Me too.

[CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of sexual abuse of a minor, non-consensual touching, and sexual harassment.]

I Let a Stranger Hold My Baby

I realize it's been ages since my last post, and we've got a lot of catching up to do. Here's what you need to know for the purposes of this post:

I have a baby now - let's call her A.

She's four months old, and freaking adorable.

On to my story: I was visiting my grandmother at the rehabilitation center where she's recovering from a bunch of not very fun stuff, and naturally I had the baby with me. We were hanging around outside, waiting for the nurses to finish a procedure, and A was busy making friends with with the other visitors. 9 times out of 10, she would receive coos and happy exclaimations from passerbyes, with some people even reaching to hold a tiny argyle-socked foot. Although there was a little voice in my head freaking out over the idea of everyone else being covered in germs and getting her sick, there was a much louder voice reminding me that not only has she had her shots, but that the antibodies I give her through breastmilk and her being exposed to the world while she still has that additional protection is pretty much the best thing I can do for her health right now.

Another visitor, a woman, came over to smile at A. She then made eye contact with me, still smiling, and grasped A with the intent to pick up the baby. I had a choice: let her hold A, or tighten my grip and refuse. And I'm no saint -- my first thought was "AHHH NO WAY!!" But I took a breath and recognized that she didn't mean any harm. I let go, and let her hold the baby. And because I didn't immediately respond by telling her to back the hell off, I got to witness the most gorgeous exchange:

A, smiling in the hands of this new person, as the woman made funny faces and noises to make that smile beam even brighter. She then kissed A on both cheeks, and handed her back to me.

I admit I was on edge the entire time, and I inwardly grimaced at those kisses, crossing my fingers that she wasn't sick. And that was kind of uncomfortable for me. BUT. The joy this woman took in greeting A and the smile on my child's face -- that was priceless.

As you probably suspect, A turned out fine after this encounter -- no sickness, just richer for having been welcomed into this world by another friendly face. And I wouldn't have made the same choice if I had felt like the woman didn't have good intentions -- but it did still require that split-second decision to trust. Which got me thinking: recently, I've seen a number of assertions from individuals swearing they would never allow a stranger to hold their baby. Similarly, there's been a spate of stories about police being called on parents for having allowed their child to play at a park or walk home without an adult. Obviously, there's an appropriate age for leaving children unsupervised, and my daughter is nowhere near that age. But to think that we've reached a point of protecting our children where we can neither allow them the freedom to explore on their own (in a controlled risk situation), nor trust other people to have good intentions toward our children even with us there -- that seems a sad state of affairs. Tracy Cutchlow, writing for The Washington Post, lamented the loss of caring for children as a community, and called for the reestablishment of "block mother" behavior, where adults help care for and keep an eye on the neighborhood's kids, not call the police when they see an unaccompanied minor. But such behavior requires a sense of empowerment on the part of the adults - that they are allowed to act in a caring capacity toward a stranger's child. And I wonder if the initial refusal of many parents to allow interactions between well-meaning strangers and their baby isn't contributing to the hands-off, "call 911" approach.

For me, allowing a stranger to hold my child proved an example of the good that can happen when we don't assume the world is out to get us -- and I'm glad I did.

I'm not really here.

I know it's been a long time since we've talked.

And I hate to say it, but . . . it's going to be a bit longer.

I just went through my calendar to make sure I'm not double booking myself anywhere in the near future. Here are three important things I've learned:

1. I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO MIND TO SPEAK OF. If you want to schedule something with me, please tattoo it on my forehead. Even then, please call to remind me. I will have forgotten it as soon as I'm no longer looking in a mirror.
2. ALL OF YOU BIATCHES GETTING MARRIED THIS YEAR . . . Congrats. Good on you. (One wedding a month, for four months solid. Yeeeeeehaw!)
3. MY SMART PHONE AND MY PERSONAL ASSISTANT (Hi Husband!) ARE THE ONLY THINGS KEEPING ME FROM INSANITY. These pretty much speak for themselves. With Truth.

Until Next Time,

Mrs.

Why I'm Smashing The Scale This Year: A New Year's Revolution

On Tuesday, I excitedly noticed my name mentioned in the Huffington Post's article about The Militant Baker's #SMASHTHESCALE body love revolution photo series, and of course immediately shared it on my Facebook. A couple of my friends reshared the link, and I had been thrilled to see all of the positive responses to this photo series which I think is so incredibly powerful.

And then I saw this comment from a friend of a friend:

"I hate destruction of things that can easily be donated to someone else. Goes along with the "musicians" who smash guitars....what's the purpose? Use the energy to dig a hole and plant a tree, or rake leaves for an elderly person. Maybe THEN you'd lose a pound or two."

Of course, I couldn't keep my big mouth shut (even though, I know, Haters Be Hatin'), and I just had to repost my response here. Conveniently, it also ties in the The Militant Baker's call for #smashthescale blog posts, tweets, and photos all this week, and you can view the entire blogroll here.

