The Resting Nice Face Struggle

I’m sure everyone is aware of Resting Bitch Face. There are constantly memes and articles about it out there in the world (I specifically see this on Buzzfeed, as I’m a Buzzfeed addict). Yet what about its counter-part? Resting Nice Face? I don’t think this life ruiner has really been as fleshed out (face… flesh… GET MY WIT DAMNIT!). As someone who has suffered from Resting Nice Face their entire life, I want to call out ways in which it utterly destroys your world. There are many, many examples, but it all comes down to three main issues.

1. People Talk To You

Yesterday I was running errands with a friend, and we had to wait in line for about ten minutes. Nobody talked to us. Well, eventually one of the employees did, but none of the other customers tried to. Ten entire minutes, surrounded by strangers, and nobody was asking where I bought my clothes or making suggestions for my hair or telling me their life story. I secretly reveled in the experience and thought maybe I had hit some sort of turning point in my RNF where people no longer felt the need to talk to me constantly.

Sadly later that day, I went to Target by myself. Literally within five minutes of entering the store, some woman was asking about my boots and then went on to explain about how she has chronic foot pain and so can only wear certain types of shoes but my boots look comfy and might be okay for her.

That’s the thing with Resting Nice Face. It doesn’t matter where I go – running errands, public transportation, on an airplane with headphones and a book – people are GOING to talk to me (unless I’m with somebody whose Resting Bitch Face cancels mine out). And you would not believe the shit they say. Life stories, while annoying to hear over and over again from complete strangers I care nothing about, are not the worst of it. When you have RNF people think they can say or ask pretty much anything and you’ll go along with it. We’re the ones getting random suggestions on how to dress/look/act. We’re the ones getting asked for directions or threesomes. We’re the ones privy to the confessions of adulterers, people who hate their kids, and picky eaters. And when you’re an introvert that only has a certain amount of people interaction allotted for the day, this SUCKS.

2. People Trust You

One of the reasons people with RNF hear some pretty interesting tidbits from strangers is that we look trustworthy. If I was a more horrible human being, this would actually be soooo useful. Because that trust thing extends past random admissions from strangers.

When I was a teenager working at a local book store, somebody found an envelope of cash in the store and gave it to me. For safe-keeping? To find the owner? There was literally no information either in or on the envelope. There was quite a bit of money in that envelope. I should also note that the person who found and gave me this envelope was not a regular customer who could follow up on the conclusion of the random money and there was no one else in the store at the time to verify either (in case you’re wondering, it ended with me finding the customer who had dropped it. I know, sometimes I hate my honesty too). WHO TRUSTS A TEENAGER WITH LARGE AMOUNTS OF RANDOM CASH!?! People who fall under the spell of RNF, that’s who.

Need a more recent incident to convince you? I swear to god, while I was traveling frequently, a woman in the airport gave me her baby. I did not know this woman. I had not been talking to this woman, but her baby was staring at me a lot (another side effect of RNF). She had to go throw some stuff out and wash her hands. So she randomly had me hold her baby as she wandered off to do those things. She wandered OUT OF VIEW to do this, while I sat there holding a stranger’s baby. This is a true story, and sadly one of many wherein people have trusted me purely because my face radiates goodness and honesty.  

3. People Take Advantage of You

Of course the flip side of the coin is when people think you’re trustworthy, they also assume you’re trusting. People with Resting Nice Face look like easy marks. That’s the truth of the matter. You may have noticed those people at kiosks stop us every time we walk by. You really think they’re the only ones that try to take advantage of RNFers?

It can be little things. A RNF is more prone to being the table the waitress ignores during a busy rush, the person who gets cut in line, or the coworker that always has the extra projects dumped on them. We’re the ones the mechanics try to convince the car will explode unless we buy these five things. Apparently to many people, Resting Nice Face equates to “I Don’t Say No” face. While this may not be true, and a RNF may be entirely capable of sticking up for themselves, the fact of the matter is we get put in more situations where we have to say no.  Mercy on the poor soul who has Resting Nice Face AND says yes to everything (I think that would be my mother).

People push their luck with RNFs. Strangers start talking to you, and then realize “hey, her face still looks nice! She is totes okay with me continuing to talk. Maybe I should also pat her shoulder. Ooh and smell her hair.” They keep going and going until you finally reach the boundaries of politeness and have to pull out your jazzercise kickboxing moves (or whatever you go-to-get-rid-of-creepers move of choice may be) while the whole time YOUR FACE STILL HAS A PLEASANT EXPRESSION.

The struggle is real my friends. The struggle is real. 

