tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145526202024-03-23T11:07:51.664-07:00Incoherent Ramblings of a Punk in SuburbiaThe regularly updated rants and essays of a bonafide punk who decides to get married, have kids, and move to Suburbia. She examines the quirks of living in the 'burbs with humor, insight, and an unforgiving punk attitude.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.comBlogger372125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-56263677355468746502018-09-12T14:21:00.001-07:002018-09-12T14:21:52.959-07:00Hate FatigueI follow George Takei on Facebook. I was a big fan of the Star Trek tv series as a kid, and now as an adult, I've enjoyed the interesting things that George digs up on the internet and adds to his Facebook site. A little while ago, George posted something about a tragic situation in which a teacher went to the ER and was slapped with a bill for over $100,000 despite having health insurance. Having many friends and family members with various health issues, and in my professional career working with healthcare-related nonprofit organizations, I am well aware of the crisis state our ineffective healthcare system is in. I left, what I thought, was a pretty benign comment about how sad this situation was, and that it was my wish that the leadership of our country would find a healthcare system that would effectively insure all Americans, so no one has to go bankrupt just to receive care.<br />
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I checked my FB page later that night, and I had responses to my comment ranging from "thumbs up" positive to people calling me everything from a communist to a socialist traitor to a freeloader to a deadbeat whose health insurance they shouldn't have to pay. No where did I say that I wanted my health insurance covered, I just presented a general idea. As I was reading through the vitriol I realized that for the past three years, I have seen more hatred an animus hurled my way through social media than I have ever experienced in my life. <br />
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I was not a popular kid in school, and my middle school years were kind of a nightmare. In the 6th grade, I sat across from a kid in math class who spent three months insulting my appearance leaving me with insecurity issues that would plague me for decades. When I was in the 7th grade, for about a month straight, I was stalked on my walk home from school every day by two girls who threatened to kick my ass. I've been in school yard fights, been punched in the face by a Nazi skinhead, and nearly had to physically take out a crazy former family member who decided she was going to try to get physically aggressive. None of that compares to the hatred I have faced in online interactions, and frankly, I'm exhausted by it.<br />
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I was really excited when FB started, because it was such a nice and easy way to keep in touch with people who I loved and cared about. There were friends who I cherished who I rarely had the chance to keep up with, because we were both busy parents and didn't have free time until the wee hours of the evening. FB allowed us to share our lives, our photos, and interesting things we found amusing. As FB added special interest pages, I followed those, because I liked keeping up on different topics, issues, artists, recipes, etc. It was always fun to see what was in my feed. Then it was 2015, and things took a bad turn.<br />
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I started to see a lot of hatred being spewed from everywhere. There was an election coming up and those who were conservative felt like they needed to get revenge on those who were liberal. Those who were liberal felt like those who were conservative were incapable of progress. We had candidates who seemed to exploit our differences for their own gain, and a willing public who seemed to want to separate themselves into tribes rather than come together as one people. It got so bad that there were even crazy talks about my state of California splitting into three separate states, because we were just too different to be one single state.<br />
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Here's the thing; we aren't that different. Not at all. If you go up to 98% of people on the street in any town in any state and ask them what they want this country to be, most will say that they want the U.S. to be a country of economic prosperity where they can have a good paying job that will support their family comfortably, they want good schools, low crime, and safe neighborhoods to raise their kids, they want good infrastructure so they don't sit in traffic forever and have nice parks and outdoor spaces for their families, and they want the country to be secure from any sort of physical and financial threats, so they can live comfortably and well for the longterm. Conservative or liberal, this is what every American wants, we just might disagree on how to get there.<br />
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Given this reality, it's high time we end all of this ridiculous hate. If you find yourself on the computer, late at night, calling someone something so vile that you would be absolutely embarrassed if anyone in your "real life" found out, then maybe you need to check yourself. Perhaps you need to sit down and figure out what is going on with you, and where all this misguided anger is coming from, then do something about it. Go out with some friends, get a puppy, have some nachos. Do something to make yourself happy. <br />
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I get that it was cool a few years ago that we no longer had to be "PC", but unfortunately, there were a lot of people who took it as a license to become unabashedly racist, anti-Semitic, misogynist, and just plain hateful. We need to restore civility to our dialog, and it starts by not leaving hateful and insulting comments, not responding to hateful and insulting comments, and maybe grabbing a Krispy Kreme or two instead of berating one of your fellow Americans.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-28050285458905806612018-05-21T16:19:00.002-07:002018-05-21T16:19:49.648-07:00Mom GoalsIt never fails, I'm sitting in front of the laptop scrolling through my Facebook feed when across my screen comes the story of that incredible mom who has, something like, 12 kids, but is showing off her 6-pack abs and laughing about being mistaken for her teenage daughter's sister all the time. Hot Mommy says you just need to prioritize yourself, so that you can be a "better mom" for your family. The article suggests that these should be your "mom goals."<br />
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I've been working out since I was 16 years old. On a regular basis, I try to make it into the gym a minimum of twice a week and try to supplement my workouts with other things like walks, cardio classes, etc. as much as I can. There has never been a time where any workout I did made me a better mom. It made me healthier, it made me sleep a bit better at night, but there is zero correlation between the amount of stomach crunches I do and the quality of my parenting.<br />
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Also, I have a huge issue with parenting goals being tied to fitness. Look, I believe in pursuing what makes you feel happy as much as the next gal, and if having a 6-pack makes you feel awesome, then go for it. However, don't tell other moms that their goals should be the same. <br />
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On a regular basis, my "mom goals" are to get up at 6:45 am, make my kids their lunches, get my 8th grader out the door by 7:25 am, come back from dropping her off by 7:40-7:45 am, finish getting my 2nd grader ready, then pushing her and her dad out the door by 8:10 am. After that, it's a full day for me, because I run my own business, and essentially, have to cram an entire 8-hour workday into 6 hours, because I pick both kids up after school. From that point, it's homework and after school lessons/activities, and getting dinner ready, maybe sitting down as a family to watch a sitcom, then the kids are off to bed at a reasonable time, so I can have an hour or two to myself to watch a show, talk to my husband, hang out online, or plan for the next day. It may sound boring, and it is, but those are the only things I have energy for at the end of the day.<br />
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Basically, my "mom goals" are to keep my family on track, so they succeed. It's not glamorous, in fact, it's very routine. No one is writing articles about me, or any other mom who does this, but this is the life of most moms, and our "mom goals" are to just make it through the day. Also, there may be moms who are super obsessed with how they look, and are lucky enough to stay at home while having school aged children, so they have enough free time to hit the gym for two hours, but I, and most of the moms I know, aren't those moms. Truthfully, if I have an extra hour in my day I'll probably take a nap or...never mind, I really can't think of anything beyond take a nap, because I usually never have something that doesn't need to be done.<br />
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Hey, if your "mom goals" are looking hot, and you do, then bravo. You worked hard for it, and you deserve to enjoy it. If your "mom goals" are to lean in at work and run the show, and you end up doing it, then I'm very happy for you. Whatever your "mom goals" are, I whole-heartedly encourage every mom to reach them, but do not disguise shaming as empowerment or make yourself the subject of publications that push shaming as empowerment. Most moms are doing their best and they don't need to be reminded of their shortcomings, because society reminds us all the time.<br />
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Mostly, don't tell me what my "mom goals" should be, because one of them was to never lose sight of the fact that I'm an introverted, cynical, rebellious, punk rock mama who hates being told what to do, and for the record, I am nailing that "mom goal".Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-76289883505339927902018-05-15T09:51:00.001-07:002018-05-15T09:51:30.109-07:00We Aren't WhiteA few weeks ago, I had an interesting conversation with my 8 year old. She was talking about the ethnic make up of the children in her class, and how many different ethnicities there were. I felt grateful that I was raising my girls in a very diverse community. The conversation was upbeat until she said, "Everyone is interesting, but we are just white."<br />
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I quickly corrected her, "We aren't white, we are Jewish." She was confused, and held up her arm, "No, Mom, we are white." By this time, my older daughter was chiming in siding with her sister about the fact that we are Caucasian. From this point on, I had the very touchy task of explaining that, although we appear Caucasian, we are not accepted as Caucasian, simply because we are Jewish. <br />
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I completely understand their confusion. Both of my daughters have sandy blonde hair, my older daughter has crystal blue eyes, and they have their dad's fair skin. Their hair is thick and wavy, but not overly curly. They don't look "traditionally Jewish". If they didn't tell you they were Jewish or wear Star of David necklaces, you would never know that they were.<br />
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Herein lies the Catch 22 for most "passable" American Jews. We look like any other Caucasian person. While this has allowed us to assimilate comfortably, it has also made many Jews very complacent. They have become so complacent that they forget, and sometimes, ignore blatant anti-Semitism. <br />
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Anti-Semitism is very much alive and thriving. Hate crimes against Jewish people in the United States are at the highest levels they have been in decades, liberal groups that proclaim to champion inclusivity are hypocritically steadfast in their resolve to include everyone except Jews, and conservative groups still view us with an air of suspicion, if not, blatant open discrimination. American anti-Semitism usually takes the form of anti-Israel bias, but, when allowed, can go from "Israel Should Not Exist" to "Jews to the Ovens" in 10 hot seconds. We saw this a couple of years ago during the conflict with Gaza.<br />
