Anatomy of a WIB

"I can't remember which one I'm supposed to be wearing."

I was logging into my Blogger account the other day when I saw the following: Choose an identity.  Well gee whiz Blogger, would it were that simple.  I would very much like to choose an identity, but after a quarter of a century I’m still having trouble pinning it down.  The past year I learned from men that I am, at any given time, too pretty, too intellectual, too clever, too moody, too frustrating, too creative, too stubborn, too ambitious, too emotional, too insecure, too opinionated, too much.  I try not to internalize these observations, but who are we kidding?  Of course I internalize them.  We all do. 

                And so we play games, wear masks, hide behind who I think I should be or who you think I should be or who I think you think I should be.  The future of the makeup industry depends upon it.  The whole thing gives me a headache.  We have to do it though.  Because we can’t let our guard down, be vulnerable. We learned very early on that vulnerability is the quickest route to heartbreak. 

                Maybe those guys are right.  Maybe I am too much.  Okay, no maybes about it.  When I am not fabulously effervescent I am ridiculously annoying.  But here’s the thing.  Aren’t we all just a little bit too much?  Deep down, aren’t we all afraid that if we drop the masks and unleash the full force of our personalities on another human being they will run screaming into the night?  

Here's what our response should be: to hell with 'em. I just want to be me.  If that’s not good enough for any of us, so be it.  

Unfortunately that is way easier said than done, and I for one am nowhere near being able to make such a declaration.  Which is a shame.  Throwing away all those masks would sure clear up a lot of closet space.

One Year Ago Today...

I moved to the Emerald Coast to spend the summer working at a resort in Destin, FL.  This is what I love best about the beach: it is, above all else, perpetually temporary.  I’ve always been fascinated by the ocean.  Not just for its beauty, although it is called the Emerald Coast for a reason.  What fascinates me most is the fact that you can never look at the ocean the same way twice.  Everything on the planet may be in constant motion, but nowhere is it more apparent than here, where a gust of wind or a passing jet ski instantly changes the landscape.  It is one of the most beautiful sights on earth, and it is impossible to hold onto.  I realized this a year ago, but what I didn’t get until now is life at the beach is no different from the beach itself.  It may be beautiful, but it’s impossible to hold onto.

                In the past twelve months I have built bridges and burned them to the ground.  I was put on a pedestal and smacked back down.  I lived more from May to August than the previous three years combined.  I have amazing memories and enormous regrets.  Last summer shaped and changed me like the coast itself.   I went home a different person, and each time I come back I look to relive the experience, knowing full well I can't.  I'm here now and having a great time.  I look around at myself and my friends and remember us as we were a year ago.  To the outside world it looks like not much has changed.  But that's not quite true.  Somehow nothing is different and everything is different.  It's fascinating to watch, and I look forward to seeing how the next week unfolds.  One thing's for sure, if life in Destin really is perpetually temporary, I certainly can't plan or control anyone or anything.  Instead, to beat the beach metaphor to death, for the next seven days I plan to ride the waves and see where they take me. 

The name change issue

I posted this awhile back on www.fortworthfeminism.com and at the Feministing.com community, and it got so much response that I thought our dedicated and loyal circle of three readers would find it interesting. A little background...I have been married four and a half years and have found it extremely difficult to navigate the waters of marriage and stay true to my avid feminism. There are so many gender roles that are societally embedded into my head (and most of our heads, male and female alike) and I am doing my best to steer my way through them while keeping my marriage and my feminism intact.

From June 14, 2008
A lot of people ask me why I hyphenated my name instead of just changing it to my husband’s when we got married. Others flat out refuse to use my entire name or ask me rude questions like “don’t you respect your husband?” Here’s the story.
Kyle has always been a pretty easygoing guy, so when I mentioned my decision to hyphenate instead of change it altogether a few weeks before our wedding, I was surprised at his angry reaction. He told me that his brothers would think badly of him and it would seem like we weren’t married, etc. etc. I became irate and scared…the wedding was set and ready to go and I had just stumbled upon something that could ruin it all. By the end of that night, many tears and screams later, Kyle decided he was ok with the hyphenation–but it’s something we’ve had major fights about since. We’ve been married about three and a half years now and I think he’s finally come to terms with it. Below is a list of reasons why I chose to keep my name.