F*** the Beholder, You Are Beautiful

All of the recent press around Fifty Shades of Grey has been reminding me of one (of many) of the reasons I hate both that book and the whole Twilight series. Beyond the crappy writing and lack of personality for the main character, both books share this really annoying habit where the female lead has men falling at her feet but continually thinks herself unattractive. This drives me more insane than even the “Inner Goddess” crap (I mean really, your response to something is that your Inner Goddess gets in a lotus position? If such a thing existed, my Inner Goddess would be more along the lines of Inner Sakura. She’d alternatively want to beat the crap out of people and jump their bones. Maybe eat some chocolate too).

To me, this comes across as a really horrible manifestation of the pervading habit of girls to say/think they’re not as pretty as they are.

Let’s start with a common example. Go back quite a few years in your memory, and think of the movie Mean Girls.  Sure, it seems funny when Regina traps Cady into admitting she’s pretty and acting like it’s a horrible thing. I’m not going to lie, I laughed. The problem is that behind that funny scene is a truth. Women are judged for admitting they are attractive. Even if a woman is stunningly beautiful, she is immediately condemned in our minds. Saying you’re “hot” or “beautiful” is tantamount to having a huge ego. Thus women have learned to downplay how they talk about their attractiveness.

I was playing around on imdb.com the other day, and I found this quote from one of my favorite actresses, Gemma Arterton: “In comparison to many actresses I think I’m really average – when I got the Bond film Quantum of Solace there was this big hoo-ha about me not being hot enough, I have to say I agree – I don’t think I’m in that realm.”

BEAUTIFUL, DAMNIT

Personally, I find Gemma stunningly beautiful, but even she feels the need to negatively compare herself to others. This is a common response from women – maybe I’m hot/pretty/beautiful, but not as hot/pretty/beautiful as someone else.

There are two issues at work here. One, again, is the culture that women shouldn’t admit they’re crazy attractive. If you don’t believe me yet that this is a thing, I have more examples for you. We laud the girl that “doesn’t know she’s beautiful.” Not only are there songs about it (here’s looking at you, One Direction), there are movies, cartoons, and of course books. The whole idea of a book like Fifty Shades of Grey making the main character not know her own beauty worth is that then, as readers, we can “relate.” Because of course if you’re a girl, you don’t know you’re attractive, and that makes you hotter.

WTF WORLD!?

The bigger problem is the second issue in play – insecurity. A lot of times the reason women won’t celebrate their attractiveness is because they genuinely don’t believe it. They are falling into the trap of comparing themselves to others, and they don’t like the comparison. You’ll find people are much more willing to own up to being “pretty” than “beautiful,” because pretty is less threatening. And if you have even a hint of insecurity (which you probably do), saying you’re “beautiful” opens up the floodgates for criticism. Which WILL happen. We have tons of articles about all our beautiful celebrities, and then minutes later we’ll condemn them for bad makeup, poor clothing choice, or messed up hair. So for girls that don’t think they measure up to that level, how are they supposed to feel confident enough to declare their beauty?

I’m not saying that everyone falls into the traditional “beauty” standards. I’m also not saying they should. The whole issue with beauty is that it’s a question of perception. What I find attractive is not the same thing you find attractive, EVEN WHEN COMPARING TRADITIONALLY ATTRACTIVE EXAMPLES. Get past the idea that you should be thin, blond, big-eyed, and pouty-lipped.

What I am saying, is that women shouldn’t be afraid to celebrate their own beauty. I know it’s hard. Trust me, I know. Some people suggest things like picking favorite features and feeling confident in those. That’s not a bad idea, depending on how you go about it.

When I was younger I decided I really liked my lips because everyone told me that plump lips are good, and if nothing else you can absolutely say my lips are plump. In a world where beauty is subjective, that seemed like the easiest, concrete reason to like a feature. Then one day I was hanging out with a then ex-boyfriend in the middle of the night, and we randomly got on the topic of my good features, and to my shock my lips were not one of them, because, as he told me, “they’re not that great.” That was a huge blow to the confidence scale for awhile. Since I had picked this feature because of other people’s opinion, suddenly having a bad opinion threw me for a loop. If people didn’t like the features I thought they should like, how could I be confident about any of them?

So trust me when I say I know the struggle. It feels like it should be better to underestimate your beauty than to overestimate it, and have people disagree.

But that’s stupid. You need to remember first of all that your beauty does NOT determine your worth as a person. And second, since beauty is subjective STOP trying to live up to someone’s standards. Figure out what you like about how you look, and for the love of all that’s holy, BE CONFIDENT IN IT.