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Last year, we saw American Nazis marching with torches yelling "Jews Will Not Replace Us". I think this was a harsh wakeup call to many "passable" American Jews. This hateful mob targeted two groups of people: African Americans and Jews, reminding us, once again, that we are not white. We do not get the same privileges as actual Caucasians. This is what I had to explain to my girls without scaring them, but had to explain it well enough to make them aware of the challenges they will soon face. <br />
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In four years, my older daughter will go to college. Most college campuses, particularly in California, are not friendly places to Jews. College students relish the fantasy of standing up for the underdog, and their naivety is often manipulated and misused by those with a political agenda, particularly an anti-Semitic one. My daughters will have to face this. They will have to face comments about the holidays they celebrate, the food that they eat, their support of Israel, and baseless assumptions that people will assign to them, simply because they are Jewish.<br />
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White people don't have to deal with all of this, but my Jewish girls will. White people don't have to explain that they don't "hate" Jesus or that they aren't the natural enemies of Muslims. White people don't have to go out of their way to comfort people who wish them a "Merry Christmas" then feel bad when they realize you're Jewish (seriously, we don't care, and we are just happy you said something nice to us). White people don't have to constantly justify their support of their people's homeland, and have to look at how much they are despised in the Comments section of every news site that features a story about Israel or Jewish people. White people don't have to deal with apathetic people in their own community who could care less about having an identity, and would rather assimilate at any cost.<br />
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I'm raising my daughters to be proud, to be Jewish, to be supporters of Israel, and will always tell them the hard truths, including letting them know that we aren't white.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-32032754260076683942018-03-22T00:36:00.000-07:002018-03-22T00:36:02.485-07:00Eric Michael JantzThe other night I was up late after catching up on some work and took a stroll through Facebook. I don't know what triggered it, but I decided to look up an old friend's obituary. Instead of finding anything about him, I found that his dad had passed away just weeks ago. I searched like a stalker through family members' Facebook pages hoping that one of them had posted a picture of my old friend. Somewhere in a forgotten photo album, I'm sure I have one, but at that time, for some unknown reason, I just wanted to see my friend's face, again. I never found the picture.<br />
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Three days later, I find myself still thinking of this friend who died a couple of years after I moved to Seattle the second time. It was probably around 2003. We had fallen out of touch, because I had moved, gotten married, and had my first child. All of that upheaval in such a short time doesn't lend itself to being a good friend. It is 14 years later, and I feel compelled to write his story.<br />
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I can't remember how I met Eric, but I'm sure it was during the time in college when I was writing for the Boise State University newspaper, The Arbiter, as an entertainment writer. At that time, music was my passion, and I had big dreams of becoming a music journalist, going on the road with bands and writing about it, and never, ever settling down to a boring life in the suburbs. **Cue the laughter**<br />
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I saw Eric's metal band onstage one night, although I don't remember the venue. He was one of the most unique singers I had seen mainly due to the fact that he was wheelchair bound. This was always a bit of a shocker to the crowd. The equipment would be set up, the rest of the band would come out and grab their instruments, and Eric would roll out in front of the mic. People would mumble in uncomfortable, hushed voices, and then the band would start playing. Eric would start singing, whipping his long, black hair around and rocking out, and after a couple of minutes, no one watching would care about the wheelchair. It was always an incredible sight to see.<br />
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I asked if I could interview him, and he jumped at the chance. Eric had a great smile, fantastic taste in music, and was the primary songwriter for the band. We had a great interview, until of course he broached the forbidden subject with such a magnificent nonchalance: "So, are you going to ask me how I ended up in the chair?". I told him I hadn't intended to, but he assured me that it was all part of his story and wasn't ashamed. <br />
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When Eric was in the 8th grade, he was going through a severe depression and decided he would end his life. He took a shotgun and attempted to kill himself, but the shotgun slipped when it went off and the bullets lodged in his spine rendering him paralyzed from the waist down with only partial movement in his arms and hands. When I met him, he was living with his roommate CJ in an apartment near BSU. He had a care provider named Tammy who was always pushing him to be more independent. He drove a converted Astro van, and had dreams of someday getting a car, which he said would be way cooler.<br />
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The interview was just the start of our friendship. Eric would invite me to his band practices, parties, and just to hang out. I had an apartment close to campus, but didn't drive, so I would always accept when the opportunity presented itself to leave the immediate area, particularly if it involved music or parties. Eric and I would talk about our dreams for the future, bands we loved, and our mutual desire to get out of Idaho.<br />
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Eric was a bonafide metalhead, and some of his song titles were "God Bless You Dead" and "One More War". I can't remember the name of his band, but he was the vocalist and played rhythm guitar sometimes, John was the guitarist, Trent played guitar, as well, David was the bass player, and I can't remember the drummer (which any drummer will find funny). It was the age of grunge, which Eric liked to listen to, but had no desire to play. He told me about a chance encounter with Nirvana during their In Utero tour when they played Boise.<br />
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He was going through a different entrance that was handicap accessible, and Courtney Love was smoking a cigarette in the hallway he was going through. She saw him and invited him back stage. He hung out with the Dave, Krist and Pat. He said that Kurt was quiet and in the corner, not really interested in anything until one of the road guys asked Eric about how he ended up in the chair. When Eric told him the story of his attempted suicide, Kurt came right over, listened intently and started asking a bunch of questions. Eric said that Kurt asked him if it was easy to pull the trigger, if he felt any pain, did he remember what it was like when the bullet hit him. Eric, being Eric, answered honestly, until Courtney exploded and started yelling at Kurt. By then, it was showtime, so Eric and his friend went out to watch the show. He said Dave gave him his phone number, and when Eric heard about Kurt committing suicide, he tried to call Dave just to apologize. Eric always felt bad that he didn't emphasize enough how terrible attempting suicide was. "I wish I would have told him it just isn't worth it."<br />
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When I met Eric, I was in a really bad relationship with a boyfriend who would constantly tear me down. One of those awful, toxic people who gets you to believe that you are absolutely worthless. One night, my boyfriend and I went to a party that Eric invited us to, and my boyfriend wanted to leave. I didn't, so Eric said he would drive me home later. I ended up staying at his house, and I'll never forget the moment he asked me, "Why are you with a guy who constantly tells you what a shitty person you are? You are a really talented, incredible woman who could do so much better." Sometimes in life, it takes hearing the obvious to lift the veil. Within a couple of months, I broke up with my toxic boyfriend, moved out of our apartment, got my driver's license and a car. <br />
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By then, Eric had moved in with Tammy, her husband, Tony, and their children. It was a bigger space and more convenient for him. CJ had, unfortunately, been diagnosed HIV positive, and committed suicide after he found out. I had a dream shortly after he died that I was coming out of a house that was supposed to be mine, but wasn't, and he was leaning against his car. I asked him when he was coming back, he told me he wasn't. "When will I see you again?" He smiled and said, "Don't worry, you'll see me again someday." Then he got in his car and drove off. I'd like to think that dream was his way of saying, "Good bye." I can't remember if I ever told Eric about it.<br />
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Around the mid-90s, I had a short-lived marriage that gave me the freedom to move away from my controlling parents. I headed to Seattle, and after living there about a year, got a call from Eric out of the blue. His mom had remarried, again, and her new husband was stationed at a Naval base in Western Washington. He was going to be close and wanted to get together. We had a wonderful time hanging out, and I realized that I really missed him. He had decided to major in Psychology, his band had broken up, but he was still writing and recording music. I can't remember everything about that visit, but I remember feeling really empty when he left.<br />
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When I returned to Boise in the late '90s to work for a concert promoter, one of the first people I looked up was Eric. He had had a tough go of things and was struggling to finish his degree. For him, the biggest challenge was dealing with various illnesses and infections that came with paralysis. If a fully-mobile person gets a kidney infection, they feel the pain right away and get to the doctor, but by the time Eric would realize he had a kidney infection, it required hospitalization. If you are in the hospital for a few weeks, you aren't attending classes, and by the time you are up to par, you end up dropping the class, because you're too far behind. He was bummed out, but still optimistic for a bright future.<br />
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We would catch up on a regular basis when he wasn't in classes and I wasn't working, we'd head to the Outback Steakhouse, because he was addicted to the blooming onion. We would talk about music, dreams, goals and getting out of Idaho. Eric still wanted a cool car. The thought of us getting together romantically had presented itself a few times, but when I was available, he wasn't and vice versa. One of the last times I saw him, it was at one of our Outback dinners. I was single, and he was off again with a relationship he was ready to give up on. We entertained the thought of giving it a go, but it never happened. A few weeks later, I would meet the love of my life, and within months, I would be back in Seattle, again. <br />
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Eric and I emailed each other, but we both became preoccupied with our lives. It was shortly after Rachael was born that I got word that Eric had passed away. It was one of those damn kidney infections. By the time he realized one had come on, it had done significant damage. He went to the hospital and didn't come back. I had been in touch with his sister shortly after he passed. She said Tammy had taken Eric's death really hard. His sister had done a touching tribute online about lighting a candle for him. <br />
