Neon Hair Accessories

"Once again, did you really let your prepubescent daughter style your look? Scrunchies, bows, butterfly clips, and those little leave-in feathers are all hair-addition-don’ts for moms. When in doubt, classic, clean hairdos always trump embellished tresses."

Once again... WHY DO YOU HATE ALL JOY?  Yes, I would let Charlotte or Elliot style my hair.  But also, at times, I want to do something fun!  Something not expected!  I mean, damn, neon accessories really isn't that big a deal.  I have had neon HAIR.

Purple, Pink, and Blue.  Cause I know how to party.

6) Overalls

Disclaimer: I don't actually like overalls.  I have a particularly long torso, and they never fit me very comfortably.  That being said, I defend everyone's right to wear them if they so choose.

This cowboy couture is making a comeback, but it’s close to impossible to pull off for a busy Mom because they almost always make you look frumpy. 

FRUMPY?  FRUMPY?

Frumpy is one of those words that just needs to go the way of the dodo.  It pisses me off EVERY time.  Because all I hear is "you look like a woman who isn't going out of her way to be visually pleasing to others."  And I want to shake whoever said it and say YES!!!  YES!!! THAT'S THE POINT!!!!

 Overalls are humanizing.  They make us all equally adorbs.

 So rock your overalls, and don't let the haters get you down.

Our final installment will hit tomorrow, covering items 5-1, or, as I like to refer to them, the ones that REALLY grind my gears.  See you then!

Day 35: How to Piss Me Off, Part One

I was reading political articles online, and happened to see a recommended link go by at the bottom of the screen.  It was entitled 15 Looks Moms Definitely Can't Pull Off Anymore.*

*side note.  Why is that a recommended article when I'm reading about politics?

I knew better.  Of COURSE I knew better.  But I couldn't help it.  I clicked the link anyway.  Then my vision clouded over and flames shot up the side of my face.  As I scrolled through the count down I found myself arguing OUT LOUD with the author of the piece.  Because, apparently, if you make me mad enough I assume you can hear me psychically.  Once I stopped being so cranky I realized that just saying it out loud wasn't going to be enough.  I needed to share it with the universe.  So, friends and neighbors, please enjoy the following rage rant. 
 

15) Clubbing Dresses

According to the article, clubbing dresses (aka body con dresses) are inappropriate because (a) I am simply TOO OLD for such things, and (b) "while skin-tight dresses hug your favorable curves, they also accentuate your not-so-favorable ones."

EXCUSE ME?  So, basically what you're saying is that past a certain age OR DRESS SIZE women should no longer be proud of their bodies?  That their post-baby belly is somehow shameful, or inappropriate?  That their wider hips just aren't svelte enough to be worth displaying to the world?  Because, after all, we all know that the only reason a woman should ever wear ANYTHING is to make an impact on someone else, right?

Do me a favor, oh judgemental one, and BITE ME. 

A CLUBBING DRESS?  Oh how scandalous!!!  How COULD I DO SUCH A THING?

14) High-Waisted Jeans

Ahem.

Whether they’re pants or shorts, high-waisted styles are unflattering and make you fall victim to the derogatory “mom jeans” trend. It’s like your adding fuel to the mom jean fire if you try to pull off this look.

Okay, first of all, other people's fashion hang ups are not my responsibility.  If I wanted to wear a spangle, see-through, glitter dress and put my hair up in spikes, I get to do that, and I don't feel like I need to worry about "adding fuel" to the "OMG, how could Cher wear that?" fire.  Her body, her choices.  My body, my choices.  It's that simple.

Second... all high-waisted items are not created equally.  Which you would know, if you weren't a self-righteous prig who clearly is living under a rock where it's still okay to tell women how to dress.

Okay, I don't actually own any myself, but at least three of these ladies are moms, and behold!  Their high-waisted shorts have not brought about the apocalypse!

13) Crop Tops

This magical article went on to share with me that "the fact is, short tops are best left for the teens and your midsection is best kept out of the public eye."   

Oh, rly?  

*furiously cuts bottoms off all her shirts. 

Oh, the mom skin!!!  IT BURNS US, MY PRECIOUS!!!

Okay, truth?  I feel a little self-conscious about this one.  But hell.  That's why I'm doing this blog, right?  Because it's stupid to feel self conscious.  So, bite me, anti-crop top folks.