As to my response:

Hi Concerned Person! I'm the woman who came up with the idea for Smash the Scale, and I'm hoping that I can help alleviate some of your concerns. I, and a number of my fellow The Body Love Conference volunteers, also hate seeing waste. That's why we purchased the scales secondhand, and upcycled a number of scales from women providing their own. We did try to recycle them through a community art effort afterwards, but unfortunately that fell apart. The best we could do is dispose of them responsibly, which we did.

As to the second part of your comment, if you take the time to read about #smashthescale, you'll find that this isn't merely a group of overweight women frustrated in their efforts to lose weight. As you can see in the pictures, there are women of all shapes and sizes, from model thin on up. The goal isn't to say that being healthy doesn't matter, but rather to call out the wrongful conflation of a number on a scale with the idea of health. Scales can give us data about our bodies, but that's all it is -- just data. Not self-worth. Not beauty. Not desirability. And in my opinion, our culture's obsession with losing "a pound or two" being the equivalent of self-improvement is a dangerous and damnable idea.  

I have felt fat since I was twelve years out. I was 5'7" and weighed 150 lbs at the time. That's a normal, healthy BMI, and I was a normal, healthy kid. But combine the fact that I had hips and thighs and an ass when my friends didn't with the notion that losing weight is the same as being healthy, and what started as a pre-pubescent with low self-esteem evolved into a seventeen-year-old who routinely made herself vomit in the alleyway behind her house because her parents monitored how long she spent in the bathroom. Oh, and vomited in the bathroom at school. And at the gas station. And at work. And anywhere else I could -- all because I was so afraid of "being fat," of having that number on the scale increase. Of having that number on the scale not decrease. And because of all that self-harm, I lost a whole twenty pounds! You tell me -- was that destruction of my body a worthy way to use my energy? I did lose weight, after all. 

It's taken a lot of hard work, self-love, the support of family and friends, and actively fighting against my body dismorphia to get me to a place where I don't automatically look in the mirror and hate myself. But when I'm having a bad day, those old feelings still creep in. I have moments where I want to binge-eat my way through two burgers, three donuts, and a giant-size portion of chocolate and/or chips because I feel out of control of my life and my body and eating food is a way to forget and find comfort, and then vomit it all up again because HOW COULD I DO SOMETHING SO AWFUL, I'M GOING TO GET FAT. Thankfully, because I've spent years learning to resist that cycle, and because I'm finally learning to love myself, I don't. And nowadays I can even go running, and lift weights, and dance around like a crazy fool with an aerobics video (and I do), without having it all come down to how "fat" I think I am, or whether or not that activity will help me lose weight. Do I want to be healthier than I am right now?? Hell yes -- I want to be stronger, I want to be faster, I want to avoid the heart attacks that spot my family health history like some deadly genetic acne. And am I taking steps to get there? Absolutely. But in the meantime, I need to be able to love myself as I am, and not spend all my waking hours obsessing over whether or not that square lump in my bathroom and society's bullshit beauty trends say I'm worth it. 

And that's why, destructive or not, I smashed my scale. Was it wasteful? In a way, yes - and that's why I don't expect nor think it necessary that every person physically destroy their scale just to engage in this movement. Was it a waste? Not for me. It was terrifying, soul-baring, cathartic, and ultimately empowering to physically destroy something that has been too much a part of my life for way too long -- but a waste? Absolutely not.

If you want to get in on this ish -- and believe me, you do -- there are a number of ways you can join the movement:

1. Blog about it, and share your link on The Body Love Conference Facebook.
2. Share your story on The Body Love Conference Facebook or in the comments here, and I'll pass it on to the Militant Baker! We want to read and share both on The Body Love Conference FB and The Militant Baker FB. Let's drown out the annual New Year's Weight Loss Resolution Chorus with a rousing battlecry of our own!
3. Create your own image like I did with this simple PNG overlay. Instructions on how to do so here. Post it to the Body Love Conference's and/or The Militant Baker's FB wall so your pic can be shared as well!
4. Tweet and tag @BodyLoveConf. Hashtag the shit outta your posts with #SmashTheScale and #Smash The Scale on Tumblr. Instagram your pics to The Body Love Conference here.

Ultimately, why do I believe we need to smash the scale? Jes put it best:

"For every girl bent over a toilet, worshiping at the altar of thin. For every teen who cries herself to sleep at night because she’s not good enough and doesn’t know why. For every child who didn't know they were fat until someone told them. For every woman who hopes that happiness is on the other side of that pill bottle. For every person who's stopped eating when they're still hungry. For every woman who hopes that happiness is on the other side of that pill bottle this time. Or maybe this time. For every woman that thinks she’ll be worthy of love if her thighs were smaller.  For every woman that holds back tears while she tries on jeans. For every child with a Weight Watchers chart on their bedroom door. For every man who's been told to put his shirt back on. For every teen who starves for a gap. For every skinny girl accused of anorexia and every fat girl that’s called lazy.