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I went to look for that tribute the other night when Eric crossed my mind after all these years, and I couldn't find it. I thought it was sad that the only thing I can find about Eric is the mention of his name in his father's obituary. I guess this is what compelled me to write about him. His name was Eric Michael Jantz. He had a terrific smile, long black hair, he loved heavy metal, listening to it, singing it, playing it on guitar, recording it, writing it, he loved concerts, the Outback Steakhouse blooming onion, cool cars, beautiful girls, and wanted to get out of Idaho someday. His name was Eric Michael Jantz, and I miss him dearly.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-3000440894348505082017-10-22T09:13:00.000-07:002017-10-22T09:13:42.863-07:00Unfollowing for Mental Health and HappinessI created a Facebook profile years ago and was delighted when I was able to reconnect with old friends. It wasn't about reliving the past, these were people that I cared about, but had lost contact with through the many moves I made beyond my high school years. I was happy to see the photos of their families and get a peek into their lives as adults and parents.<br />
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For years I have turned to Facebook as a way to kill time, keep up with friends, and at times, be my social outlet. It's not that I am anti-social, it's just that I run my own business where I am, basically, the only full-time employee. I am also a busy mom whose schedule gets crazy at 3:00 pm every day when I pick up the kids. From school's out to bedtime, the hours evaporate. My local social circle consists of other busy moms who have the same evaporating schedule, and can barely eek out a dinner and movie night with friends every three months. It's life, and it is what it is. Facebook allowed me to "socialize" in the after hours while wearing pajamas and slippers. How great is that!<br />
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As I continued to have a presence on Facebook, I expanded from following friends to following news sources, special interest groups, humor pages, DIY sites, and other things I found interesting. Without even being aware, I could spend hours on Facebook. I was on there regularly, and for the most part, just saw it as a harmless hobby that I enjoyed.<br />
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All of this changed with the 2016 election. I noticed that the Comments sections started bringing out the worst in people. Although I'm a skeptic, I am also someone who has dedicated her life to nonprofit work believing that people are basically good. Even being grounded in reality, I was taken aback that my country seemed to be becoming a haven for the most disgusting racism, was full of willful ignorance, and was occupied by people who were seething with hatred towards their fellow countrymen.<br />
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It has now come out that in St. Petersburg, Russia exists a building where hundreds of people are employed where the sole job is to be the worst face of America. It was starting to make sense. Last week, I posted a comment on one of the news sites I follow, and of the 28 responses, barely a dozen were from real people. Most were extremely vile, and when I clicked on the profile, the "person" had one, maybe two profile pictures, which were not of themselves, but a meme or an image anyone can find on the internet. They give a location that is usually in the Midwest, the South or Texas, and the account is only one or two years old. It's very obviously a fake.<br />
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With the anti-Semitic profiles, I have reported over a dozen to Facebook, and never once have they suspended the account claiming that the user does not violate their standards. How can a site that has memes of Holocaust victims with the words "Next time, let's finish the job." not violate Facebook standards? All Facebook ever gives me is the notice that the profile is okay with them, along with instructions about how to block that profile. I guess Facebook figures that if I can't see it, then all will be okay, which is a shame considering their Jewish leadership.<br />
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Between the barrage of vile responses to comments, the revelation about Russia using Facebook to tear America apart, and Facebook's piss poor response, I decided that many places on Facebook have become toxic. I began unfollowing everything from news sites to special interest pages, and even the humor and DIY sites. I'm now back to the original reason I got on Facebook; to keep in touch with friends.<br />
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If I need news, I will log on to my subscription with the New York Times and Los Angeles Times, and yes, I pay for these news sources, because they have actual newsrooms, trained journalists, and editors, which most of the Facebook "news sites" do not have. During the investigation into the troll farm in St. Petersburg, they also discovered that Russia was creating many "news sites", both liberal and conservative and putting them out there as credible. I'm done with that. If I want to be active in causes that I believe in, I go to that group's website and join their email list, and if I need a recipe, want to see something humorous, or look at a DIY project, I will find it all in a Google search. <br />
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When innovators and manufacturers create a product that they want to sell to the public, there are regulations in place to make sure that the public is kept safe. Although everyone loves the idea of a barrier-free internet, I don't like the irresponsibility on the part of Facebook, Twitter, and other social media groups that have allowed their product to be used to prey on the public at large. Where is the protection for the users? <br />
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It might be a pipe dream, but I hope people start realizing they have been duped, and begin cutting social media back to its original purpose: to stay connected with people you actually know in person. We made social media sites our one stop shop, and now we are paying the price, but one by one, we can unfollow, stop commenting, recognize that a benign site may have a sinister foreign motive, and take our mental health back. Years ago when my daughter first created an Instagram account, there were classmates who created posts that were meant to be very bragging and exclusionary. She told me that looking at those posts made her feel bad, so I told her to just "unfriend" them. She is not obligated to look at or follow anything that makes her feel bad, and with that advice, she unfollowed and instantly felt better. Now, years later, I am finally taking my own advice.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-89600225210774388232017-08-15T23:22:00.000-07:002017-08-15T23:22:02.042-07:00More Than WordsI really didn't think there was anything else that Donald Trump could say or do that could shock me, but as I listened to him defend American Nazis, I was sad and fearful of my and my family's safety and future.<div>
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Years ago, I watched a tv interview with shock talk show host Jerry Springer. Jerry's parents were Holocaust survivors. At some point, his mother pulled him aside and asked him to talk to his father about getting rid of the family car. She was worried that the elder Mr. Springer was getting way too old to drive, and would get into an accident. Jerry talked to his father, but the elder was adamant about keeping the vehicle. After much prodding from his son, he finally told Jerry that he had to keep the car in case he ever had to get away.</div>
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This story is not an anomaly. I've heard of many survivors who kept a packed suitcase in their closet containing cash, clothes, maps, and important phone numbers in case they, also, had to get away. This is the long-standing trauma of anti-Semitism and fascism. </div>
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I watched tv in horror on Friday night as angry men with torches screaming "Jews Will Not Replace Us", "You (African Americans) Will Not Replace Us", and "Blood and Soil" (which is a rally cry from the Third Reich). It is 2017 and this is my country, and this should not be happening. What happened the next day was far worse. Violence, beatings, war cries, murder.</div>
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The next 24 hours brought no relief as I was inundated with comments about AntiFa and Black Lives Matter. Many with Right-leaning beliefs claimed that both groups were there, and were just as violent. I had to Google AntiFa, because I had never heard of this group prior to Sunday, as I suspect many hadn't either. It turns out that AntiFa, which is short for anti-fascism, is mainly active in South America. There are minimal chapters here in the U.S., but this movement in the U.S. is relatively small.</div>
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As a matter of self preservation and blatant curiosity, I keep tabs on many different underground groups. I've sat across the table from a Confederate Hammerskin, I've had coffee with the LaRouche supporters, I've read extensively about the Weather Underground, I'm familiar with many groups on the Right, but even more on the Left, and until Sunday, I had never heard of AntiFa. Could it be, because this group is merely an explain-away invented by the Alt-Right media to use as a false equivalency for the actions of their Nazi groups? Now, more than ever, this appears to be the case.</div>
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The president's response to the crisis in Charlottesville was pathetic. What came a couple of days later was too little, too late, but what happened today was inexcusable. This president has two White Nationalist advisors who have, likely, been in his ear for the past 24 hours, and today's press conference was the result. Never in my lifetime did I think I would hear an American president explain away the violent actions of Nazis. He said that their gathering on Friday night was peaceful. He said that some are very good people. He said that their actions were no worse than anyone else's.</div>
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Johanna Altvater Zelle was known to Jews in the Vladimir-Volynsky ghetto in the Ukraine as "Fraulein Hanna". She regularly went through the ghetto targeting Jewish children. Survivors would tell stories about Fraulein Hanna beckoning a toddler to come to her, picking that toddler up and squeezing him tightly until he screamed. She then grabbed him by the legs, and with full force, smashed the toddler into the ghetto wall killing him. She would carry candy in one pocket and a pistol in the other. She would tell the Jewish children to open their mouths for candy, then put the pistol in instead and pull the trigger. She was tried twice, and acquitted for war crimes.</div>
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When I read about her, I was angry. There were many, many others like her who got away with murder. I wondered how others could stand by and watch this unfold and explain it away or do nothing. This was, of course, before Saturday, and before the "AntiFa/BLM boogieman" comments on Sunday, and before 45 made his speech today. Richard Spencer, one of the organizers of the "Unite the Right" hate rally and proud American Nazi, bragged that he and his Nazis could beat the counter protestors to death with their bare hands. There is precedent for this, because others, like Fraulein Hanna, did.</div>