I think books like Fifty Shades of Grey and Twilight teach us to not believe in our own beauty. They tell girls to base their confidence solely on what some guy (Edward, Christian) says about it, when they should be teaching them to celebrate their beauty no matter what.  I’d rather teach girls to be confident in who they are, and yes, their physical appearance is part of that. You should know you’re beautiful in some way, but you should also know it’s only one part of what makes you, you. Beauty should never be your everything, but you also shouldn’t downplay what you like about yourself just because of other people’s opinions.  

For the record, I like my lips again. Not because I think I should like them, but because they’re soft, expressive, and I love that I can wear almost any lip color and still work it. I’d like them more if they wouldn’t turn blue so easily, but that’s another matter. And maybe there are people that think “they’re not that great,” but I don’t see how that changes the things I like about them. Maybe they’ll never be as plump as Angelina Jolie’s lips, but I don’t see why I should care about her. In fact, I don’t see why I need to even give you reasons for why I like them or anything else about myself. I don’t justify liking my car, or my excessive love of Taco Bell, so why need to justify what I like about my appearance?

 

I want you to know what things about yourself you find beautiful and rock it with the same confidence and faith as anything else you truly believe. It might not feel easy, but the more you can declare to yourself “I’m hot/pretty/drop dead gorgeous/beautiful” (feel free to use your preferred descriptive) the more confident you’ll feel saying it, and that is its own kind of beauty.

The Lady-Bro

Today we are going to talk about an elusive and fascinating creature, the lady-bro.

A few weeks ago my brother and some of his friends determined that I am a lady-bro. Since then I have been trying to figure out what is a lady-bro, why am I a lady-bro, and is that something I agree with.

I argued with them several times on whether or not I should be classified as a lady-bro. This will feed in later to the definition of a lady-bro, but part of the reason I argued with them was a question of their motivation.

See, they also have this game called “bull moose,” wherein if you are drinking using your right hand and someone sees this and says “bull moose,” you have to finish the drink. They had tried this on me several times but as I had never heard of this ridiculous reasoning I was ignoring them, and finally they explained it is a very important game for gentlemen as that way when you are introduced to someone and shake hands like gentlemen, your hand isn’t cold. This only fueled my determination to not play since I am clearly not a gentleman. Probably not even a gentlewoman. And this friends is how it came about that they declared me a lady-bro.

It’s not that I was offended at being designated a lady-bro, it’s that I don’t think I really qualify. So that’s brings up the question, what exactly is a lady-bro?

Urban dictionary has a few definitions, the one with the least typos and ridiculous spelling being:

“A lady-bro is, first and foremost, chill. She is able to hold her own in the company of all males. She can relate to conversation at bro-night and can even offer further stimulation to the gathering. However, this characterization is not sufficient for the definition of a lady-bro!

She is more than just a girl who is refreshingly easy to hang out with. She is the girlfriend of a bro who is ALSO easy to hang out with.”

So right there, I’m out, as I am not the girlfriend of a bro. Nor do I wear tapout shirts or have black & blonde hair as some of the other definitions mention.

But in my mind, a lady-bro is more of a Robin Scherbatsky type of person. She can drink whisky, smoke cigars, and shoot a gun. She prefers dogs over cats and doesn’t do the normal girl emotional thing. Also, she’s smoking hot.

I cannot drink whisky to save my life. Scotch and bourbon are also out. In fact the mere smell makes me want to vomit. I do, however, drink beer. I know a teeny bit about it (like I know the difference between an IPA and a stout and what to expect if you tell me it’s “hoppy,” which in my mind is like the bare minimum of knowledge for a beer drinker but apparently is impressive for a girl to know).  

I realized though that the idea of a lady-bro ties back into the constant debate on whether or not girls can be nerds.

See there seems to be this mental image of girls as cat-obsessed, needy, crazy, calorie-counting, football-hating creatures that spend thousands on clothes, wear makeup to bed, and can’t understand or appreciate anything that men enjoy. Certainly some of these may be true for some people, and that’s okay. I am not here to judge. I just don’t understand why the assumption is that girls can’t enjoy “manly” things.

It may feel like I’m beating a dead horse because I’ve talked about this a little before, but it still irks me. Especially the idea that girls aren’t nerds. Apparently we’ve developed a term, lady-bro, for girls that share some guy traits, but we can’t even acknowledge that girls can be just as much of nerds as guys?

Just the other day I was betraying my nerd tendencies by talking about how I really wanted to name a daughter Trixie Hobbitses. I had a room full of people staring at me because they didn’t get it. My brother is playing WoW again and on one of our phone calls was describing all the ways they’ve changed the game since we last played, which of course makes me want to play WoW again. That would be a bad life decision though.

So it made me wonder, was I classified as a lady-bro because of general deviation from the girl stereotype, and not necessarily because I engage in “bro” behavior?

