On Feminism and Chivalry, or Wake Up and Talk Straight

Okay, so, for those of you who don't know me, I'm a pretty serious feminist. I am passionate about not just gender equality, but equal treatment for everyone under the law. We're all human, and that should entail certain rights. A simple idea, but not necessarily an easy thing to achieve.

Feminism, however, isn't the whole of what I want to discuss. What has gotten on my nerves of late is this attitude that seems to have cropped up among young women that they want both feminism and chivalry. They want to just do whatever they want and the men have no say, but any man that takes them out on a date had damn well better pick up the tab and OPEN ALL THE DOORS. And he better do it without being asked.

Now, we have the real crux of the issue.

Alright, people. I'm fixin' to lay some knowledge on you:

Guys. Are Not. Mind Readers.

No one is.

I KNOW, RIGHT?!

Wisdom of the ages.

We have developed this stupid attitude that when someone is right for you, they should just automatically know what you want without having to ask you. They should know how to understand all the things you say when you don't actually say them.

Sorry to burst your bubbles, kids, but it's bullshit.

The only way, the only way you are going to get what you want from a relationship is to talk to your partner. Daunting, yes, I realize.

"Wait, you suggest I should actually tell them? Like, with the talking? Doesn't that, like, ruin the mystery?"

Guys, mysteries are good for novels. Some dude kills another dude, then there's all this tension building until the resolution of some crusty detective/kindly older lady sorting out the whole hot mess.

That is not what you want in a relationship. You want your needs met. You want mutual respect. You want someone that cares enough about what you want and need to ask you rather than making assumptions. You do know that axiom about assumptions, right? They rarely end well.

So how about this: if you have met someone and you're really into them, but you go out on a date and they don't do all the things you think they should, rather than immediately writing them off, try talking to them.

It doesn't have to be all "Bro, do even date?"

Granted, there are some relationships that don't require as much direct communication. Sometimes, yes, a person you like with understand and speak the same love languages, so expressions of such things are much simpler. That doesn't, however, mean that just because someone doesn't speak and understand the same way doesn't mean you can't have a good relationship. It just means you have to work at it a little harder.

Try talking honestly and openly.
Break that wacky fourth wall.
Say, "Okay, I realize this is taking away some of the 'romance,' but I want to just be 'out in the open' about things."
Mention what kind of things make you feel special, but not in that obtuse, passive-aggressive, "my ex-boyfriend used to do [XYZ]" without actually saying "[XYZ] is a thing I enjoy/makes me feel special."

If the guy you're talking to can't hang with your honestly, he's probably not mature enough to handle a proper relationship, so if you go forward with a relationship, it's probably going to end up with the both of you making assumptions, and we already talked about that.

So here's the take-away. TALK IT OUT. Don't get pissy when someone doesn't make the assumptions you think they should make when you haven't given them all the information they need.

On Professionalism, Or Thank Jeebus That's Over

So, in case you didn't know, I'm kind of a nerd about costuming. I've recently gotten into the cosplay side of things, having found a means of doing so that doesn't involve shoehorning my 200+-lb carcass into spandex. No one wants to see that.

At any rate, I have an abiding love of taking something that was only 2-dimensional and bringing into reality. I am learning more and more how to more effectively do that, and it is pretty awesome.

There are times, though, that that love is tested. Such a test happened recently.

I have a friend (yes, I'm sure you're all shocked) whose mother runs a high school theater program. We'll call her The Director. That theater program is well known, and The Director has been given numerous prestigious awards for her work. She's good at what she does, and everyone know it.

Enter The New Principal. He-- that is, he doesn't-- Well, let's just say he's a bit of a micro-manager and refused to let The Director do her job. He cuts her budget, second-guesses design choices, and all around makes life difficult.

Now, enter Me. The seamstress they had previously used got deported (awesome!), so they were in a bit of a bind for costume construction. My friend was like, "Hey! I know someone, and she's not doin' anything, so we can totes do that!"