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There are many people of color, fellow Jews, LGBTQ people, and others feeling like they need a plan to get away. When I first heard of the Holocaust survivors with their suitcases in their closets, my instinct was to want to take their hands, lean in and tell them that they don't need to worry about getting away, they are in America, they are safe, and this will never happen again. Now, as I sit here, nervously typing, I'm wondering if I should pack a suitcase.</div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-68512935454164860752017-03-01T10:38:00.000-08:002017-03-01T10:38:50.521-08:00No Such This as FrenemiesI am particularly disturbed by the term "frenemies". Apparently these people are friends who are also enemies. Aside from the fact that this makes absolutely no sense, as you can only be one or the other, it seems that this contradictory moniker only applies to women and girls.<br />
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Girl bullying has always been different from boy bullying. When boys want to bully one another they mainly use physical violence and intimidation, whereas girls use emotional and mental abuse. Those of us gals who grew up before bullying became an issue of concern for adults know what it's like to be excluded by the group, called names like "slut" and "whore" behind our backs, and have judgement cast upon us for unfounded reasons. The boys who grew up with us know what it's like to be slammed into lockers, punched in the face, or thrown down to the ground. <br />
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Boy bullying is very clear cut, and seems to have a finite end. Once the male bully has shown dominance, much like in the animal kingdom, he seems to go away. Girl bullying can last a lot longer and there may never be a real clear cut end. This is my guess as to the origin of the term "frenemy".<br />
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She hangs around with you, is on your social media friends list, maybe throws a genuine compliment your way once in awhile. Every time you see her, she seems pleasant enough, but smiles while giving backhanded compliments. She also talks behind your back, messages your common friends encouraging them to get together without you, and, at worst, will catfish you just for fun. If you confront her, she will never admit that she hates you or even dislikes you. She is a "frenemy".<br />
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I'm not cool with this, and I'm prepared to call it what it was back when I was growing up; this is a two-faced bitch who hates you. She is the fox in the henhouse, and her bullshit should not be tolerated. <br />
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I'm angry that the whole concept of a "frenemy" exists, because I'm having to deal with it right now with my younger daughter. We have come to a point in our world where we try to teach children that everyone is their friend. On paper, this sounds great. In a perfect world, everyone would be friends with everyone else. However, this is completely unrealistic. Human beings have personality differences, they like different things, and forcing children to befriend each other results in bullshit like "frenemies".<br />
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When my older daughter was experiencing this, there was no such thing as a "frenemy". My advice to her was to not put up with bullying and intimidation. I taught her the incredible power of the bluff, how to violate personal space to catch your enemy off guard, and the spectacular tool of lowering the volume of your voice. There is nothing more effective than getting 2-3 inches away from someone's face and quietly telling them that you've had enough of their shit. It lets them know that you are done.<br />
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I told my older daughter that she didn't have to be friends with everyone, she just had to be polite and respectful. If someone did not return the politeness and respect, she was not obligated to give them the time of day. She didn't have to be mean or give them dirty looks or insult them behind their back, she could just pretend that they didn't exist. This was such a liberating concept to her. <br />
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Last year, we had a similar discussion in relation to social media. There were three girls from her school always bragging about their "wonderful" friendship, while specifically excluding and taunting others not in their petite circle. It was making my daughter feel bad, so I told her to "unfriend" them. It was like this had never occurred to her. I told her she was not obligated to follow people who make others, specifically her, feel like shit. She didn't need that negativity in her life. She unfollowed all three, and felt great about it.<br />
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Now, I'm trying to coach my little, 7 year old daughter out of the "frenemies" sinkhole. The first thing I made clear was that there is no such thing as a "frenemy". "Frenemies" do not exist. Either someone is your friend, because they are nice and kind, they like to play with you, share your interests, say nice things to you, cooperate when it comes to playing or projects or actives you both like to do, and want to make you as happy as you make them, or they are your enemy, because they make you feel bad, they exclude you, they say nasty things about you behind your back, they try to turn your friends against you. It doesn't matter if they are smiling while they are doing this, they are not your friend.<br />
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This is still a work in progress, and it seems like just one more thing that internalizes the misogyny that women always have to be pitted against one another, as I have never heard the term "frenemy" applied to a male relationship. I get really sick of watching backbiting women on reality tv smiling with full veneers on display at their so-called friends while in the next scene scheming behind their supposed friend's back. And I really hate that my girls see this on tv, too. <br />
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In the golden age of activism against bullying, we need to include the concept of "frenemy" and confront the misogyny that helped birth this bastard in the first place. I tell my girls that other girls are not their competition, that they should only compare themselves to themselves and not to their friends, because their friends have different DNA therefore comparisons are ludicrous. <br />
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My older daughter tried comparing her body type and weight to one of her classmates the other day. I listened then asked one simple question, "Who is the classmate?". Turned out it was a Chinese girl who is a half a foot shorter, and a Size 0. I explained to my daughter that her comparison was ridiculous, because her friend is of Chinese descent, therefore, she will likely take after her parents and grandparents and always be shorter in stature and never get above a Size 4. I reminded my daughter that her own family was mostly Russian and Italian, her paternal grandfather was over 6' tall, and both sides of her family were not made up of slight-boned, skinny people. <br />
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I extend this philosophy of self-competition to everything from looks to academics to extra curricular activities with both of my girls. The goal shouldn't be to single out another girl and be better than her, it should be to best whatever you did last time. I tell my girls that there will always be others that are better than them at everything, and instead of envy, contempt and anger, your goal should be to find out what they do that is better than you and learn from it. <br />
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While this is a sensible solution, it is a very uphill battle, because the world wants to pit people, particularly girls, against each other. They want to have the "frenemy" scenario become that pattern for female friendships, because when women get together, we know they are the most powerful force on Earth, and this threatens the patriarchy. They know if they can keep girls constantly questioning themselves and never feeling like they are good enough, then girls will hold themselves back. And the thing that pisses me off the most, is that they disguise this toxicity as a form of friendship, which internalizes the idea that other women cannot be trusted.<br />
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Well, there are no "frenemies" on my watch, and try hard as they may, I'm one riotmom who is willing to do the work to keep her daughters "frenemy"-free, and focused on self-improvement rather than petty competition.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-90098152080676050652017-02-27T00:35:00.003-08:002017-02-27T00:35:51.110-08:0044 Reflections on the 44th YearI turned 44 today. In other words, as of waking up this morning, I was no longer considered to be in my early 40s. I have now crossed over into the category of mid-40s. <br />
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By this time in my mother's life, she had just had brain surgery to remove a tumor, and told me that she would be looking forward to finishing treatment and celebrating in 5 years when she would get her last scan that, she believed, would come back clean. It never happened, the brain tumor came roaring back, and she died 2 weeks after her 49th birthday. I don't think there is a birthday that I will have clear through the rest of my 40s and into my 50s where I won't think of this as a perspective on my own age.<br />
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Since I'm feeling reflective on this day, I thought I'd give 44 short reflections on this life I've had so far.<br />
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1. When I was in the 1st grade, I remember sitting at my desk looking at a poster of all of the presidents and wondering why none of them were women. I'm still waiting.<br />
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2. I read the book "Grease" when I was 12 and thought that Danny should have picked Marty, because she was far more interesting.<br />
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3. Beavis and Butthead was a must right before pulling an all-nighter to study when I was in college.<br />
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4. I remember my friend, Kori, and I staying up all night when we were 16, because we had done our hair and it turned out perfectly. We wanted to go to the mall the next day with that great hair.<br />
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5. After spending the first weekend hanging out with my husband, I remember my roommate telling me that I "floated" into the house. She told me that she knew I would end up with him, and so did I.<br />
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6. I remember watching some of the most amazing bands from the PacNW in the 1990s at a little club called Crazy Horse in Boise, Idaho including Fastbacks, 7 Year Bitch, Coffin Break, Dinosaur Jr, Tad, Mother Love Bone, Sleater Kinney, Hammerbox, Mudhoney, Flop, Green Apple Quick Step, and yes, Nirvana.<br />
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7. I always loved the intro to the Wonder Woman show when she said, "You have little regard for womanhood, you must learn respect." then punched the guy in the face.<br />
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8. Riding my 10-speed bike around Nampa, Idaho when I was a teenager was my idea of freedom.<br />
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9. I remember wondering why it was so easy for that crazy Hinckley to get a gun and shoot the president.<br />
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10. I remember growing up in a rural community where owning a gun was no big deal, because every body had one, and you damn sure didn't treat it like a toy.<br />
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11. I planned my first event at age 16. It was a battle of the bands talent show for the Art Club, and I made every mistake possible.<br />
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12. I was taking a nap when the news came on tv that Kurt Cobain was dead. My boyfriend woke me up, and we stared at the tv in disbelief. We went to Grainy's Basement in Boise that night and did shots of Jagermeister with a room full of sad, silent people.<br />