I don’t know, partly because sometimes I can’t judge what is “guy” versus “girl” behavior. I know in the summer I love to prance about in dresses. That seems girly. I also know I love Archer, and I recently found out that is considered a “guy” show. Really? Why?

Am I lady-bro? I don’t know, but partly because I don’t know whether there should even be a lady-bro designation. Why can’t we just accept that there is no longer a clear-cut difference between “girl” and “guy” conduct? But since we seem determined to stick with those labels, would I be more of a lady-bro than a girly girl? I still can’t decide. All I know for sure is that if you try and call bull moose on me I will slap you.  

5 Ways I Definitely Don't Want to Die

There’s this thing about death that bugs me. Beyond the whole you/someone/something is dead issue. It’s that you generally have no control over it. There are obvious exceptions, like sticking your head in the oven (which is cheating/losing the game of life), or sticking someone else in an oven (which isn’t polite), but overall it just sort of happens. I think I can accept that. The thing is there are particular ways that I’d really prefer not to die, thank you very much, and I worry that they will end up being my end. So I thought as a precaution, I’d make a list of the 5 ways I least want to die. I see this as a way to throw my preferences out into the universe so when my time comes, someone somewhere has it under consideration.

Way I Definitely Don’t Want to Die #5 – Slow Zombie Gnawing

Ok so I grant that zombies are technically not an issue. Right now. Reading cracked.com might give you a different view. I’m not saying I’m really worried about this happening. Just so we’re all clear.

Are you sure you don't want to try vegetarianism??

In most cases one of the scary things about zombie attack is that you have to not die and at the same time not get infected, because that’s basically a death sentence. I’m totally okay with that concept. I mean I don’t particularly want to turn into a zombie, but just a little nibble and getting infected is acceptable.

What I don’t want is to be in a situation where the zombies really get a chance to gnaw. It’s basically tantamount to being torn apart. Sooooooooo not fun.

Technically Michelle Rodriquez didn’t get slowly eaten by the mob, but it looks like a possibility, and that’s scary enough.

Way I Definitely Don’t Want to Die #4 – Insides on the Outside

You know my fear of zombie nibbling is probably actually a subset of this. But basically, I want my internal organs to stay inside my body. Injuries to those organs resulting in death are okay as long as THEY STAY INSIDE MY BODY.

You can't go wrong with Indiana Jones

I’m not big on losing body parts. Break things, they fix. Chop off a finger or pull out an eye though and I squirm (for the record, Hostel traumatized me). This gets even worse when we start talking about things that I don’t normally see. I know I have guts. I don’t need to see them dangling out my torso. Oh my god and what if they like drag in the ground and now there’s all sort of dirt and leaves and dust on my organs. I am not comfortable with this conversation.

I had a tough choice on this movie example, but I think we have to go with a classic. Please sir, don’t rip out my heart. No literally, don’t you even freaking try to rip out my heart. We will no longer be friends.

Way I Definitely Don’t Want to Die #3 – Helpless

In any of the situations listed so far, sure I might end up dying, but I’d damn well try to live first. I’d fight those zombies to the bitter end. I’d shove those intestines (and the leaves and dirt and whatever else they picked up from the ground… seriously why do we keep having this conversation) back in and try to stitch myself up. I’d make an effort.

So what terrifies me is the idea that I see death coming and can’t do anything about it.

I'd like to switch seats now.

Case in point? Anacondas: The Hunt for the Blood Orchid. One of the characters is bitten by a spider (also not ideal), paralyzed, and then chomped by an anaconda. So he’s sitting there paralyzed, he can see the anaconda in the background, and he has no way to move or communicate to the others that he is about to die. Super dislike. I mean yeah I might end up in a snake belly regardless, but for the sake of my dignity I want at least a chance to escape.

Don’t believe in giant snakes? Ok fine, let’s go with another example. There’s always Saw 3. Poor Allison Kerry has to stick her hand in acid otherwise her ribs get torn apart. Even though she completes the “challenge,” she realizes the key to her safety doesn’t work. She thought she had a chance to save herself, and instead she’s powerless. Oh how I sympathized with her for those few terrible seconds before she dies from rib ripping. No bueno.

Last of the Mohicans = not a kid's movie (but I watched it)

Way I Definitely Don’t Want to Die #2 – Trial By Fire

DO NOT LIGHT ME ON FIRE. IT LOOKS INCREDIBLY PAINFUL.

That is all.

Way I Definitely Don’t Want to Die #1 – Jaws of Death

Those that know me knew this was coming. It’s not like it’s a surprise to anyone. I am absolutely, completely, bat-shit crazy, terrified of sharks. It’s not just fear at this point. It’s a phobia. What’s the difference? Well fear is being presented with something and being afraid (so swimming, bumping into a shark, and being like AHH!). A phobia is being so terrified of something you actively avoid it at all costs even when it’s ridiculous (so not closing your eyes in the bathtub on the off chance a shark appears).