1. Taking your husband’s name is a tradition based in a time when husbands owned wives.
2. I was an author with a hefty amount of articles under my belt and changing my Google search results didn’t seem practical for my career.
3. I love my name. It has a rich history behind it.
4. I didn’t want to.
I could create a vast bibliography to back up the top three reasons but the most important one is number four…if I didn’t want to change my name, why should I have to? This goes for women who want to change their names as well. It’s our choice. Here is a list of the rude and inconsiderate things people say and do to try to make me feel bad about my choice:
1. Write birthday checks to my would-be married name (I can’t cash them easily).
2. Airline tickets have been booked for me in the wrong name, warranting an extreme search process at the security checkpoint.
3. Work colleagues have consistently referred to my would-be married name in professional situations, which ends up confusing people.
4. “Don’t you respect your husband?” By the way, the answer to this question is always, “Yes, and he respects me equally.”
5. How did I raise such a feminazi? (This one obviously comes from my mom.)
6. It’s what a good Christian woman would do (seriously, someone said this to me. I almost punched him). Actually, in Bible times, besides the whole “man owning wife” bit, families needed the same name in order to protect their assets. Today, in the age of marriage licenses and social security numbers, this is hardly a concern.
7. Did you do that so it will be easier to change back if it doesn’t work out? (this was “sort of” meant as a joke. Har har.)
8. You’ll get over that once you have kids. (No, I will not. My decision to retain my own identity within marriage is not a phase that I will “grow out of”).
9. My doctor told me, “oh you don’t want to do that. It’s way too confusing in the paperwork. Our nurses will only use one name.” (Ummm…time to fire some sexist nurses)
10. I wanted to do that but my husband wouldn’t have it! (Sometimes this is said in a rude way, meant to make me feel like bad wifey, but I consider it more of a cry for help.)

When people are rude to me about my name I am always shocked…imagine how people would react if I said, “you took your husband’s name?! Why? Don’t you know that means he owns you? What about your children? They’ll think you’re not equal to him!” I would be even more of a feminazi for uttering even one of these.
All of my married friends have taken their husband’s names and I suspect they think I don’t approve, but this is what choice is about. If that’s what they want, that’s what they should do (although, one friend confessed to me that she secretly wished she didn’t change her name). If a married friend wants to change her name to Princess Consuela Bananahammock (a la Phoebe from friends), that is her prerogative and none of my business–just like my decision is my business.

"I Deserve Someone"

*I wrote this back in 2002 when I was 21 after a particularly not-so-great (not) dating experience. No, no one person can ever live up to your ideal.  But I pull it out once a year or so to remind myself that I shouldn't settle for less than amazing because it's entirely possible that I deserve amazing. I recommend everybody write one. 

I Deserve Someone:

_    who understands me

_    who’ll fight for me

_    to go to the movies with

_    who knows how I order a cheeseburger

_    who won’t criticize my music collection

_    who wants to travel

_    who knows you can’t beat a Big Gulp

_    who can have fun at Chuck E. Cheese

_    who makes me laugh

_    who loves my family

_    who wants a dog

_    to kiss my forehead

_    who I can call at 3 a.m. if I need him

_    who can call me at 3 a.m. if he needs me

_    who loves roller coasters and cotton candy

_    who’ll call me on my shit

_    who finds the word “y’all” endearing

_    who reads something other than magazines

_    who knows (most of) the best music was written before 1979

_    who knows how to be friends with a girl

_    who’ll hurt me, who I’ll hurt, and who’ll still be there despite it

_    who doesn’t take himself seriously

_    who loves his family

_    who has at least one “unattainable” dream

_    who understand some movies have to be seen opening night

_    with imagination

_    who knows the importance of a good road trip

_    who makes me feel safe

_    to pick out clothes for

_    to tease

_    who’s a great friend

_    who can laugh at the little things

_    who’s loyal

_    who’s independent

_    who’s passionate

_    who understands the importance of great dialogue

_    who’ll read my writing, even if it’s really late at night

_    who know that sometimes the best conversations are over a cup of coffee

_    who’ll suffer through chick flicks and secretly like a few

_    who knows that “nothing” is a valid answer to the question “what are you  doing?”

_    who thinks I’m beautiful

_    who believes in me

_    to sit on a porch swing with

_    to cry to

_    who’d never cheat

_    who likes to sing, even if he can’t

_    to banter with

_    who’ll humor me and dress up for Halloween

_    who knows that anything is possible

_    who has opinions and who’ll listen to others

_    who’ll take my breath away

_    who knows the best presents have nothing to do with their price

_    who listens

_    who knows the importance of a good rant

_    who secretly likes something written by Jane Austen

_    who makes me feel good about myself

_    who has at least one wildly opposing viewpoint

_    who can handle a trip to a museum

_    who’s patient

_    who gets along with my friends

_    whose friends I get along with

_    who’s not judgmental

_    who has at least one (legal) vice

_    to have a snowball fight with

_    who’ll still build a sandcastle

_    who’s mature, but still in touch with his inner child

_    who still loves the songs, TV shows, & movies from when he was a kid

_    who knows that yes, ain’t is a word

_    who knows how to tell a good story

_    to save the last dance

_    who’ll question the status quo

_    who can appreciate a Cracker Barrel as well as fine dining establishments

_    to do nothing with

_    who knows I don’t wake up looking like this

_    to steal t-shirts from

_    who smells great

_    who’s curious about other cultures

_    who’ll fight back

_    who understands that sometimes spending the whole day in bed is perfectly acceptable

_    who knows me inside and out, and loves me despite, or because of it 

It's becoming a trend.