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13. I remember cutting class with my friend, Missy, to go to the Idaho State capital building to protest the fact that Idaho refused to recognize Martin Luther King Day as an official holiday. We were 17.<br />
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14. I remember the last conversation I had with my grandmother. It was 2 weeks after I was married, and I called her while working late one night. We had a circular conversation where I repeated myself several times, because she was in the early stages of Alzheimer's and kept asking the same questions.<br />
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15. I used to buy cigarettes out of a machine on the second floor of the Karcher Mall for $1.50 per pack. I hid them in my pencil case and we smoked them out in the tennis courts at West Jr. High. The only adult they ever sent out to talk to us was a school guidance counselor who was an avid smoker himself, and was also one of my dad's poker buddies. We never got in trouble.<br />
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16. The first time I read "1984", I knew it was one of the most important books I would ever read. I reread it every few years. I'm about due again.<br />
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17. I had never felt so strange as I did in the hours right after I gave birth to Rachael. She was next to me, but I couldn't stop thinking about her and wondering if she was comfortable and okay. Two days later, she was still all I could think about. I told my mother about this, and she said it would never go away. It still hasn't.<br />
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18. I was standing in the middle of the floor at the Bank of America Center during Queensryche's soundcheck. Just me. I closed my eyes and smiled, and when I opened them, Geoff Tate had been watching me. He smiled, and looked at me while singing for the next minute. I thought my heart was going to explode. It was a fan's ultimate dream.<br />
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19. Jeff took me to New Orleans for my 43rd birthday and we had dinner at Commander's Palace. It was one of the best meals I've ever eaten.<br />
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20. Watching the Ramones perform at Bumbershoot in the late 90s was a wonderful bucket list show I will never forget.<br />
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21. I had just started working for the Museum of Flight in Seattle and it was my first fundraising auction. I saw a 'Day on the Set with Harrison Ford' package sell for $85,000 and was nearly ready to pass out. I purchased my first home for $82,000.<br />
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22. I shed a few tears the night Barack Obama was elected, because I really didn't think our country would actually shed its racism and elect him. Unfortunately, I would shed many tears of anger in the years to follow as I watched our country's racism rear its ugly head every time he tried to get anything done.<br />
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23. I was a diehard Republican from a Republican family until I moved to Seattle. After living in Seattle for 6 months and having a better standard of living than I had ever experienced, I embraced liberalism, and have never looked back.<br />
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24. I remember escorting a teenager into the women's clinic when a tall, fat man with a beard wearing a yellow t-shirt screamed in my ear that Jesus was going to send me straight to Hell. I muffled my laugh, got the girl inside the clinic, burst out laughing, and told her that I didn't have the heart to tell that guy that I was Jewish and we don't believe in Hell. She was at the clinic getting birth control pills and treatment for an STD.<br />
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25. I remember being consumed with rage after going out of my way to get out of class early, arrange a ride with my roommate to get to Planned Parenthood to have my annual pap smear only to have my appointment cancelled, because some asshole had phoned in a bomb threat. I was in my sophomore year of college. It would take me another two months to get to a make up appointment.<br />
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26. Stealing a package of Chocodiles from my dad's stash was always one of my favorite things to do.<br />
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27. The first time I had to sue an employer for shorting me on wages and benefits, I lost, but I didn't lose the second time I had to do it. Three years later, I would start my own business.<br />
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28. Fantasy Island and Star Trek were some of my favorite shows when I was a little kid, because anything could happen.<br />
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29. I'll never be able to thank Ray Missouri enough for introducing me to Blondie, Sex Pistols, and Pink Floyd when I was in the 2nd grade. My mom had to have surgery, we had no family to stay with, so CPS put us in a foster home with the Missouri Family. Ray was their adopted, teenage son who took it upon himself to educate me on what constituted "good music".<br />
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30. The first video I saw on MTV was Black Sabbath's "Paranoid". It's still my favorite Sabbath song to this day.<br />
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31. Jeff and I traveled to New York City less than a year before the Towers came down. We rode the train passing through the bottom floor and I commented that the last time I was there, when I was 19, you couldn't go near the Towers, because they had been bombed. I told him that they had re-built them so well you'd never would have known they were bombed.<br />
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32. Jerusalem was magic. I've never felt that way about any place I've ever visited. I'm a skeptic at heart, and a bit of a cynic, but there hasn't been a day that has gone by since I've been there that I haven't wished I could go back.<br />
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33. The moment I realized that I couldn't make a living in the music industry, because the business was changing too rapidly and there was no stability in it was one of the worst moments of my life. I cried hysterically while on the phone to my mom. Up to that point in my life, it was all I had ever wanted to do. A few months later, I ended up in the nonprofit world, but it took me years to feel like I belonged there.<br />
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34. Every now and again I think I was too old when I had Shayna. She has a difficult personality, and is very stubborn and persistent, which are things much easier dealt with at a younger age. She is 7 1/2 and still comes into our room to sleep in our bed at night. We are both too tired to kick her out and deal with the tantrum. We just figure she will age out of it.<br />
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35. I saw the first Star Wars movie (A New Hope) at a drive-in, and was ecstatic when I got the Luke, Leah, and Darth Vader action figures for my birthday. I was 6 years old.<br />
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36. My favorite video games to play at the arcade when I was in the 3rd grade were Asteroids and Ms. Pac Man. Now video games look like movies.<br />
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37. I never got into Dungeons & Dragons in high school, but once pretended to be into it just to get a guy to like me. It didn't last, and I felt stupid about faking my D&D interest for several years after that.<br />
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38. I was never afraid to fly after 9/11. Jeff and I went to Buenos Aires a month after the attack. I emailed my mom everyday from the business center at the hotel to assure her that I was safe, and called her the moment we got back to Seattle. My feeling always was that once we alter the way we live, the terrorists win.<br />
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39. Turning 40 was the only age I had ever dreaded, but the morning of my 40th birthday I woke up not giving a damn about pleasing anyone. I had shed every ounce of the need to be liked, to please people who didn't matter to my life, and to deal with bullshit. My biggest regret since then is not having had this attitude a heck of a lot sooner in life.<br />
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40. I knew the moment my mom passed away that I would be burying my dad within 5 years. She took care of him, and all of his health issues. I knew he wouldn't treat his health as well. He died 4 1/2 years after she did.<br />
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41. I used to stand next to the tv in my room on Sunday night with the volume turned down to 2, so I could watch the "Young Ones". I was in high school, and it came on past my bedtime, but I loved that show.<br />
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42. Watching Rachael do her Torah reading during her bat mitzvah was one of the best things I've ever seen. I have always been proud of my girls, but on that day, it was the most proud I had ever been of anything in my life, including my own accomplishments.<br />
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43. I've never not liked cartoons. I watched them when I was a little kid on Saturday morning (Flintstones, Space Ghost, Scooby Doo, Bugs Bunny), when I was an older little kid when Fox got its broadcast license (Inspector Gadget, He-Man), I watched them when I was in college (Ren & Stimpy, Beavis & Butthead, Aeon Flux, Liquid Television), and I watch them now (Family Guy, Robot Chicken, American Dad). It will be interesting to see what cartoons I'll be watching when I'm in the old folks home.<br />
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44. I've done a lot I regret. I've done a lot that I'm proud of. I spend every day trying my best to take care of my family, contribute to my community, and make the world a better place, while trying to improve myself. This will be my mandate for the foreseeable future, and if I can be a change agent in the process, I'm good with that, too.<br />
<br />Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-59483028295435202462017-02-14T11:40:00.001-08:002017-02-14T11:40:42.726-08:00The Disgusting Art of AppeasementNot too many things in this world piss me off worse than appeasement. Appeasement is the willful act of giving up on your wants, needs, and own best interests to try to please the other party in the naive belief that once you have given enough, the other party will be satisfied enough to treat you better or meet you halfway. Appeasement, also, never works, and nowhere do we see the failure of appeasement more than when it is applied in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. <br />
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The demands for appeasement mostly come from the Left, which has a tendency to blame Israel for everything while framing the Palestinians as the constant victims. In framing the Palestinians as constant victims this sets up a very unproductive dynamic in which Israel is always wrong and the Palestinians are always right, which becomes harder to explain when you see the leaders of Hamas and the Palestinian Authority absconding funds, cancelling elections, appointing leadership without the say of the people, and focusing their resources on destroying Israel rather than building industry and infrastructure for their own people.<br />
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Time after time, the Left demands that Israel appease the Palestinians by giving up land, safety, funds, and more. Israel gives in and appeases only to be told that they haven't done enough, and this is usually followed by more demands for appeasement.<br />
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The Left's obsession with Palestinian sovereignty is perplexing, because it flies in the face of everything the Left supposedly stands for. Under a sovereign Palestinian government, homosexuality would be outlawed and punishable by death, other religions would be illegal, women and minorities would be second class citizens, and the West would likely be targeted as enemies.<br />