The work, I loved. As I mentioned, I love makin' stuff. I was not, however, prepared for the scope of the project. I've made all kinds of things for myself, or other costumes that were just one costume at a time kind of things. Heck, y'all have seen the Victorian dress I made. That crap is involved, but it was still all just for one total piece.

This project... Oh man. And not just psychological stress either. The physical stress of being hunched over a sewing machine for weeks on end what exhausting. I think, all told, there were some twenty costumes I made, some of them with multiple layers. It was, quite literally, the single most ambitious project I have ever undertaken.

It was... Well, let's just say it was educational. I found more efficient ways of doing some things. I realized there are some things that aren't as important in the grand scheme of things and was able to let them go, while there were other things that I discovered were way more important than I originally anticipated.

I also realized what I can work with and what I can't. I know now where I need to draw lines and set up my inner Gandalf. Granted, it would've been difficult to do with this particular commission, what with the client being so very far away, but now I know.

These people are truly fortunate that I'm a professional and I have any pride at all or care for my reputation as a professional, else I'd have dropped the whole mess and had done. I mean, I also needed the money, but I might've been willing to abandon that as well. God knows they weren't paying me enough for the crap I had to deal with.

But now, I know.

And never again will I subject myself to such madness.

Never.

Again.

Boundaries will be established, contracts clarified, and needs met. I will not suffer under this manner of treatment again, especially for something that isn't my primary career. Granted, I'm good at it, and I love doing it. But I don't need it. It's not the course I've chosen for my life, and I have numerous other skills to net gainful employment. That kind of crap I do *not* need.

Never.

Again.

On Death, Or The Only Constant Is Change

Seems like many of my friends and family are losing loved ones. Death is rarely as difficult for the dead as it is for those left behind, so I offer this in hope that it provides some comfort.

Death seems so final. An ending, abrupt even when anticipated. We dwell on how we'll never see their smile, hear their laughter, or feel their embrace again. It feels like a part of ourselves died with them.

In truth, it is simply a different kind of change, not wholly unlike the millions of other changes we experience in our lives. It's a change of state, of being. Every philosophy on Earth (including science) contends that nothing is ever truly destroyed. Whether you call it the Circle of Life, the Law of Conservation of Energy, Reincarnation, or Salvation, some part of those that pass continues on.

And here's the really great part: they aren't hurting anymore. That may not be as much a consolation for those taken by violence or accidents, but for those that succumb to illness, I can think of no greater comfort than the knowledge that they are no longer afflicted with the pains and aches and debilitations.

But it hurts for us, especially at first. Reminders are everywhere, twisting the knife and causing the wound to bleed anew.

And, for awhile, it sucks.

But it gets better. Life goes on. You get out of bed. You go to work. You hang out with the other people that love you. And it gets better.

For anyone that panics at the thought of "forgetting," or "moving on," STOP. Continuing to live your life is not a disrespect to the death of your loved ones, but a way to honor their lives. Never, ever feel shame (or allow someone else to make you feel shame) that you are continuing on. Let your tribute to them be a life well lived.

SO, to sum up, death happens. As in tarot, it is not necessarily a final ending, but a change. And don't let the pain of loss keep you from living your own life.

On Weight Loss, Or Can We Have Fewer Catty Bitches, Please?

Okay, so there's this whooooole thing where girls hate on girls. Like, a lot. The fat ones hate on the skinny ones, the skinny ones hate on the fat ones. The ugly ones hate on the pretty ones, and the pretty ones hate on the ugly ones. Rich, poor, black, white, brown... There are all these lines in the sand that we keep drawing, saying these people are less awesome, uh, well, because reasons.

Don't get me wrong. I understand the reason behind it. It's base-brain, tribal stuff that we like to think we've evolved past. And that's just the surface stuff. I wish it was something as simple as skinny girls hating on fat girls or vice versa, but it's deeper than that. It's something rooted deep in female psychology, wherein women are competitive and catty because of a drive to make other women seem less desirable to men and thereby minimize the competition.