Amazingly enough I will go in the ocean, but every time I’m convinced I may die. I generally stay in the “safe” zone. I only feel moderately better about this, because there is no true safe zone. Except maybe when the water doesn’t reach my ankles. Don’t believe me? Did you know shark attacks have occurred in only 3 feet of water? Yeah, true story.

I don't how fake the shark looks, I AM AFRAID

It’s interesting that many people are afraid of sharks specifically because of movies like Jaws. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a terrifying movie. I still haven’t technically watched all of it because I normally freak out and either close my eyes or change the channel. But I’m a bit odd in that I’ve just always been afraid of sharks. Because I was already ridiculous about it, my parents refused to let me watch shark movies when I was a kid.

Whenever I’m in water – pool water, ocean water, lake water, doesn’t really matter – I just have this instinctive feeling that something is coming up from below to eat me. I can’t stop it. No amount of facts in the world can prevent this fear. Deep down in my core I am convinced I will die from shark attack, and I dread it more than anything.

In fact, I would probably rather die from any of these other scenarios than be attacked by a shark, even if I survived the shark attack. Because I am convinced that mentally I would completely shut down. The moment I am in the water with a shark will be the moment I lose the last remnants of my sanity. Even if by some miracle I could process it mentally, I think I’d just have a heart attack and die from pure terror.

Just so you know, were a “friend” to ever arrange a “harmless” prank involving sharks…. That would be the definitive end of our friendship. I would never speak their name again. They would receive the “you're dead to me” look.  Every single Mario Party game, millions of cans of pepsi, and even presents of kittens or puppies would not come even close to earning forgiveness.  

In theory, I probably won't die in any of these methods. Well, one can hope anyways. 

Game of Thrones - One Family's Obsession

What kind of neek would I be if I didn’t talk about Game of Thrones at some point? I have to say I’m pleasantly surprised at how popular it’s become. I don’t want to pull an “I liked it before it was cool” move, but I totally did. Well, at least before the show was cool. There are many others who liked the books before me, as I didn’t jump in until 2009.

Really, I owe it all to my friend Fitzwilliam. He had the first book in the series, A Game of Thrones, but he didn’t particularly like it. Being a clever and insightful friend he realized it was probably something more along my lines, as he noted when he gave it to me “Hey you want this book? It has incest and dragons.” Score (although one should note that neither of those reasons are why Fitzwilliam disliked the book, he didn’t care for the constant politics, which I also enjoy).

Seriously we're obsessed, this is my brother's wall.

Eventually my family got involved and now it’s our new Harry Potter -  with everyone reading and discussing and threatening each other if they reveal important plot points.

Initially, this wasn’t so much an issue with the television series. Sure, the first season I didn’t watch on a regular basis as I didn’t have HBO at the time. Instead every few weeks I’d go to my friend Chloe’s house and we’d have a lovely day lounging around, catching up on episodes, and eating a lot (so basically all our favorite things). My parents and brother were both watching more often than me, but as the first season stayed very close to the books they couldn’t truly spoil anything.

The second season was a bit more of an issue. The second book was longer than the first, but not as long as the third. So it didn’t break down as easily into the television episodes. They had to start making some drastic changes to the material. Not changes on the level of say, True Blood, but enough that I wasn’t always sure what exactly would happen next.

The biggest challenge was when the family first started reading the books. SOOO much can happen in a single book that when my mother would say she was halfway through A Feast For Crows I couldn’t always remember what happened exactly when. This meant that when the family was happily discussing events I generally stayed quiet.

Then the tables turned. I have this thing with reading. I want to read books. I’m still not sold on reading electronic copies. I do it sometimes, but not often. I also don’t like hardbacks. They’re expensive, and they’re giant. I don’t have enough room on my bookcase as it is. So when A Dance of Dragons came out, my entire family what with their lack of book snobbery downloaded and read it while I impatiently waited for the paperback release. Then for months they tried to talk about it without giving anything away. My mother isn’t particularly good at that (a trait I inherited) so eventually I just gave in and read it on my iPad.

Because by this point, a large portion of the conversation in my family revolves around Game of Thrones. We discuss our favorite characters. My mom, for instance, has a huge crush on Jon Snow. We talk about the characters we don’t like. For months one of my brother’s chief joys was to describe Tywin Lannister to his friends. He calls him the ultimate troll dad.

My family both does and does not identify with the characters from Game of Thrones. Like I said, my brother now calls Tywin Lannister the ultimate troll dad. For many years we thought our father was the ultimate troll dad. In fact my brother even created a comic depicting how our dad got a bit confused on the definition of “trolling” after we kept saying he was “trolling” all the time.