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Israel, on the other hand, is the embodiment of Leftist ideals with universal healthcare and education. Women are full and equal participants, minorities are given equal status, other religions are accepted and welcome, and the only gay pride parade happening in the Middle East is in Tel Aviv. Yet the Left can never be appeased enough.<br />
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Lest I focus my ire squarely on the appeasement demanded by the Left, there is a much quieter, sinister appeasement that is happening right now on the Right. Lately, the Right has taken the reigns as the champions of Israel. Jews all over the U.S. are flocking to vote for Right Wing candidates who, publicly, can't proclaim their love of Israel enough. In voting for candidates on the Right, American Jews are engaging in a far more dangerous appeasement.<br />
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Aside from their proclamation of fiscal responsibility, which hasn't really been seen since prior to the Reagan era, the platform of the Right does not align with Jewish values. They are not accepting of homosexuals, minorities, and women, they don't believe in providing healthcare, social security or a basic safety net, they are not champions of education, and are all about rewarding a vulture capitalist system that destroys communities and leaves the majority in the dust. These are not Jewish values, yet time and time again, we watch leaders in the Jewish community embrace the Right in hopes that the U.S. will continue to support Israel.<br />
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This kowtowing appeasement has been particularly disgusting given who is in power and the actions of the new Trump Administration. Steve Bannon gave the new Neo Nazi movement, revamped with the shiny, new name, Alt-Right, a strong presence on the internet. He has also promoted fake news, and his political tactics seem to be borrowed straight from the Goebbels handbook. The sweeping, and unAmerican travel ban, hit many people in the gut, especially Jews, because during WWII, we were the ones turned away from the safety offered in the U.S. Of course those on the Right will rush in and say that the Administration is very Jew-friendly, because Jared Kushner and Stephen Miller are in top positions, but never forget there were many Jews in Germany during the late 1930s who believed their status and money would keep them safe. They worked with Nazis believing that if they appeased the Nazi radicals, they would be spared. Again, appeasement led to death.<br />
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The truth is that the Christian Evangelicals on the Right; the ones who are quick to point out the sin in others, but managed to look past the sinful life of Donald Trump, in order to seize power, are no friends to Israel. In order for their messiah to come, all Jews have to return to Israel to die, so is this really a group we want to appease?<br />
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Negotiations with clear and objective goals, willful compromising on both sides, a mutual understanding of common interests, the elimination of extremists on all sides, all of those things are reasonable and should be the foundation for establishing peace and ending the conflict, but appeasement should be avoided at all costs, because, in the end, no one ever wins the appeasement game.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-38026710017606493602017-02-09T23:32:00.001-08:002017-02-09T23:32:39.364-08:00The Lost 24 YearsA few years ago I contemplated heading back to work full-time, so I took a position that was temporary with the option of permanency. I was there for about two months when I did a sit-down with the big boss and argued that my position should be eliminated right before turning in my notice. In my other life as a do-gooder, honesty is always the policy I go with.<br />
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In my do-gooder life, I put together big fundraising events for worthy causes as a way to make the world a better place. In my life as a punk, I relish watching certain segments of the world burn while I eat popcorn. On some levels, I'm sure I'm a head shrinker's dream. <br />
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Getting back to the temporary position, while at the job I would talk myself out of, I worked with a woman who was about in her mid-50s, and had been doing events for years, and she was done. It was the first time in my life that I realized there would come a day when I just didn't want to do events anymore.<br />
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Fast forward three years to this past Wednesday where I was sitting in Day 2 of a three-day grant writing class. It was a small, nine person class for nonprofit professionals, so there was great shop talk, and schmoozing. Everyone, except me, worked for a nonprofit organization, and I think they were a bit skeptical about who I was, because I was a dreaded "consultant". By Day 2, they knew that, not only, did I know my stuff, I knew quite a bit about the nonprofit world, in general.<br />
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At the end of the class, a nice young man from a great organization came up and asked me why I wasn't in a director level position at a high profile nonprofit. This is a question I have grappled with, and have asked myself several times. I have the experience, the professional accomplishment, and sometimes, the desire, but there is one reason why I'm not at a major organization collecting a six-figure salary and doing million dollar events: my girls.<br />
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I told him that I choose to work as a consultant, because it affords me the freedom of schedule needed to pick my kids up everyday from school, schlep them to their activities, do all of the mom volunteering, and be there for them 95% of the time. I told him that I had a 13 year old and a 7 year old, and he thought about it, and said, "that's a 24 year gap". <br />
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24 years seems like a very long time, and to this young man, who was unmarried with no kids, and likely in his mid-20s, the idea of suspending a career for 24 years is probably unimaginable. What this young man doesn't understand is that, in the big scheme of things, spending 18 years raising a child doesn't seem like 18 years. 18 is a big number when thinking about years, but it flies by in the day-to-day of raising kids. My oldest is 13, and in 5 years she will be heading off to college, and the major part of my job will be over. 5 years will fly by. <br />
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If someone would have told me when I was in my mid-20s that I would choose to forego a lucrative career to raise kids, I would have thought they were crazy, but here I am and this is what I'm doing. Some days, particularly when my 7 year old is driving me up a wall, the years can't go by quick enough, then other days I pine for the times when my girls were babies, and I could snuggle them close while they slept in my arms.<br />
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I'm not an executive director or vice president of a high-level nonprofit organization, but my daughter told me today that she thinks I'm the bravest person she knows. In 11 years, I will be 55 and an empty nester. I could step back into the 9-to-5 world and run a prestigious nonprofit, but I think I'll transition into grant writing, because you can do that from anywhere. I'll spend my precious years before the AARP card traveling and writing grants in the mornings on my laptop while dressed in a billowy, comfortable kaftan, sipping tea, and listening to the Misfits.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-86687289912641135042017-02-05T15:41:00.000-08:002017-02-05T22:56:23.538-08:00Food By The BucketSome days, I feel like dinner around my house has become a bit of a holy war. On one side, the mom who wants to feed her family nutritious, vitamin-rich, locally grown organic food, on the other side, the family who would love to spend the entire meal eating processed, barely identifiable crap.<br />
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My children have accused me of taking away their childhood, because I won't buy them sugary cereal with cartoon characters parading across brightly colored boxes. I have been told I am mean and terrible, because I don't buy Doritos, Lays, Cheetos, Twinkies, and Fruit by the Foot (which, upon reading the box, one would notice that the only mention of "fruit" is in the title). I am the mean, non-fun mom, because I opt for the organic, healthy juice boxes instead of the watery, artificially flavored, corn syrup concoctions that pass as "fruit" drinks (there's that word again, in title only).<br />
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I'm not a complete stickler, we do make our way through a drive thru every now and again for burgers or donuts, but for the most part, I opt for healthy food. About 3 years ago, I switched to organic meat, because I was tired of the headlines about the amount of hormones and additives that were being pumped into our meat supply. My husband wasn't too happy at first, because organic meat is three times the price, but with the uptick in expense, I was forced to get real about portion size. The average household throws away 30% of the food they bring into the house to consume, so buying something more expensive forced me to become more efficient.<br />
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Shortly after the meat, I switched to organic fruits and veggies, again, becoming very conscious of how much we actually consumed versus what my perception of what was consumed. I became a fierce reader of labels using the 5 ingredient rule; if there are more than 5 ingredients and most are unidentifiable and hard to pronounce, then you don't want it. I made an initiative to cook at home more, and be the healthy example I never had growing up.<br />
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My mother did many things right, but the one thing she really nurtured in me and my siblings was an incredibly unhealthy relationship with food. Mom taught us that food was a great activity when you were bored, food was a fantastic way to celebrate, food was good for when you had the blues, and that "you don't have to be hungry to eat" was more than a catchy phrase. Tens of thousands of dollars wasted on weight loss and dieting and 32 years later, it's still a daily struggle. A struggle that I do not want to pass on to my kids.<br />
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Yes, I'm the healthy mom, but I also let them have unhealthy food about 10% of the time. I try to educate them about moderation, and teach them about reading food labels. However, health is an uphill battle in a country that celebrates the "never ending pasta bowl". The other night I asked my 7 year old what she wanted for dinner, and she enthusiastically told me about a magical place called KFC where they give you a whole bucket of chicken. Her friends had told her how great it was, because the chicken comes in a real bucket. A whole bucket of chicken!<br />
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Food, health, not consuming a whole bucket of chicken, all uphill battles that I hope I'm winning. For my part I'm going to continue to be the healthy mom, the mom who opts for the organic over the chemical, the mom who reads the labels and says a lot of "no" at the grocery store. I'm sure I'll get a fair amount of pushback, but to all of this I say; too freakin' bad! <br />
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Yes, I'm the mom who doesn't let you suck on GMO corn stick puffs flavored with cheese-like dust. I'm the mom who cuts up watermelon after school instead of shoving a corn syrup popsicle colored with Red 40 dye in your face. I'm the mom who gives your friends carrot sticks instead of candy, and I refuse to apologize for it. And maybe, someday, when you and your friends don't have cancer, you will thank me.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-71783912367522228772017-01-31T20:59:00.000-08:002017-01-31T20:59:37.087-08:00FACTS!?! Who the Hell Needs Facts!I left Facebook nearly a week ago, but ventured back on while I was sitting on my laptop waiting to be called for jury duty. I was hoping some ounce of sanity had returned, but, much like having coffee with an ex to reminisce about the old times, it took two seconds for me to realize why I left. <br />