For every person who looks down at a number for so long that they forget to look up at the world.
For you. 

Choose your weapon.
Smash the Scale.
And with it, all obligation, expectation and guilt."

Let's make 2014 the year we love ourselves.

Hallelujah, amen.

Sorry Boys, I'm Not Your Dress-Up Doll

I should probably be writing about the new Lily Allen video (My initial reaction: I like it; followed by my more thought-out reaction: Does that make me a #solidarityisforwhitewomen -style racist? Yikes . . . more contemplation later!), or explaining where I've been since The Militant Baker freaking rocked my world by linking to my post about Maria Kang, fitsperation and privilege (moving to the new house, making art, and not sleeping very much is the short answer). However, last night I had this brilliant idea for a post series, and I just can't wait to get it started. Therefore, without further ado, I give you:

Feminist Undercover: Keeping My Big Mouth Shut, One Shift at a Time

Tuesday nights, I work as a bartender. Generally, I like it: I get to join in for karaoke when I'm not too busy, the pay is good, and the owner is chill. The customers are also pretty chill, for the most part. But here's the thing:

Every week, I wear a pair of cowgirl boots. And not just any boots -- these are my very favorite, super-comfortable red cowgirl boots that the Mr. gave me for Christmas seven years ago. Since then, I've rarely appeared without them -- with the exception of my wedding ring, they are my most-worn accessory. And I love these boots. I love the way I stomp around in them. I love the way they make even the most mundane outfit look cool and artsy. And I love the way they support my feet -- especially over a long shift at work.

The highly controversial boots.

Apparently, not everyone at the bar feels quite the same way. And last night, when I got on shift, my boss pulled me to the side, explained that I was doing a great job and no one has any complaints, except . . . "People are tired of the boots." I didn't have to ask to know exactly which people we were talking about. 

See, I catch the tail end of the day shift's crowd. And overall, they're nice people -- hardworking, mostly blue-collar, mostly middle-aged dudes looking for some cheap beer and a pretty girl to talk to before they go home alone. And I know that not everyone can be an über-progressive feminist baddass like myself, so I don't hold it against them that sometimes their conversation topics leave me wanting to either give someone a vicious intellectual tongue-lashing, or run for the door. And I understand that part of my job is to look cute, and act cute, and put up with their unsolicited comments on my appearance, because at the end of the day, they are the customer, the beer is the product, and I am a major part of the packaging that makes a 66¢ bottle of Bud worth the $2.50 they pay for it. And lord help my closeted feminist butt, but I keep doing it week after week because the money's good and I need that money right now.

Even so, I have my limits. Back when I was in high school, some random girl once handed me a "Fashion Police" citation for wearing a pink t-shirt with red sneakers. Back then, I simply laughed and threw the slip of paper away. Now imagine me ten years older, with a whole lot less fucks to give.

Me: "I'm sorry, I really like my boots. I dress up for the customers, I do my makeup for them -"

Boss: "No, you do that for yourself. You do it to get better tips, pick up some more hours . . ."

Now, I may be misquoting here; because a slow miasma of rage had begun to creep across my vision. But the basic implication was, if I vary my footwear, I stand to improve my nightly haul and potentially pick up more hours on the schedule. Let's ignore the questionable logic of that statement and focus on the important stuff: 

"So you want me to wear . . . more?"

Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe we have just discovered my bar's "Flair" policy.

On Maria Kang, Fitsperation, and The Problem With Fitness Privilege

(This is a cross post from my personal health and body positivity Tumblr. Enjoy!)

Warning: LOTS and LOTS of swear words coming up. You've been warned.

Now let's get down to business.

There's already been a ton written about super-fit mom-of-three Maria Kang. If you haven't been living on the internet recently, you can read a decent summary over here. I understand her intentions weren't to shame people, and I think her accomplishment is amazing. I even think it's a great thing to set as a goal and pursue, if that's what you're into.

HOWEVER. (Let's pause before the following paragraphs to put a big ol' "IMO" in front of everything I'm about to say.)

In Which I Discuss All The Things, Part I

Not pictured: Anxiety, Stress, Bad Decision Making,
Reverting to Your College Eating Habits Because
That's All You Can Afford Right Now

HOLY CRAP, let's talk real life for a hot minute.

First, the Epic Roadtrip Of Awesome was freak-out-no-holds-barred-let's-force-all-our-friends-to-view-a-slideshow level of EPIC.

Lucky for you, I have too much stuff going on right now to edit those pictures (and yes, since learning to use Photoshop, I basically can't post pictures without pulling them through an editing process. I just cant. I have a problem).

Instead of that . . .

When we got back from said alluded-to Epic-Roadtrip-Of-Awesomesauce, I had this really bright (not really) idea about getting back to house shopping. We'd looked around a bit before our trip and there hadn't been anything that great, so I figured more casual browsing wouldn't hurt.