Here's the thing, ladies: we all suck at something, and we're all awesome at something. Frequently, those somethings have absolutely nothing to do with how we look. I'm good at music and spatial understanding. I struggle to be responsible handling my money. Neither of these have anything to do with my appearance.

So can we just stop? Right here, right now. Like so many things, it starts with you. One person, deciding they will make a change. Sure, it may not change the world, but since when did generating a little more kindness in your world become a bad thing? Be supportive of each other instead of tearing each other down. If someone is excited about losing weight, celebrate with them. If someone is excited about gaining weight, join them in their happy dance. If they're feeling down on themselves, give them words of encouragement. If they hate on themselves, give them the good swift kick they need to knock that off.

Now, I'm not saying encourage unhealthy behavior. Obesity really is a problem. But there are all kinds of unhealthy. I can guarantee you that at 5'7" and 210 lbs, I'm in better health then several skinny people I know. My blood pressure is good. I'm not diabetic. All my numbers are good, except that pesky one on the scale. Should I be working to change it? Probably. My joints probably aren't big fans of having to lug around all that weight, but I refuse to get on the self-hate train. I definitely refuse to let that hatred become my motivation to change. Change fueled by hatred never led anywhere good. Rather, if and when I do decide to change, it will be because I love myself and want to be my best me for as long as possible.

Long story short: love yourself. Love others. Encourage them when they need it. Don't let them make excuses when their behavior is blatantly detrimental. And stop being Judgy McSnarkyPants. It's about progress, not perfection. The sooner we all learn that, the better off we'll be.

On Choosing A Path, Or I Never Was Good At Playing The Damsel In Distress

I find myself in a very peculiar situation.

All my life, I've set fairly concrete goals for myself and have had some sort of plan to go about achieving them.

First, there was school, the goal for which was graduation. Pretty straightforward.

Then, it was my time in the military. Do the time, get the job experience and the college money, and get out. Also, very direct plan.

There was a bit of an interim, during which I was married, and we kind of went where his work was, but I still had in the back of my mind a plan to go to college.

Then, there was college. The grand achievement: get a degree in voice performance because you can. And I did. I proved to myself that I could do it.

But then what?

That was the big goal. The one thing I *knew* I would do and knew how to go about accomplishing it.

But now, it's all very ambiguous.

I know I want to pursue a career in performance. I would prefer a career in film. I love performing and I thrill at the idea of doing it for the rest of my life.

But there's no "this is how it is done" for this field. Sure, you audition, you get an agent, you audition and audition and audition... Those are the guidelines. But those are very loose guidelines, and most of the potential for success is determined not by your level of preparation or your skill, but by being in the right place at the right time or knowing the right people.

In short, I have very little control over how successful I can be.

And that terrifies and frustrates me.

I have spent most of my life holding myself responsible for my success, or, what's more, being held responsible for my success. In school, they tell you that if you work hard and do your homework, you will be rewarded by good grades and success. In most fields, that's a pretty effective model. You get a job, you do your work, and you get rewarded with promotion or whatever.

And I imagine that is how it is to an extent in performance in that if you slack off and don't carry your part, you don't continue to get work.

Doing the job doesn't necessarily guarantee you'll get work In the future, though.

And in most other jobs, you're not likely to miss out getting the job if you don't "look right."

And there's no real support system out there to aid people new to the business and help to insure their success. Unless you happen onto the right person who is willing to help you, you're SOL.

Seriously, you guys, it's maddening.

I am so accustomed to knowing my course. I have a plan and I know how it's gonna go down. I'm used to relating very strongly to my sign, Sagittarius, the Archer. I am the arrow in flight, confident of my course and sure of my destination.

Lately, I've felt more like driftwood, tossed about by the whims of the people around me and with no means of exerting my own will on my course.

I r frustrate. F'rlz.