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Just look. Scroll down. Keep scrolling. Don't comment. Seriously, do not comment.<br />
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What a bunch of crap! Now, I have to comment.<br />
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It was an article by some Nooz site (I call it Nooz, because the news is still valid and these sites are anything but), that identified itself by the color of state it represented, which is usually the first hint that whatever is printed is going to be some bullshit. This particular article talked about the good side of Trump's immigration ban; the fact that during the "extreme vetting" an immigrant would be questioned about whether or not they have participated in honor killings, and that thanks to this clause in the immigrant ban, the bad Muslims who harm women, would be kept away from our country.<br />
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Of course, I had to take the opportunity to comment about the fact that the countries with the highest rates of honor killings, Female Genital Mutilation, and forced underage marriage were not included in Trump's immigration ban. Also, thanks to this immigration ban, NGOs and nonprofits who are actually on the ground helping women who are victims of this brutality, are now having to go back to the drawing board, in terms of implementing their program, because they aren't able to move their people as easily.<br />
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The moment I hit the "enter" key, I knew that I had been sucked down the rabbit hole, but it wasn't for long, because my comment was promptly deleted. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine began purging her Facebook friends, and wiped out all of the Trumpsters. It caused quite a stir amongst our common friends, and, at the time, I wondered if it was the right thing to do. Now I know, I just hadn't gotten there yet.<br />
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Fake Nooz enables us to affirm everything we make up in our heads. Obama is a Muslim who took the Oath of Office on a copy of the Koran? Here's the fake Nooz site to confirm for you. Hillary had over 50 people murdered? Must be true if there are two fake Nooz sites and a Reddit feed that says so. Trump orders the firing of all Muslim federal employees. Of course, there's a fake Nooz site that has the story, so it must be true. <br />
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I get it. There is nothing more awesome than the feeling of being right, and shoving the fact that you are right in someone else's face. Even the most pious, humble person loves to be right. However, we are in a very precarious time when everyone's need to be right is usurping reality, and that is dangerous. I'm finding it more and more to be commonplace that when an honest news source prints an honest news story, those commenting accuse the news source of being "fake" and that the story is "not believable". There is a rampant belief, instilled by the current administration, that credible news sources cannot be trusted, and this leads to the question, if we cannot trust credible news sources, then who can we trust.<br />
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I can get online right now and find over a dozen fake Nooz sites that will tell me exactly what I want to believe, but they are not right, and although it feels good to have my beliefs affirmed, I don't want to live in a world of "yes" men. During my first venture into adulthood, I studied journalism. I took hours of classes learning the history of journalism, studying ethics, pouring over hundreds of pages of legal rulings regarding stories, journalists, and how the news is made and covered. I wrote for my college newspaper, I freelanced for other publications, I discussed real time news stories in a newsroom, I conducted interviews, and I copy edited articles for other writers. I was a trained journalist.<br />
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There is a reason why journalism is a profession, and we need to stop this bleeding of the need to have our own theories affirmed through crap Nooz sites, and start doing due diligence. Most of us take pride in the fact that we practice honesty with our friends and family. We don't like lying to the people we love, so why do we share Nooz that we all know, deep down, is fake? It is the same as spreading a lie, and it is causing our society to deteriorate.<br />
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When I left Facebook, I immediately subscribed to the New York Times. I took my credit card and paid for a subscription, like back in the olden days when we got our news through papers. The convenience of the online news is great, but the abundance of fake Nooz has become our country's most dangerous addiction, and it's time for us, as a nation, to break this addiction. Sure, dessert is amazing, and we all love to eat it, but if we think we can keep eating nothing but dessert and not get fat, then we are not only delusional, we're just plain stupid.<br />
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<br />Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-19350095643216674092017-01-30T23:38:00.001-08:002017-01-30T23:39:15.008-08:00From a Skype to a Skittle: We're Going to Be OkayIt's a weird feeling when you look around and wonder what happened to the country you've lived in all your life. From the time we hit grade school in this country, we are told that we are a nation of immigrants, and that this is a source of pride for us. We are told amazing tales about people traveling from all over the world on steamer ships and the joy they shared looking up at Lady Liberty welcoming them to a new land.<br />
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We have put ourselves out to the world as a place of opportunity, a place of safety, a place where someone can find peace, raise a family, start a business, and become part of the bigger dream of living in a place molded together from all cultures of the world. <br />
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I remember looking around my classroom when I was in the first grade, and thinking that I was so lucky, because everyone looked different. Everyone had different things they did in their homes, everyone had different food, everyone was originally from somewhere else, and we all looked different and it was a good thing.<br />
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The most recent actions of this ridiculous president have ripped at the heart of most Americans. Those of us who celebrate the fact that our parents, grandparents, great grandparents, or maybe, even, we are from somewhere else, yet we chose this country to make our life and livelihood felt a sickness in the pit of our stomachs when we heard about the banning of people from other countries. This ignorant president, not only, shut the door on several nations to appease his nationalist supporters, continued to stoke fears of the "terrorist Muslim", but also was so very callous in cutting off opportunity to people experiencing one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world right now.<br />
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During our summer vacation, we saw Syrian women and children all over the streets and in the train stations in Paris. We saw their pain and desperation, and my heart ached for every last one of them. These are proud women forced by a ruthless war to beg and live on the streets, often with their children right beside them. I explained it to my girls that a life on the streets was better than no life at all, and that these people were what desperation looks like. These are the people that our country used to take in and give a new life and opportunity to, but our new president has ended that.<br />
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The most disgusting thing about this action was that he did it on Holocaust Remembrance Day. There were ships full of refugee Jews that were turned away, decades ago. They were sent back and most of those Jews perished in the death camps. To make such an action on this day when we remember a time when the world went mad is unforgivable. Then again, with the president's Alt-Right capo writing the nationalist order, it doesn't surprise me.<br />
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What did surprise me was the incredible reaction. I was very impressed and my heart filled with joy when I saw nearly 3 million women and men protesting the day after the inauguration. I hoped with all my heart that it wouldn't be a one-off thing. The growing protests at airports and all over the nation show me that this country, and this generation are finally woke. I know I stand on a soapbox often, and for the past dozen years, I've felt like I've been yelling into the wind. I thought this younger generation was apathetic and took all of the things that us Gen-Xers fought for for granted. I would get so enraged, and ask my husband where were they? Where were the next generation that was supposed to take the baton? Change.org petitions, social media boycotts, and bitching about issues online are all well and good, but the only thing that changes the world are feet to the street, and I wondered if this generation had it in them.<br />
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Now I see they are finally woke. They aren't able, nor willing, to fulfill some mythical 1950s fantasy where white men are at the top of the food chain and everyone else has to grovel in 2nd place for the scraps kicked down from the Master's table. When Kim Kardashian is woke enough to tweet against it, you know that the next generation is not going to sit by and let some old white guy dictate a future that they don't even recognize.<br />
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He may have the office, he may have a bunch of pussies in Congress and Senate who are walking lockstep with him, because they love power more than the foundations this country was built on, and he may have the vicious Alt-Right (i.e. Neo-Nazi) movement, but we have a whole country of people. People who came from immigrants, have green card holders or naturalized citizens in their families, or are new to America or new Americans, and we aren't going to let our friends and loved ones go. They can call us Skypes, Googles, Skittles, and Yahoos, but we call ourselves The People, and we are the ones in charge.<br />
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<br />Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-60258084567393414152017-01-29T17:50:00.001-08:002017-01-29T17:53:22.793-08:00The Lady in the Harbor is CryingFor over 100 years she has sat and watched as newcomers entered this fine land, but today the lady in the Harbor is crying. She is crying, because, like so many women, she has been hurt by a callous man. This man has questioned her very purpose. He has told her that the words she carries around don't matter. He has used her image to reach his goal, but now that he has his win, he is tarnishing her. <br />
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The lady in the Harbor is crying, because she's seen this before. A time when others were turned away, sent back to a land that murdered them. Her arms were forced closed by another man who misused her, and innocents died for it.</div>
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The lady in the Harbor is crying, because she is watching the land that she has symbolized, whose very essence she embodies, become something she does not recognize. There has been division before, and suffering ensued. There have been those opportunists who wanted to bring about the division of a nation to serve their selfish purpose, and it nearly destroyed her fair land. Now, it is happening again.</div>
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The lady in the Harbor is crying, but this time, they may be tears of joy, because this time there are millions marching, millions resisting, millions of true patriots screaming "Not this time! Not in this country! Not in our country!". </div>