Except then casual browsing turned into casual viewing turned into casual finding a great house turned into casual putting in an offer -- except oh wait, there's nothing casual about that, and then wouldn't you know but all my brilliant plans of not becoming overly involved went straight to hell.

There's probably an old saying about, "when you drive by the house you just put an offer in on and notice that the fridge is sitting in the front yard for some mysterious reason, you might want to reconsider your decision," but I'd personally never had such an experience until, um, the fridge was sitting out in the front yard for some mysterious reason.

Turns out, some motha effers were in the process of clearing the place out, and had been interrupted by our drive by. Don't worry, they got right back to work after we left, and the fridge was gone by the next day (I know that's what you were worried about). I have never felt so personally responsible to people I've never met - I'm still replaying how we should have handled things differently. Adding insult to injury (for them), upon further inspection, we decided we didn't want that house after all -- which then meant, for those of you who are house-shopping uninitiated, that we had to wait for our thousand dollars of "I swear I'm super serious about this" earnest money to be mailed back to us in check form, and apologize profusely to our realtor for wasting his time on paperwork, yadda yadda.

But wait, there's more! Within a day or so of cancelling on the one house, we decided we wanted to buy another one of the houses we'd seen. And guess what that offer required?

If your answer is "One Thousand Dollars Earnest Money" -- good job, you've been paying attention. On the bright side, apparently it's possible to squeeze extra money from your monthly income, so long as you give up luxuries like fresh produce and making sure you're not going to run out of gas. With our penny-pinching budget in hand, we managed to wring not one, but TWO earnest money checks from our rather anemic-looking bank accounts (not the first nor the last time I'm going to wonder why exactly I thought freelancing was such a good idea . . .), and hop on board for the second time.

Which brings me to the loan approval process . . .

Will Chad and Kate get a house? Will Kate finally let go of her overly optimistic expectations that anything will ever be easy? The adventures continue next time!

Baby Fever, and How It Grew

I'd say I've had the normal cycle of procreative urges: meet a nice boy, fall in love, decide he'd be the perfect father to my one-day kids. Get married, have that moment six months in where I want to have a baby, since that's what you do when you're married and all (riiiiiight?). Grab ahold of my hormones with both hands, remind myself that I'm waaaayy too young to think about such things, and put it off. Push it back hard -- in fact, push it back so hard that I actually reach a point where I can't imagine myself with kids, where I'm terrified at the thought of kids.

The Horror.

Actually, that turned out to be a really, really, REALLY good thing, because it gave me time to actually work on me, and my marriage, and blah-de-blah-de-blah. Three years later, my life is sorta sorting itself out - or at least beginning to reach a point where it could sort itself out. And some major scary health things happened in my family, and it brought my priorities into perspective. And I realized that seeing my family meet my child is more important to me than pursuing grad school right away, or a whirlwind trip around the world, or being able to go out to fancy restaurants whenever (or almost whenever) I feel like it.

Hi-five, younger self.

So the Mr. and I had The Talk - and we figured out that 2014 would be our lucky year for having a kid. Coincidentally, this lines up perfectly with my 12-year-old self's life plan: marry at 22, have kids at 27. Of course, I never thought about the logistics that go into having that kid at 27 (hiya, nine-month gestational period) - so here I am at 26, working to get all my ducks in a row so that we can start FFB later this year (it's like TTC, only more fun and more accurately-phrased). And I'm still terrified, in a way - but I'm also excited. Like, really excited. And I can't wait until we have that little mini-us on the way - but I still have to get those ducklings fully in line.

Until that happens, I'm just going to have to stay where I'm at, counting down until we're ready to launch into the next phase of our life. Here's to learning to love the process.

Why I Prefer the F Word: A Letter

Confused? Click here to catch up.

Dear Person-Who-Supports-Equality-But-Isn't-A-Feminist,

I want to talk about the F-Word. (No, not that F-word.) Specifically, Feminists. And I'm going to get a little serious -- but this is important, and I really want you to hear me and understand that this is coming from a place of love.

If you live on the internet and frequent (gulp) feminist blogs like I do, Taylor Swift's declaration that she isn't a feminist is ancient history. OLD NEWS. So why am I bringing it up now? Two reasons: 1) I had a fantastic discussion with some beautiful and passionate people about what feminism is, at the end of which we all went away satisfied and fired up and ready to group hug the world, and 2) I'm really getting tired of having that discussion, because it focuses my energy on the wrong part of problem.