Last night one of my friends told me I'm gorgeous & he totally wants to make out with me. He's gay. I can only hope that at some point in my life a straight guy will tell me the same, but right now it feels like a pipe dream.

My girl crushes

girls' advice to players, pt. 1

I know you're playing me. 

I'm fairly certain IQ tests, college GPAs, & kindergarten finger paintings will attest that I am, in fact, much smarter than you. Contrary to popular belief, I am letting you play me. I know your phone has not been broken, no matter how much you lament the fact that even your poor mother could not reach you. I know that if you're not texting me back, it's probably because you're typing to one of the three other girls who don't know about each other. I know that if I have sex with you, Mr. Attentive will disappear & Mr. Huh? will take his place. I know that even if I AM the Hottest, Funniest, most Amazing in Every Way woman in the world, YOU certainly don't think so, even when you're whispering it in my ear.

I know all of these things (& so many more), & I still let you pursue me. Because you are hot & I am a self-loathing masochist.

But I'm not an idiot. So don't treat me like one.

Anatomy of a WIB

"The guy I'm dating averages a two-hour response between texts."

Here's a question for you: Since when is a text not a text? 

Answer: When it's a power-control game

I like texting. It's quick & easy & let's face it, a lot less work than interacting in real time. It's great for making plans with your friends, letting your parents know you survived another Last Call, & communicating with your co-workers during meetings. It will be the death of dating. Melodramatic, you say? Possibly. I've been called worse (You'll find WIBs for those, too). Here's why I think texting=bad when it comes to relationships.

1. Miscommunication

There are approximately 8500 ways to miscommunicate with another human being. And that's when you're standing right in front of them. We're complex creatures, dependent upon verbal & non-verbal cues to interpret what our partner is saying & the meaning behind it. Do you really want your romantic future to depend on the integrity of the emoticon? Huh? :) Do you? :(

That's what I thought. 

Example

Girl: I think I've gained three pounds.

Guy: Yeah right

Girl: *cries*

If only he hadn't forgotten the ;) the relationship could've been salvaged.

Tip: Even if there's a good chance your best friend can interpret your sarcasm, there's an equally good chance your new girlfriend will wonder what she did to piss you off.

2. Power Trip

Okay, full disclosure. The guy who inspired this WIB is in contention for the title of World's Most Massive Douchebag (WMMD).   

Typical "conversation" between me & the WMMD.

*Note: this bullshit actually took place.

Him: I saw a girl at the grocery store who looked like you.

Me: Really? Did you say hi?

Him: *silence* 

45 minutes later...

Him: *more silence*

2 hours later...

Him: Nah.

This is usually the point I find myself screaming at the phone & pretending it's him.  My righteously indignant stream of consciousness goes something like this:

"Why? Why do that?? Mother#%$$#, I know you have your phone in your hand! Why the *&%$ bother to text me if you're just going to ignore me? Did you have some sort of cellular malfunction? Did you drop your phone off the roof of a semi-tall building & have to fish it out of a bush that stabbed you in so many places you've been crouching in the bathroom with little pieces of toilet tissue clotting your wounds? I DIDN'T THINK SO."

This...does not make me feel better. This makes me feel like a psychopath.  I'm not suggesting that every time a guy takes two hours to text you back you should kick him to the curb. Far from it. But the WMMD put me through this pretty much every time he contacted me & is symptomatic of a greater problem: using the text as a way to control rather than to communicate.

Here's a test. If he uses texting as the primary form of communication but 1) has to be the one who texts first, & 2) then takes insane amounts of time to respond, it really doesn't matter why he's doing it. It's just ten kinds of rude. 

Tip: Using text messaging as a way to maintain power in a relationship takes power from your partner. In other words, you make her an insecure basketcase. Stop doing that.

Technology Intimacy Scale (in descending order)

Face-to-Face

Telephone

Instant Message

Text Message

Facebook Message

Fed-Ex

Standard Mail

Final word: Aiming for the middle is never good unless you're an archer or a darts shark. She's a cute girl. Pick up the damn phone & call her.

Why I'm Bitter

Hi, I'm Jessica, & I'm bitter. So bitter in fact that I created my very own Facebook application detailing all of the reasons why.

It can be found... here: Why I'm Bitter

These Why I'm Bitters (or WIBs as my friends & I like to call them) are a collection of some funny & some not-so-funny experiences/problems in our lives.

Okay, so I'm not really ALL that bitter. But I am a huge fan of satire, & it's about time we all expressed the stuff we're thinking anyway.

Creatively Named First Post

This blog has been created because Facebook is no longer fulfilling my ranting needs, and I am in need of some spillover space (I know what you're thinking, and yes, I did mean to alliterate that). There will be no theme here. Theme's are overrated. As are rhyme and reason. I have no idea what will be posted on here. Knowing me it could literally be anything. Kind of exciting, isn't it? I think so.