BOOORING!

I am sitting in a seminar in beautiful Denver, Colorado on an 80° day.

I am dying.

Our speaker is from the IRS, she is a small business auditor who was never taught how to dress appropriately--her T-shirt dress is an unflattering mid-thigh summer ensemble. Adorable, but not appreciated by those of us who do know how to dress for business; and are sweating in suit jackets and close-toes shoes. This entire room reeks of sweat and boredom. I didn't notice the stench until after the last break, when half the attendees ad mysteriously disappeared, and the rest of us slowly returned to our seats, armed with coffee and Mountain Dew.

I sit in the front row, half because I enjoy being teacher's pet, and half because my ADD will surely keep me from learning anything amid a sea of ladies and gents who are begging to be (silently) judged.

The two presenters on break in front of me are both playing on their phones. The one with the open-toes sandals on can't seem to stop frowning. I can't help but think that she's going to put such deep lines in her pretty face! The other one is making a lemon-sucking face; and I just saw her take a nap-blink. You know those extra-long blinks you take when you're about to fall asleep?

I'm praying my Mountain Dew prevents me from doing the same.

Mrs. T-short dress opens with, "I'd really rather sit, but I speak so quietly..." she fades off and glares at the stationary microphone attached to her pedestal. She also mentions multiple times throughout her deadpan presentation of 40 slides that we must want to get out of this classroom. YES! We do! But we are stuck! Stuck in a stinky room on a gorgeous summer day, watching you read slides while barely moving your mouth. If you are so obviously bored with the content, how am I possibly supposed to care? She zips through the slides because it's almost rush hour, and she would like to beat traffic. "Dammit, I came to learn!" I want to scream that, but I don't, mostly because I'm pretty sure I would get tackled by the few folks left, who obviously share the same sentiment as our speaker.

Although our last speaker of the day may have gotten on the road in time, the rest of us have to endure a 30-minute Q&A session. On my survey for the course, I try to be honest but constructive, requesting knowledgeable speakers who are comfortable with the material (One of our speakers looked like she was having a panic attack right in front of us).

It takes me two hours to get home. I blast music and finger dance, and promise myself that I will never be like those speakers we had to endure today: Bored in life, Eager for the day to be done, Uninteresting and Uninterested. Life is simply too short!

I Am Not A Monkey!

The message I receive on Facebook makes me cringe as soon as I read the two sentences.

The man on the sending end thinks he is giving me a compliment on my "big butt" and "nice boobies"...nope! These are not for you, Sir! I look at my friend incredulously. "Is he drunk?" It is 2:45 in the afternoon, so likely not the case. Which leaves the more probable solution that he thinks it's appropriate to talk about my body like it's his business.

I don't live in a big city, so thankfully I don't have to deal with the cat calls and verbal abuse that women have to endure on the daily. But this advance is just as unwelcome. My body is not on display for anyone. It is mine and I love it. But I am not a monkey! I am not in a zoo, and I demand more respect than the average bear. So treat me like a bear, and I might not maul your face off. (Cue sweet smile.)

What About, "For Better or For Better"?

When I moved into my own place, I bought a TV just so I could listen to Pandora like Cathie. I loved walking into her apartment and hearing "Nasty Girl's Radio" blasting (obvi the best station). I thought I would use my TV for more than just music, but it's rare unless golf is on a local station and I want to take a nap.

So I'm listening to Beyoncé radio today, which is a fantastic mix of artists like Destiny's Child, Drake, Nicki Minaj, and Sam Smith. This results in a random playlist throughout the day...sometimes it's love songs...most the time, it's raunchy rap. As any teenage girl or sappy adult can attest, love songs mean guys promising they'll love you forever, and women asking if they'll love them for better or worse...blahblahblah. One such lyric that caught my ear this afternoon was by Sam Smith, in "I'm Not The Only One". He croons, "You and me, we made a vow, For better or for worse, I can't believe you let me down..."