Feminism, like any other movement or school of thought, has multiple facets and ideologies -- denominations, if I may bring my Presbyterian upbringing into play :). The broadest school of thought within Feminism is one concerned with equality for all. Within the current incarnation of feminism, known as 3rd Wave Feminism (Wikipedia is good for a quick catch-up on the waves and general history of the movement), the concerns have have broadened from the too-limited, overwhelmingly white, discussion of women's rights in the 60s and 70s to a fight for the rights of all racial backgrounds and nationalities, all sexualities and genders, all belief systems, and people from all socio-economic backgrounds, etc. etc. -- essentially, the 3rd Wave takes the 2nd Wave's idea of "personal integrity" and seeks to actually apply it for all people.

Some people who identify as feminist choose to continue to focus their energy causes that are female-specific, and this decision can lead onlookers to characterize feminists as only being interested in advancing women's rights. I disagree. Someone's decision to focus on certain issues doesn't mean they're disinterested or apathetic to the other struggles out there - it could be that their chosen issues are where they feel their voice will matter most. Other people choose a more broad-based approach, following their passions across a variety of fields. I fall into this second group - though I focus primarily on abortion rights, body and information integrity, systematized inequality (race, gender, fiscal, social, etc), and obstruction of civil rights, I'm also passionate about preserving the environment, supporting the arts, pursuing world peace, and increasing global education rates. I flit from issue to issue, depending on what speaks to me at the time. Many of these causes take me outside of female-specific concerns, but I still consider myself a Feminist first and foremost - and I believe that all of my causes, and indeed all battles for equality and respect for the individual, can be grouped under the umbrella cause of Feminism. Why? At its core, Feminism is about redefining the way we distribute power in society, and therefore is applicable to many, many systems outside of those thought of as relating to women.

This leads to the question of whether to all people who are passionate about equality should band together under one banner or remain as separate groups. Let me be clear -- a huge aspect of feminism is allowing people to form their own narratives and identify how they want -- and I will never be the person saying someone has to identify as Feminist. I do believe that we are stronger when we come together to support each other and fight on many fronts together, and I'd like us as a culture to get to the point where we're not in the business of tearing down one identity in order to define another. Take Ms. Swift's original comment to The Daily Beast back in October, in response to being asked if she considered herself a feminist: "I don’t really think about things as guys versus girls. I never have. I was raised by parents who brought me up to think if you work as hard as guys, you can go far in life." I'm not going to get into the history of feminism being maligned or miscast, or how Taylor Swift is likely to continue being a problematic role model. To put it in one sentence, I think Taylor Swift fell victim to a incredibly common misconception, the same misconception that's making me tired of having this discussion: Feminism doesn't mean what many people think it means. Opponents of the F-word have defined it as the opposite of equality, as opposed to a synonym. Even when dealing with the female-specific issues raised by feminism, I think this us-versus-them mentality is a huge mistake. Highlighting one group's suffering doesn't automatically minimize another's, or set one group up as "more worthy" -- it's simply the necessary identification of one specific issue to tackle in order to break down the system piece by piece.

In fact, feminism is arguably the main engine behind men gaining greater freedom, as they are allowed to embrace their whole selves and adopt the non-traditional gender role of nurturer, just as women have become more empowered to adopt roles outside of homemaker and caretaker. My favorite pop culture manifestation of this has been the shift in advertisements I've noticed over the past few years -- Huggies, in particular, has been rocking my world with their depiction of Daddy as a caretaker, without any "Mr. Mom" jokes worked in. More dads are demanding schedule flexibility to take care of their children while more moms are able to hold jobs actually capable of supporting a family on one salary, and more companies are responding to this shift by offering parental leave regardless of gender. Our society's concept of parenting is just one zone to observe feminism's effects, of course, but it's one where I've seen some huge developments firsthand.

As the great Gloria Steinem said,

“We've begun to raise daughters more like sons... but few have the courage to raise our sons more like our daughters.”

We're just at the beginning of that arc, of raising sons no longer limited by their own gender constraints, who are capable to not only perceiving their own privilege but actively working to reach out beyond it to share that power with others (beautifully exemplified by the father mentioned in this TED talk), but I really do believe we're going to get there. While I know that the F-word "feminism" sounds awfully a lot like it's only working for the benefit of women, especially with all the connotations that have been forced on it, I believe that true Feminism is working for the greater good and equality of all.

Love,

(Feminist-and-Proud-of-It) Mrs.

Can't A Girl Just Be A Housewife Already?

This past week's PostSecret featured one card with particular relevance for me:

 

"What  do we want?"

"More oppression!"

"When do we want it?"

"NOW!!"

But in all seriousness, there's something about this sentiment that really gels for me. Ever since quitting my remaining "real job" back in April (I have since picked up a bartending gig one night a week, but that's not exactly what I got my college degrees for), I've been spending a lot of time around the house. Some of it's spent working to grow our design business, some of it's spent blogging for The Art Abyss, and some of it's spent wrastling the fur babies. Okay, more than some.

The view from my office chair. How do you not wrastle that?