What's even more frustrating is having no income to go about changing things, nor solid, reliable transport to affect change. So I'm stuck, caught in quicksand with no lifeline to pull myself out and no choice but to keep still until outside forces come to help.

Well, here's hoping a proper hero finds me before I devolve in to madness and render myself irrevocably un-save-able.

On Being a Pro, Or I'm Going For It

So, for the n00bz that don't know me, I'm looking at making a career for myself as a performer. Namely, an actress.

Yes, I know how insane the odds are.

Yes, I realize how difficult it is to break into the industry.

Yes, I also realize I'm not exactly "Hollywood" in terms of my appearance.

I don't, however, believe for one instant that I'm not capable of making it. I'm curvy, I'm intelligent, and dammit, I do not suck as an actress.

Sure, I feel like I could use more experience and training as an actor. My degree is in classical vocal performance, which isn't wholly unrelated, but there wasn't really as much emphasis on stagecraft and acting as I might have liked.

But, when it comes down to it, I *know* I have the necessary skills to do well on film, whether it be movies or TV.

I do, however, from time to time, worry that I'm just deluding myself. Am I as competent as I think I am? Or have I just been a big fish in a tiny pond for too long? Am I actually just woefully mediocre with delusions of grandeur?

Granted, I imagine most people, especially those in the arts, find themselves confronted with these very same concerns at varying points in their lives. I know it's normal. I know it's probably just neurosis talking. But what if it's not? And how do I know if the reason I haven't gotten XYZ part is because I'm not right for it, because I "haven't paid my dues," or because I'm just not good enough?

The uncertainty is enough to drive a girl mad.

But you know what?

Fuck. That.

I am going to do this. Sure, it may take time for me to get where I want to be (which also concerns me, seeing as I'm started this little adventure in my 30s instead of in my 20s), but I will get there. I will have a career, and I will make a good name for myself.

I am going to go put myself out there. I am going to work on my craft and do whatever is within my power to make myself a better performer. I am going to work at making good connections.

I. Am. Doing. This.

Now you, beloved reader, have a choice. You can ignore me, or you can encourage me.

Stopping me, however, is not an option.

A Poetic Soul, Or I Frickin' Love Rain

I'm not much for poetry, not in the sense that we usually associate with it, at any rate. I can appreciate it, and I can understand it, but it is rare that a poem really resonates with me.

I like stories. Characters, lives, events, all hinted at on the page/stage/screen. When that is done well, whole worlds open to the audience. Frequently, those stories have a kind of poetry to them, I guess in that there is an artistry to it, a love the writer must have for the word to use it in such a way as to evoke a given response from his or her audience.

That's the kind of poetry I can get behind. Prose that uses language as more than just a hammer to drive home points, but also as a needle to sew together the pieces of a broken heart, or a file to even out a chipped shoulder, or even a comb to smoothe ruffled feathers.

It is strange that I am frequently driven to poetry by the rain. Few things inspire me so. Music, for which I have an enduring love, tends to put me in too analytical a frame of mind to be creative. Love tends to throw too many endorphins into the mix to fuel that particular fire.

But rain. Especially driving, storming, maybe-I-should-start-building-a-boat-and-gathering-animals-two-by-two kind of rain. Sure, maybe it's some kind of primal, base-brain association of rain with life, or maybe that intense kind of rain triggers the fight-or-flight response, but I find myself filled with a fire that burns away the nigh-constant fog of ADHD and sharpens my focus in a way that nothing else does. Coffee, Ritalin, Mountain Dew... Nothing gets me into a focused frame of mind like a storm.

And then it's gone. The storm passes. That driving energy wanes, softening to a drizzle. And just like that, the rush is gone. My brain goes fuzzy and all I want to do is sleep.

I remember the feeling of elation and being a part of a grander scheme, but then the sky clears and things seem murkier than before. Rather than feeling cleansed by the downpour, I feel muddled and at a loss.

Am I the only one this happens to?!

Ah well. Strange happenings of a Friday night. Perhaps clarity will come with a new day.