This made me question: Why does marriage have to mean "For better or for worse?" This implies things will inexplicably get worse. Instead of the vow meaning what it intended, ensuring that a couple understands it won't be all rainbows and unicorns every day, it more often provides a cop-out. It essentially allows one or both partners to act however they want and use this as a Get Out of Jail Free card. You fall in love with someone when they are at their best; when your day revolves around the next time you get to see them; when you can't wait to take them somewhere new or tell them a funny story. Sadly, new, shiny things (and people) fade, but by then you've been together that "right amount of time" and what else can you do besides get married? So you make this impossible promise that you really have no idea the extent or intensity of, in the blind hope that you will defy the other half of married couples who don't make it.

All this to say, I love the idea of marriage; it's beautiful: Find someone who loves you just as you are; Forever. But in order for marriage to become more realistic, the phrase in question should be removed. It's BS to expect me to stay in love with you if you act like a jackass. Why wouldn't we give our best selves to our spouses on the daily? How are you supposed to stay in love with someone who doesn't act as they did when you first fell in love? Or worse, someone who changes completely once they "have" you?

I would hope that if I ever pull the trigger, "For better or for worse" would mean that every day we try to be good to each other. And when shit hits the fan, we will be the other person's support so we can make it through, united. Complacency is what kills marriage, not the concept of marriage itself.

Hands Off

I went out last week with my besties, and witnessed/experienced multiple sexual harassment scenarios...

I got my bra unhooked (expertly, and too quickly to protest) by someone trying to prove they "loved breasts" (BTW, who doesn't?). My girlfriend got her tits squeezed by a male who is "just a friend". Someone put their hands around my other friend's throat and kissed her neck (not her boyfriend)...Three girls, at a bar, getting steadily molested by strangers and friends...What fun!


I'll admit I didn't get angry until later, when I was thinking about the culmination of events. I should have said no, I shouldn't have giggled when it made me uncomfortable, I should have stood up for myself. We all probably should have. But what if you're in a public place and just want to be treated with some respect, and not manhandled by everyone who has had a drink. Just because I may participate in flirting doesn't mean I want your hands on me. Like, ever.

So what is acceptable behavior? If I smile at you does that give you permission to treat me like a whore? (It does not.) If I make a raunchy comment because we are in a bar and I've had a few cocktails, does that tell you, as a man, that you can do whatever you want to me? (Also, a screaming no.) Having boundaries and demanding respect doesn't mean I'm a prude, and it doesn't mean I'm a bitch. But I'll bet if I slapped your hand away, or better yet, slapped your face when you deserved it, you'd be eager to call me one!

I'm allowed to show my sexuality in words, flaunt my awesome cleavage when I can, and still be treated like...a human being. Look all you want, but like Kindergarten, how about keeping your hands to yourself?

My Jiggly Thighs

Strength is beauty.

I don't know that a lot of people believe in that notion; it's sadly obvious that our society is obsessed with thin equalling beautiful. We completely disregard the fact that true beauty stems from the strength we have within us. Possessing emotional strength to overcome adversity is only part of it. Strength that shows itself on the outside is also beautiful, although we are constantly pressured to think that only a size 2 is perfection.

Let's talk about the current rage of the "thigh gap". I've not had a gap in my thighs since high school, and I have no desire to return to that awkward, skinny phase of my life. How is that sexy? I pondered this while hiking up a mountain last week. My thighs do not have a gap, and therefore do not fit the societal measurement of leg beauty; but I wouldn't change a thing.

These jiggly thighs of mine send me up mountain trails on daily adventures; they give me strength to run and (usually) not fall on my face; they support me when I pick my niece up and swing her around till we're both dizzy. I thank my strong thighs for giving me purpose, for allowing me to simply walk into a room when so many don't have that ability.

Yes, my workout shorts may be a splash too short (let's be honest, all my shorts are too short), and when I sit down, my legs squish delightfully together. I don't care. I'm proud of my jiggly thighs and the places they are able to take me.