But business grows slowly, and blogging can only take up so much time. Fur babies aside, that means I end up engaging in the selfish acts of

a) working out (which is justifiable as good for me, but feels like stolen time)
b) reading books (possibly justifiable because all great writers should be great readers (right?))
c) attempting to clean house (justifiable if I actually get something done - therein the rub)
d) browsing endlessly on the Internets and making too many Facebook posts (tangentially justifiable under the heading of "the more you know," but highly suspect on a productivity scale)

a significant portion of the time. And then my husband comes home from his 9 to 5, and I wonder how I can make it look like I actually accomplished something that day.

On a blog titled "Mrs. Degree," you might be surprised to find such angst about semi-housewifehood. But let's remember, that title's a send-up of something my grandmother said to me when I was going into college. I have every intention of having my own career, making my own living, creating my own arc independent of that of my husband. And please believe me when I say I know I wouldn't be able to be making the go of things the way I am if it weren't for his emotional - and financial - support. And that's where it gets sticky.

Right now, I am a woman with the capabilities to make a living on her own -- perhaps not my ideal living as a self-supporting artist and writer, but a living that supports a solo apartment, some nice dinners, the occasional vintage hat splurge -- but because I have the support of a gainfully employed spouse, I'm able to pursue my ideal professions without having to freak out about where the next paycheck is coming from. Sure, since switching to freelance "full time," we've had to tighten our belts and go out less, but hey - it's all in the name of pursuing a dream, right?

Yet until I have our business chugging along, until I start seeing my writing and my painting bring in regular paychecks, I still feel like a housewife playing work. And though I absolutely respect the women and men who have chosen to care for their household full-time while their partner works (there's even evidence that such arrangements may be more efficient), for me personally, I feel like I'm not living up to my full potential -- even to my full obligation. And that leads to some very real feelings of guilt.

10 Things I Learned From Leaving My "Grown-Up" Job

"Hold on guys - which one is mine?"

Congratulations Graduate!!

Remember May? You ripped off your robe and threw up your cap to celebrate your first real taste of freedom. You enjoyed the slew of parties, binge drinking and awkward conversations with people your parents insisted on inviting to your graduation party, and now a bunch of people are getting ready to ship off to grad school, and a bunch more will be shipping off to careers they've had figured out since December. This post is not for those people.

This post is for you, person-whose-degree-and/or-career-choice-requires-significant-DIY-work-post-college. I was you, two years ago, and I was lost as all hell when it came to what I was going to do next.

Technically, I'm still figuring that part of it out, but along the way, I have learned a crap-ton about what NOT to do. So strap in, hold on, and get ready to hear about the three times I've left behind a "grown-up" job in the past two years. With any luck, you might be able to skip making a couple of these mistakes in your own life -- but, if we're being honest, probably not.

Life's all about the journey, right?

Pinterest Guilt: This Monster Must Be Stopped

Ladies and Gentlemen, there is an epidemic in this country. An epidemic of unrealized dreams, quashed ambitions, wages squandered chasing impossible goals. It is what keeps women up at night, what leaves infants to cry unattended in their cribs, what causes men to go bald ten years earlier. It is the scourge of our society, and it must be stopped.

What is this beast, you ask? I give you Exhibit A:

My feelings of inadequacy tripled simply by reading that headline.

You can read the entire article here, but you may become afflicted by the dreaded "why is this news" syndrome: eye rolling, name calling, lashing out irrationally at overly-nice strangers who sit with legs politely folded in perfect little dresses on slightly too-high benches on morning television (WHY MATT LAUER WHY???). You have been warned.

But back to the epidemic: as one mom says,

“We have a hard time enjoying our own experiences because we feel it’s not worthy of this invisible judge,” Andersen said. “It’s so easy to get depressed. You start to feel like your entire life has to be like a magazine all the time.”

Ah yes, that common overwhelming pressure to be perfect. I believe it's what my mother's generation called "Martha Stewart."

In all seriousness, it's not that hard to understand where these moms come from. I mean, just look at my friend Kadie's obnoxiously perfect Memorial Day BBQ:

Disgusting.

I know it's hard to believe from these pictures, but did you know Kadie is a professional photographer? (More importantly, did you know Kadie and I started a kickass blog together called The Art Abyss? You really should go check it out.) It's true -- and what's more, she happens to be a trained artist, with years of experience, no kids, a work-from-home job, a very supportive and very helpful husband (the rumors are they stayed up incredibly late the night before in order to get everything done), and - most importantly - this is the only party she has thrown in the last couple of years. Don't get me wrong -- I wish something fierce I could have hopped a plane and attended what looks like the best ding-dang BBQ party on either side of the Mississippi EVER -- but she didn't just roll out of bed with her backyard looking like that, and she certainly doesn't throw events like this on an everyday basis.

The moral of the story: MOMS OF THE PINTEREST, STOP FREAKING OUT. There will always be at least one actual real-life Martha Stewart in the world, but the reality is, most of us are sweating, scrambling, stressing, and stuffing all the junk we didn't get cleaned up in time into some back room before the party just as much as you. And that's really, truly okay.