Based on real events!

Now if you’ve ever watched Game of Thrones, or read the books, you probably know that Tywin Lannister is a cruel person, and a horrible father. Don’t be confused and think my daddy is anything like that. Tywin Lannister trolls as a way of controlling those around him, and doesn’t care who he hurts. My father trolls in a more good natured way that doesn’t hurt anyone. He’s probably got much more Ned Stark in him, but with a more realistic way of viewing people.

As for me? My brother has called me a Lannister (which I’m a little insulted by). My dad thinks I’m a Sand Snake (which you haven’t seen on the show yet, give it time, and more seasons). My mother thinks I’m a Targaryen. Probably the best of the lot, considering how much I love Daenerys.

We talk about Game of Thrones so much because we care about the characters. It’s a big deal when they kill someone off. And the problem is based on the newest episode, I’m starting to question if they’re going to kill off more characters in the series that are still alive in the books. You can’t do that to me! I thought they were safe!

It’s Just a Flesh Wound

My views on illness and injuries are practically from the middle ages. I generally do not go to the doctor. I don’t believe in personally being sick (because it’s all mental, so mind over matter, right?). I’m very much part of the “walk it off” group.

However in other ways, I verge on acting like a hypochondriac. I actually do have some general knowledge of the body and the various systems that make it up. We had this totally awesome computer “game” when I was little where you had Adam and Eve and you could pick something like lymph nodes or the cardiovascular system and they had fun little videos explaining how it worked. I took all the bio courses offered in high school, and way back in the day had quite a few toy medical kits. I also had my dad’s old travel medical bag. All of a sudden my dolls and teddy bears were suffering horrible injuries and subject to all kinds of emergency surgeries. My mother was quite distraught when she realized a real scalpel had been hidden at the bottom of Dad’s bag. Oops.

This just means that I like to use my slight knowledge to diagnose myself. Now I know lots of people do this through internet research. I like to just make random guesses and then come up with what I feel are appropriate treatments (face hurts? Probably sinuses. Must drink tea and take baths. Excessive vomiting? Have some sort of mint stuff and make sure to keep fluids down. Headache? Drink something with a bit of caffeine). Thus why I am convinced I’m dyslexic, and also suspect I have some sort of clotting/circulation issues.

Back in college this drove my roommates insane as I was obsessed with attempting to staple a wound closed. They sometimes use staples instead of stitches for bad cuts in the ER. I mean sure, they have their own medical staples, but I felt like the idea could be applied with normal staples. When I worked at The Meadows we once stapled ourselves. The boys were trying to out man each other which led to Nate stapling his arm. Being of the if-you-can-do-it-I-can-do-it mind frame we then stapled me, and one of the other guys. Not a big deal. However the staple couldn’t really fully imbed in the skin, which made me curious to see if it would work better elsewhere and with an actual injury. Which is why whenever somebody in college had any sort of cut, I ran around imploring them to let me staple it.

I can’t say I’ve ever had any serious injuries where it would matter that I tend to ignore real medical treatment. The one time I broke my wrist we did actually go to a doctor (I was only 12, and rather hysterical for a whole lot of other reasons than just breaking my wrist). Otherwise I’ve made it through things like food poisoning, chemical burns, broken toes, and some sort of ankle injury.

Now that one might have actually not been that bad at first. It’s hard to say. We were heading to the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. I was wearing very thin shoes, and stepped on a rock which then caused me to twist my ankle in some direction I don’t think it wanted to go. I breathed for a minute while I determined whether or not it was broken. Since I was driving, and it was my left ankle, I told everyone we could continue on. I figured it was a long drive and it could rest. Once we got there I ignored it. All was fine and dandy until we were back home at the end of the day and I decided to actually take a look at the stupid thing. I pretty much had half a baseball sticking out of my ankle. It took a month of ice and wrapping it until it seemed back to normal.

The Toe, several days after breaking.

When I broke my toes, I was yet again running around on them all day and laughing here and there while announcing “I think I broke my toes, guys.” I’m not sure anyone really believed me until we were getting mani-pedis and I declined as my entire pinky toe, part of my foot, and the next toe over were the most interesting shade of purple. But really, they’re toes. I taped them up later and wore flip flops for a month.

I just don’t find most external injuries that big of a deal. Generally you know what caused them, and you can see and fix them.

Illnesses should really be a whole other story. What I hate about illness though is it’s generally not as visible. You’re just going off what someone says they feel. Are they overreacting? Are they underplaying symptoms?? Who knows. I’m probably one of the worst offenders. I don’t mention anything that I don’t think is relevant. I only go to the doctor once I feel it’s necessary, which is how I managed to be sick for over a month in college with who knows what. A virus? Mono? A blood clot? No one’s really sure.