12) Micro Mini-Skirts

Here's the nugget of wisdom on this one...

"Skimpy skirts look exponentially trashy with age, so unless your legs age like Tina Turner’s, trash the skirt before it trashes you. The higher the hemline, the quicker you should toss it."

I love how they assume I don't want to look trashy.  Also, how they toss in that extra, body shaming jab about "legs aging like Tina Turner's".  As though one must have the platonic ideal of a leg before it is acceptable to show it in public.

 Lemme get this straight.

There's something about this that bothers you?

Is it, perchance, the lack of fucks I give?

YOU!  LEG DEVIANT!  GET YOUR KNOBBY KNEES SAFELY HIDDEN, WHERE THEY CANNOT OFFEND MINE EYES!

11) Hot Pants

Strutting through the grocery store with kids in tow and letting your glutes hang out doesn’t reflect a confident, composed woman with a style to envy…it’s just inappropriate. 

Lemme get this straight... Are you saying that when you're out buying toilet paper and Cheerios with your squalling offspring, your major focus is on how the other people in the store are processing your outfit?  Like, you're checking the price difference on the three brands of milk, but secretly, in the back of your mind you're thinking "gee, I hope the woman at the deli counter thinks I'm confident and composed, and have a style to envy."

BECAUSE I'M NOT.

And, even if I was, are you saying my ass isn't display worthy?  That somehow the process of gestating two small humans has made it somehow LESS THAN it once was?  Because I just don't believe that.

That's right.  I did it.  I posted an ass shot.  

Ain't nothing wrong with my ass. 

Tune in tomorrow, for items 10-6 on the list, and more shots of me in SCANDALOUS clothing that no mom should ever wear.

Day 34: Am I BLONDE?

Yesterday I washed my hair.  I braided it while it was still wet, and when I took it down at bedtime I was pleased with all the pretty waves, so I took a picture, thinking I would share it with you fine people.  At the time I supposed that I would be writing a post about taking pleasure in the little things--like when your hair is clean and shiny and aesthetically appealing.  But then I TOOK the picture, and examined it, and suddenly I was asking something entirely different.

AM I BLONDE?

I mean, I know I'm not naturally blonde.  Those roots are brown, baby.  But I was left wondering if the cycle of bleaching and dying and washing had led me to a place where I was--currently, in that moment, for all intents and purposes--a blonde.

I was both perplexed, and not entire sure how to feel.

So, I did what any sensible person might do.  I tried a different light source.

The dim light of my bedroom seems to confirm that I am, in fact, a brunette.  But the entire thing has left me wondering about perception.  I mean, I dye my hair vibrant shades of purple and pink.  It isn't as though I'm terribly hung up on my natural shade.  So why, then, would I care if I suddenly seemed blonde?  

I honestly don't know.  Maybe it's because it's startling to take something for granted about yourself, only to have it abruptly be not-true.

I guess that means I'll have this experience more and more frequently as I age, and my body becomes something different.

Oh, goodie.

Day 33: Things I Am DONE With.

I'm not sure why I'm suddenly done with things.  

Maybe it's because it's spring, and a time for new beginnings.  Maybe it's that I'm really starting to internalize the idea that if people don't like me for who I am, then they're not worth my time to begin with.  Or maybe it's because I've been doing this blog, and if you keep talking about acceptance eventually you start thinking about the things you're NOT gonna accept.

Maybe it's all of these things.  Who knows.

But, whatever the reason, today I am offering up to you a list of "Things I Am DONE With."  

Bras:
Oh, you didn't expect me to start with unmentionables?  Well, we'll get to expectations in a minute.  For now we're talking about the modern torture devices that cost a ridiculous amount of money to make yourself terribly uncomfortable.

 Behold.  A Bra.

I am tired of bras.  I accept sports bras as a valid article of clothing.  If I'm dancing, or jumping on a trampoline, a sports bra can be my friend.  But, for the most part, I do not spend my days on a trampoline.  I spend them sitting at my computer, writing, and that is NOT AN ACTIVITY THAT REQUIRES BOOB SUPPORT.

I get that there are folks out there with larger chests than mine.  That bras are actually MORE comfortable for them than going without.  I say "you do you" to all of them.  You wanna wear a bra?  I support you in that.  But I am tired of bras being the standard.  Like I'm somehow scandalous without one.  Like the natural shape of my body is unacceptable somehow, or like my nipples are so shocking I need to hide them under even MORE layers of fabric.  