Also, TODAY Show? Get a lower bench. Your news-conversationalists look ridiculous.

Seriously. Dumbest. Set. Ever.

Lightbulb Jokes Can Be Illuminating

Right before he declares he's done chasing lightbulbs on Facebook.

For more on the friendzone, check out the electrifying content here, here, and here. Intelligent commentary on the matter really just makes me all glowey.

13 Things I'm Going To Do In 2013

No, this is not a list of resolutions. Or maybe it is, but I'm not holding myself accountable to it. How about we settle on this being my stating my intentions? You hear me Universe?? Let's make this happen!

1. Paint my nails more often. I am quite possibly the worst ever at doing this, even though I love having painted nails. Perhaps the fact that I feel like I don't have time to give myself this little bit of pampering is proof that I need to SLOW DOWN -- and doing this is going to force me to do so.
2. Cook. Really, truly, actually cook, and start learning some new recipes. And doing it regularly, too -- none of this once-in-a-blue-moon stuff.
3. Design and sew some new clothes for myself, instead of buying. I made my Halloween costume for the first time since middle school last year, and it was quite possibly the best thing ever. There's no reason to restrict that joy to October -- and if I could make time then, I certainly can make time now.
4. Go hiking!! Preferably every other weekend or so -- I absolutely love hiking, and camping, and all that, and I pretty much never ever do it.
5. Learn to be really good at CSS. Yes, it will help me with my job, but it also is something that is wicked cool now that I've learned a bit about it, and I want to reach the level of the wizards over at the CSS Zen Garden.
6. Start casually expanding my German vocabulary. Practice with the Mr. to get comfortable using more phrases, and actually use those phrases.
7. Dance more, and practice a LOT more. Country Swing is not going to learn itself, and being able to show off on the dance floor would definitely be worth the extra effort.
8. Post relatively often in my blog. Yes, that means here.
9. Journal about it (no, not here), when I'm feeling all twisted up, instead of looking for a fight or numbing with food. And journal about it when I'm happy. Write down those memories and good feelings along with the bad.
10. Accept that I need to find doctors to take care of my grown-up self -- and then actually make and attend appointments with those doctors. I have health insurance, now I should use it!
11. Trust that my passions will show me the way - no more sitting around waiting for the right time, that time is NOW.
12. Not be afraid of telling people "No." No being willing to refuse something outright gets me in trouble all the time. If I'm going to run a business, I had better get this down pat.
13. Be willing to tell people "Yes." Right now my default is "Maybe," and that's weaksauce.

First Things First - Third Party Candidates Later

Every 4th of July, my family gathers around to watch the 1972 movie of the musical "1776." Over the years, its lines and lyrics, many of which are direct quotations from the founders' assorted writings, have become an entrenched aspect of my meditations on American politics. Over the last few weeks while discussing the upcoming election, one particular exchange between John Adams and Benjamin Franklin has been on my mind:

(Quoted lines start at 2:45, if you are low on time)

John Adams:

"Mark me, Franklin... if we give in on this issue, posterity will never forgive us."

Benjamin Franklin:

"That's probably true, but we won't hear a thing, we'll be long gone. Besides, what would posterity think we were? Demi-gods? We're men, no more no less, trying to get a nation started against greater odds than a more generous God would have allowed. First things first, John. Independence; America. If we don't secure that, what difference will the rest make?" (emphasis mine)

These lines mark the monumental compromise made by the first Congress regarding the legality of slavery, a decision that sowed the the seeds for the Civil War eighty years later, but allowed for the creation of the independent United States. Our history since is spattered such compromises, agreements struck between the abhorrent and the ideal. This Tuesday, I will be one of the millions of Americans making their way to the polls to decide, among other things, who will be the next president of the United States -- and I will have to accept a compromise in order to move forward.

'Etc.' Is No Jonathan Swift - How the Wildcat Cartoonist's Attempt At Satire Fell Flat

TRIGGER WARNING: The following post concerns a comic that discusses the murder of a person for their sexual orientation. I do not condone the content of this comic, or the decision of the newspaper to publish it. If you feel that this may be triggering to you or make you feel unsafe, please feel free to stop reading at any point. Thank you!

Procrastination: A Diet's Tale

Actually, I could have titled this post, "Procrastination: [Insert Relevant Topic Here]" - because let's be honest: my procrastination isn't just contained to a diet. Or my homework. Or my ::gulp:: blog posts . . . (sorry!)

No, procrastination has been my buddy through thick and thin, through grade school, high school, college, and beyond - and I have a messy bedroom, a bunch of unfinished projects, and roughly 40 pounds of extra body fat to show for it (not to mention the missing blog posts . . . oops!).

So why is this post about a diet, you ask? Two reasons:

This.

And This. (Okay the photoshoot actually happened second.)