While when I talk to others I tend to push the “walk it off” philosophy, on the other hand I am very likely to tell them to go to the doctor whenever they have weird symptoms. You never really know what’s going on in your body. There’s so much they can fix now, as long as you catch it early. It’s much better to swallow your pride and talk to the doctor over ignoring something until it’s past being treatable.

Yeah this makes me a bit of a hypocrite, but I can live with that. To be fair, while I don’t actually go in to the doctor I do talk to doctors, which is practically the same thing as a regular consultation.

As you may or may not know, November, besides being NaNoWriMo (which I’m still not doing. One of these years it’ll happen by god), is also Movember. Men across the world are growing some very fun mustaches to earn awareness for men’s health issues. Since some men have a tendency to ignore preventive health measures (they treat it like asking for directions…) I think this is brilliant. While we can’t all grow amazing mustaches, we can all do our part to support them. If you have a spare dollar or two you can head over here to my friend Marc’s page and donate. Make sure to vote for the Hulk Hogan. The Cop scares me.

Keep in mind that all the things you can be doing at any point to promote your own health. Be somewhat active. Eat healthy-ish. Wear a seat belt. Everyone has their own version of being healthy (for instance, I only eat a half pound of bacon at one sitting rather than a full pound) but it’s important to just keep these ideas in mind. You don’t want to end up dying at The Heart Attack Grill (fascinating place I found in Vegas).

What Happens When You Assume

I may have mentioned before that I’m a Steeler fan. This is causing me a lot of angst this season as they’re refusing to win games and making lots of really silly mistakes. Today’s game is no exception. Dropped balls, interceptions, turnovers that lead to touchdowns... At least James Harrison is still kicking butt and taking names. I love James Harrison.

I'm not this bad. I mean seriously...

Now I feel like I should clarify a bit on my fanship. I absolutely label myself as a Steeler fan. I watch every game with the only exceptions being when I’m busy for work purposes.  I own many different Steeler items (earrings, blankets, shirts, and of course a James Harrison jersey just to name a few). I recognize the names of the majority of the starters.

However, I don’t have every single player on the team memorized. I don’t know the nitty gritty details of the rules of football. Does this stop me from enjoying the game? Well of course not! What I find interesting though is that the common perception is that this is because I’m a girl. Apparently girls are not expected to know these things. Heck, we’re barely expected to be football fans beyond tailgating in college.

In my case, I don’t have all the intricacies of the football rules down because I decided it wasn’t necessary to know, and the refs are just going to interpret things however they want anyway (which inevitably stresses me out when they’re clearly being idiots). 

This leads me into an always interesting discussion – male and female stereotyping. Clearly, I am not going to explore every aspect of it today as the Steelers are still playing (I was going to say poorly but WOOT!! Woodley just made me eat my words) and I want to go to sleep at some point as well.   

Stereotypes will always exist. I’m sorry, they will. I think it’s just a progression of thinking. We naturally try to make assumptions about how the world functions. We use these assumptions to explain phenomena of nature as well as social situations. This can apply to a specific individual. I notice a friend has ordered cider beer multiple times in a night and I assume that’s their preference and start always ordering cider beer for them. I notice that a bunch of Texas hotels put information on church services near the front of their guest directory and I assume that Texans are more religious.

Maybe these assumptions are right, maybe they’re wrong. Now sometimes stereotypes are accurate. That’s why they exist, because there were at least a few situations and individuals that fit the bill. But they can be damaging.

I’m currently reading How Children Succeed. One of the sections I found very interesting in the book was about how identifying with a group can be both positive and negative. A positive is because it gives you a shared identity, which can help you connect with the other group members. A negative is that you then feel constrained by the group stereotypes.

The book described studies comparing the test score results for girls on math exams. When the girls first received positive messaging that intelligence is flexible and didn’t feel constrained by that good ol’ belief that men are naturally better at math, they scored better than the control group of girls. So stereotypes can be self-perpetuating. Because girls are supposed to be worse at math, they expect to do poorly and don’t try to their full potential, thus giving them worse scores.

Apparently this is what it looks like when flat.

My friend Jenn was just telling me the other week how excited she was when she took her car into the shop and they talked to her like a real person. She had issues in the past where they talked down to her assuming she didn’t know anything about cars. Now I’ve encountered this as well, but it’s never bugged me because I legitimately don’t know anything about cars. I have plenty of girl friends that LOVE cars. They can talk mechanics all day long. Me? Well, let’s just say that I’m the girl that didn’t realize her tire was flat back in high school. I called my parents saying it looked funny, and when they asked if it was flat I said “no, it’s just the bottom part.”