Bras can bite me.

Bullshit:
This is a broad category, but I don't feel like narrowing it down.  I am tired of all manner of things that I classify as complete manure, from social stigmas that are rooted in foolishness to the outright deceptions we practice on each other.

 Hold on to your britches, cause the gag is coming off.

I dislike when people aren't genuine.  Sometimes they're doing it for a perfectly good reason--I, for instance, edit myself on a regular basis so as not to shock other people.  For a long time that seemed to me like a great reason, but recently I'm growing dissatisfied with it.  I will edit myself in order to be kind.  I will edit myself in order to be loving.  I will edit myself in order to be soothing, or helpful, or thoughtful.  But I am done censoring myself because it's not considered okay to talk about reality.  If I shock you then that's fine, you go right ahead and be shocked.  I'm gonna keep talking.

So, yes, you DID just hear me explain what the song Hotline Bling is about to my eight year old while in the milk aisle of the grocery store.  And yes, I then went on to discuss the concepts of relationship equality and booty calls.  

And yes, when you asked me that question I really did answer you honestly.  I always will.  Perhaps, instead of asking me to lie to you, you should consider if you actually want to ask the question.  Because I'll answer as gently as possible, but whatever I say is going to be the truth.

Expectations:
Let's clarify something real quick.  Expectations and commitments are different.  Commitments are things that I agreed to do, and it is totally reasonable to expect me to do those things.  Expectations are the things YOU decided I would do, without first getting my agreement.  And while I might, on occasion, agree to turn an expectation into a commitment, in general you shouldn't count on it.  Because I am getting damn tired of expectations.  

My strongest commitments.

We all start out being laden with expectations.  When we're children, there's no other way to live--we aren't old enough to actually make commitments.  And our parents, via their expectations of us, teach us the right commitments to make.  But along the way some other expectations get tucked into our minds, until we find ourselves doing things we never really agreed to do, without fully evaluating our reasons behind it.

I am done with expectations.  Not just the new ones, but the old ones, too.  I'm rooting them out.  Bras and Bullshit are just two of them.  I am no longer wasting time and energy on standards that I neither agreed TO nor agree WITH.  And you know what?  I actually think it's going to make me a nicer person.  Certainly a better one.  Because when you know that you honestly and sincerely agree with all the restrictions that you place on yourself, you're less likely to chafe at them.  You're less stressed by them.  You're less likely to go off the rails.

So, fellow gentlefolk, today I am taking a stand.  A stand against expectations.  A stand against bullshit.  And, yes, a stand against bras--which might not be as important but I am tired of them and this is my blog so I get to write what I want.

Viva la revolución.

Day 32: Not Dead Yet

First of all, I've grown deeply tired of that naming scheme I trapped myself with, so I'm moving on.  Hope everyone is cool with that.

If not, tough.  

Second, you may have noticed there was a little gap in posts.  That's because I was busy finishing up my most recent book, and all my words per minute were going into that.  The book is done, however, and in the hands of my vicious beta readers who are now diligently ripping it apart, so I'm back. :)

The other night I ran Matchmaker for the first time with Abby and Casey, aka Hodel and Chava.  We don't really have blocking yet, but Dana (the director) said we could move around while we sang, so I went with it.  My friend Greg was around, and snapped some pictures.

For papa make him a scholar, for mama make him rich as a king.

For me, well, I wouldn't holler if he were as handsome as anything...

I don't actually have a hard time finding the proper emotion for this song.  Tzeitel's disillusionment with matchmaking is close enough to my own exasperation with romance that it TOTALLY works.  The eye rolls come naturally.

He's handsome, he's young... Okay, he's sixty-two.

You can't tell in this shot, but Abby is giving me the look of death.  Probably because I just told her I was marrying her off to a man three times her age, but, you know, I don't want to make assumptions.  Casey just looks disappointed with Chris, our music director.  I don't really blame her.  Chris brought the dinky keyboard that night.  Bad Chris.  No cookie for you.

He's handsome, he's tall... That is from side to side.

I'm really enjoying this entire show so much.  We're about a month out from the performance, but I can already tell it's gonna be great.  At any rate, stay turned for further rehearsal shots.  I'm sure more will be incoming in the near future.