And actually, one truly lovely evening out on the town with the positively lovely Gigi Verrey, the author of Okay, So I Got Fat, and a woman who I only hope I can match one day in class and strength of character. Gigi and I got to talking at the publishing conference we we were both attending. I've been meaning to switch over to whole foods and organic eating for a while, and I've been trying to lose weight since I first figured out I had a body somewhere around 6th grade . . . and even though I'm big on the body positivity these days and don't feel like I need to lose weight, I still would like to. Therefore:

I've started a health-and-exercise Tumblr. over here, where if you want, you can check out all my ups and downs and crazy experiences with working my way through Gigi's book, and probably through a workout or two along the way. Wish me luck!

She's Back!

Hello, my lovely darlings! After a long silence, I am returned -- and I don't think you're going to see me disappearing again anytime soon. There are a number of reasons for that, but first, a recap:

When last I wrote, things had picked up at the Mrs. Degree household - in a very good way. Well, that trend is continuing: nine months out of college, I've found myself in a job that is perfect for me - I mean, really perfect for me. You know that feeling you're supposed to get when you meet the love of your life, where you can see tomorrow and the next day and the day after that and the year after that until forever, and somehow you just know that things are going to work out, but you still get a stomach full of butterflies anyway because you just can't quite believe it, and you're just so darn excited anyway? Well, this is kind-of like that -- except instead of picturing kids and a minivan (because who doesn't picture that, amiright?), I see a place where I can be myself, where I can feel valued and respected doing work that I value and respect, and I don't glance over my shoulder every five minutes to see what kind of trouble is coming my way.

What is the heaven-sent job, you ask? Did this bright young woman actually find a way to get paid to bake pies, make beds, scrub the floors, polish the silver, and still have every hair immaculately in place to welcome home the hubby after work?

Sadly, no -- I've sold my soul (more like lost my preconceived notions), and gone to the dark side. I'm working in marketing.

I guess there's some value in trusting that the universe is going to work things out, after all.

Baking Break!

Or more accurately, a posting break. Things have gotten a little insanely lucky around here, and I just can't keep up with my dusting and work full time and complete commissions and blog. I need my beauty rest if I'm going to keep it up, after all - so at least for a little while, Mrs. Degree will be taking a break. But don't worry - I won't keep my buns in the oven forever!

They might be a little well-done, though.

Confessions of a Shopgirl: Luck Unlooked-for

You may be wondering how my job is going -- and even if you're not, I'm far too tired to come up with a different idea for a blog post. As to my job, it's actually going really well! I like the people I work with (for the most part), I loooove the part where I get to do makeovers on people, and I'm really gaining a great deal of experience and knowledge with all the ins and outs of cosmetics (which will be very useful in my future part-time gig as a makeup artist). BUT, the transportation situation to get Mr. and I to work is positively unsustainable, and I don't just mean in the environmental sense -- so thus again go I into the breach, to find a job with better hours and a shorter commute.

Yet I cannot overemphasize how lucky I have been in getting this job - not in working it specifically, but in how this job has modified my story arc in wild and wonderful ways. First, there was the day I showed up an hour and a half early (I'm still getting used to this shifting schedule thing). Grumpy and at a loss for what to do, I wandered over to the craft store to pick up some holiday decorations and gift supplies - when lo and behold, I stumbled across a "2 for $1.00" one-day sale on mini ceramic casseroles. They were the perfect size and color for gifting little loaves of bread, so I snatched them up before any of the other deal-sniffing ladies that frequent craft stores could grab them.

Bummer.

Then there is the whole makeup application aspect of my job -- I'm learning about prepping the skin, matching and applying foundation, taking care of multiple-person-use products (aka testers) and more, all while getting paid for it instead of attending beauty school. Score!

But finally, and most surprising out of the bunch, is the unexpected arrival of an opportunity for me to pursue my *real job* - my job of being an artist. Through talking to one of the other employees, I found out he's in a band and that they're releasing an album soon. When I suggested that I might be a great person to do their album artwork for them, he picked me up on it, and now I've got a tidy little commission project tucked away to finish this next week! That, plus the incredible stroke of luck the Mr. and I had in landing a graphic and web design gig for a local candidate, has equaled many nights of sleeping far less than what qualifies as 'beauty sleep' - in fact, judging by the way I look and feel in the morning I suspect I'm only getting as far as 'ugly sleep' - and finding my social life and leisure time almost entirely taken over by work on my 'second' job. But, this is exactly what Cracked.com said I could expect, so I'm going to take it as a sign that I'm on the right track. And of course, had I not been working at the makeup counter, I never would have started talking to my new client for the CD cover, and had I not been unemployed at the beginning of December, I never would have thought I'd have the time to build logos and a website. But here I am, with even less time than I had then, and I am doing it, and I'm having a great time, and it sounds like some of my job prospects are opening up as far as finding something that fits more reasonably into my schedule. Otherwise, I just need to keep on chugging and remember, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.