In one of my friend Erin’s posts we got on a side discussion about movies based off video games and how she doesn’t like that all the female characters stroll around with very little clothing. This is a valid point. If I was fighting zombies I’d be wearing tons of layers to help protect myself from getting infected. I think the issue is that when they make these games they assume mostly males will be playing them. Despite the evidence to the contrary, the stereotype is that gamers are male.

Just the other day I was talking to someone who I found out works for Blizzard. I immediately told them how mad their company makes me. They responded that this better not be another case of an angry girlfriend that lost their bf to WoW.

While this kind of made me giggle, it’s still the stereotype at work. If I had been a guy, they never would have made this assumption. Since I’m a girl, they assumed I wasn’t involved with Blizzard directly but just knew it through a guy. I actually played WoW for a while, and in fact I was referring to Blizzard doing ridiculous things to my account like deleting game subscriptions.

Where does this leave us? Well basically the same place we started. I can’t fix all the wrongs of the world with this little post. When I encounter new people I’m still going to be going against the same stereotypes.

But I can make more of an effort to not make my own assumptions about people. As my father always told me over and over growing up, what happens when you assume? You make an ass out of u and me (still true).

And if nothing else, we can all remember that these stereotypes DO NOT DEFINE US.

Everything Is Better In Mini

I think I’ve mentioned before my issues with Target, mainly being that every time I walk in Target, I walk out with far more than I planned because of bright colors and clever advertising. This was put to the test this week. I walked into Target with 2 goals: return a few items, and buy peas for making beef stew. I specifically took the most direct route to both areas of the store so I wouldn’t lose focus, and yet I still almost ended up with an additional purchase.

Why? Because right near the checkout counter they had mini water bottles. Mini water bottles! Well technically, they were for children, but what evs, the idea is that they were adorable smaller than the typical water bottle. I was immensely tempted to purchase them. The only reason I made it out of the store was due to a lot of deep breaths and mental pep talks. BECAUSE THEY WERE MINI! ZOMG how could I not want mini water bottles!?! Well, there’s the whole deal that I don’t actually want less water when I’m working out. If anything I want more.

Like my friend Erin, I too question whether I’m really a “grown up.” Mostly because of my obsession with mini objects. It gets me every time.

Actually I was quite distraught this week to realize I’m almost out of mini mountain dew bottles. They don’t actually call them “mini” bottles (I don’t think anyway, clearly I don’t pay that much attention) but they’re half the size of normal bottles of mountain dew and just delightful. I bought a bunch a few weeks ago and always have one or two in the fridge for my emergency caffeine days when tea just doesn’t cut it. I’m normally only allowed one a week maximum, as I don’t want mountain dew to become my new diet pepsi problem. But I realized this week that I only have one mini mountain dew left, and I haven’t seen the tiny bottles in stores again. I’m going to have to drink normal size drinks again. The horror!

A male friend tried to understand my love of mini objects once. It went kinda like this: he held up a straw and asked if he ripped it in half, if I would like the half straw better than the real straw. Well no, of course not. That’s not a “mini” straw, that’s a ripped straw. BUT, if he offered me one of those stupid red coffee stirrer straw things, that would count because they’re like mini straws and too cute. They function horribly as straws, but that’s not the point.

As far as weird habits go it’s not really a bad one. All it really affects is my consumerism choices and the functionality (or lack thereof) of my purchases. Well apparently some article says it also make me eat more, but I feel like that’s going to happen regardless. It just doesn’t seem like a very adult thing to me to still be gushing over mini items constantly.

OR, maybe it’s an important part of being a grown up.

Hear me out. What are babies but mini humans? Even Eric from True Blood realizes that. Maybe my love of mini objects is just nature’s way of pushing me to breed and take care of tiny humans until they’re no longer “mini” and no longer need me to care for them. This could totally be a real thing.

 It could.

But this is one thing I don’t think even I can believe in. I will not be adding it to the list of things I believe/do-not-believe-in-despite-lack-of-evidence-or-despite-contradictory-facts-against-it (yes, this list does exist, and it’s actually quite lengthy).

Could I convince somebody else to believe it? That’s possible. I’m actually really good at saying the most preposterous things with a straight face. I can’t lie about important things to save my life, but I can convince you without blinking that I used to live on a beet farm in Russia.

What I constantly wonder is why did I move to Texas when I love me some mini items. I didn’t realize how this would alter my life habits until I could no longer find mini tator tots in the store. All I want are my freaking mini tator tots. Why can’t I find them anywhere?? I find it beyond comprehension that they would be readily available in some states and not others. It’s a cruel state of the union issue.