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The lady in the Harbor is crying, and now it is our time to stand up, wipe her tears, become the embodiment of her dream by living her words: </div>
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<i>"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"</i></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-31512641770337877152017-01-27T10:43:00.002-08:002017-01-27T10:43:43.098-08:00When Did That Happen?: The Aging TripWhen I was in my 20s, I made the mistake of saying a lot of "I'd never"s. <br />
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"I'd never get plastic surgery. Why alter your face or body?" <br />
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"I'd never retire. I love what I do and I want to work until I die."<br />
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"I'd never hesitate before stating my age. Age is just a number."<br />
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"I'd never skip the opportunity to go to a fun event or party."<br />
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Oh, the sea of "I'd never"s coming from the mouth of the 20-something. Age has a funny way of catching up to you, and lately it has not only caught up to me, it has snared me in a net, and hung me 40 feet in the air before getting ready to drop me down a dark hatch.<br />
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The once vibrant girl who couldn't wait to dive into a crowd now does research on events of interest to find out how many people are going to be there. If there might be huge crowds, and difficulty parking, then, screw it, I'll watch it on tv. It's the Chinese New Year this weekend, and for about 30 seconds, I thought it might be fun to venture to Los Angeles and head to Chinatown to celebrate the incoming Year of the Rooster. Then I did my research. <br />
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A usual crowd is 110,000. <br />
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Tomorrow's temperature in Los Angeles is supposed to be 65 degrees (which is fantastic for everyone from anywhere else in the U.S. except Southern California). <br />
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Parking. Parking in Los Angeles. Parking in Los Angeles with at least 30,000-40,000 other cars.<br />
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Screw it! I'll watch it on tv and get Chinese takeout tomorrow night for dinner.<br />
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When did I become such an old fogey?!? I'm still an active person, and barring the average cold, usually given to me by one of my kids, I try to work out three to four days per week. I like to take walks, go out with friends and family, and head to concerts when someone rolls into town that I want to see. I guess I've just become more selective about where I go, when I go, and what I'm expecting when I get there. If I'm going to have to deal with a huge amount of crap and aggravation, then it becomes a waste of my time. Old fogey thinking.<br />
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Activities aren't the only kick in the ass that aging has been giving me lately. I'm now far more obsessed with my appearance. I've never been a vain person, but I've had the good fortune of decent looks no matter my age or weight at any given time. I'm no incredible gorgeous beauty, but I'm good with that. Incredible beauty comes with its own set of challenges. I would say I'm decent in the looks department and have been very content with my face. However, lately, I can't stop noticing that my face appears to be moving South at more of a rapid rate than ever before. Next month I'm going to be 44, which means I am officially in my mid-40s, and I'm 6 years away from 50.<br />
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I've always had this crazy belief that I'll live to 92. I have no idea why, but 92 has always stuck out in my mind, which means I'm 2 years away from the halfway mark. The physical manifestation of coming close to the halfway mark is my Southern-moving face, and for those who have not experienced it, let me tell you, it fucks with your head. Suddenly, you understand why people spend tens of thousands of dollars on plastic surgery. Every wrinkle, every sag, the bags under your eyes all remind you that the inevitable will come, and because G-d has a sick sense of humor, this usually coincides with the dying off of your older generation of relatives. <br />
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All of the sudden, life just punches you in the face and everything gets more real. You are not a kid anymore. The world is still full of opportunity, but not all opportunities, because you are middle aged now. You can alter your appearance, buy overpriced skin cream sold to you by 20-somethings with lab coats and empty promises, try to pretend to be into your teenager's music (much to their horror), but you're still middle aged. Watching the texture of your skin change is extremely humbling.<br />
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And don't get me started on the drooping energy level. In my 20s, I could party until 3:00 am, be back up at 8:00 am, and in the office at 9:00 am-ish, work a full day, grab a 30-minute nap after dinner then go out again. Now, if I have to stay up past 9:00 pm to go to an event or a show, I'm going to need a 45-minute nap at around 3:00 pm, and a Venti dark roast just to make sure I'm most conscious. <br />
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Two years ago, I took a job at a nonprofit that was under consideration for a temp to permanent position. It didn't work out, but while on that job I met a woman who was in her mid-50s. She was looking to change departments, and when I asked her why, she told me that she had maybe about two more years of doing events before she just didn't have the energy anymore. This was the first time in my life that it really hit me that there would come a time in my life where I just wouldn't have the energy to do events anymore. My recuperation time post-event has been getting longer and longer as the years have passed. This year, during my biggest event of the year, after a full day of doing much of the work solo, I was in a tremendous amount of pain for a couple of days, and ended up in the doctor's office, because I had pulled several muscles in my back. Again, aging punches you in the face when you least expect it.<br />
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As a backup plan, I have registered for a grant writing certification class. Thanks to modern technology all research and grant applications can be done online from anywhere in the world where a good Wifi exists. I now see a day when I retire from events, travel the world, and spend morning hours composing grants while wearing breezy kaftans. <br />
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I guess the good part about aging is that you do become wiser, get more choosy about how you spend your time and who you spend it with. You have zero fucks left to give when it comes to drama or dealing with people. Sure, the older you get the worse your sight and hearing becomes, but at least you don't have to worry about forgetting your earplugs when you go to concerts.<br />
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<br />Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-21745311699225124932017-01-26T14:43:00.001-08:002017-01-26T14:43:45.423-08:00Breaking the Facebook AddictionIt's been exactly 38 hours since I gave up Facebook, and I'm trying to remember how I lived my life before that fateful day, years ago, before I created my account.<br />
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I've never been addicted to drugs, although I've been offered every drug on the streets pre-meth. I've never had a drinking problem. All of the recreational alcohol use in my late teens through 20s were clear and conscious choices, which given the horrifying state of being I ended up in with some of those benders, I'm reluctant to admit this. Cigarettes were a passing fad that were supposed to suppress appetite, but never did. I like shoes and handbags, but remain too thrifty for full retail. This means the addiction had to manifest itself in some form, and that form was reconnecting with old friends through the miracle of modern technology known as Facebook.<br />
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It was so neat at first. Having moved around so much since high school, I was able to get back in touch with wonderful people that I never meant to fall out of touch with. It was a joy to see their children, get updates on their parents, and hear about how their lives had been going. I was a willing Facebook participant posting pictures of my family, sharing funny memes and great recipe demonstrations, and expressing my age old concerns for feminist issues and the environment. I created a page for my business and another for my interest in advocating for organic foods.<br />
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As a mostly stay-at-home mom, Facebook became my social outlet. My husband used to ask me why I didn't just call my friends. Good question, why didn't I, a mother with a very fussy and active toddler who demanded 1000% of my attention, call my other mom friends who were trying to drive the carpool, help finish homework, run to the store for supplies for a surprise project their kid just told them about. Hmmm...good question. By the time all was said and done at the end of the day, I would have been calling my fellow moms at around 10:30 pm at night, and given that half the moms I would want to talk to were in the time zone an hour ahead that puts us at nearly midnight. Again, hmmm...good question.<br />
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So Facebook it was. My mornings consisted of getting my older child and husband out the door, taking care of the baby, checking my work email, making any necessary phone calls, and logging onto Facebook while finishing my coffee. In the mid-morning I would run errands, get the baby down for a nap, take care of work things, and do a quick logon to Facebook before leaving to get my older daughter. I would get home, get my older daughter a snack, start her on her homework, do a little bit of work while the baby was preoccupied on her play mat or in her bouncer, and logon for a bit right before having to fix dinner. After dinner, and baths and reading stories and putting the kids to bed, it was back to Facebook for the evening, while watching tv until bed.<br />
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I downloaded the app, checked it often, and failed to admit for the past several years that Facebook had become an addiction. I never saw the harm in it at all, and had heard horror stories of people who became depressed, because they would read about their friends' lives and how great they were, then these poor souls would see their own lives as lacking. I heard of Facebook ruining marriages when two old flames connected and decided to leave their spouses to rekindle their lost love. None of this applied to me.<br />
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My relationship with Facebook changed about six months ago when the presidential election narrowed down to three candidates; Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders. I didn't take Trump seriously, was lukewarm about Clinton, and really liked Sanders. Nearly every liberal leaning person I knew, especially on Facebook, supported Bernie Sanders, yet we know now there were dirty tricks in place to make Clinton inevitable. I was fine, though not thrilled, to support her, because Trump was using racism, xenophobia, sexism, fascism, and every other horrifying -ism to bring out the worst in people and win the election.<br />
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Friends and family members who I had known for the better part of my life began posting pro-Trump stories, and for awhile, I just blew it off. However, as the election got closer, my Facebook world became a lot darker. I didn't understand how people I knew most of my life to be good and honest people, and who claimed to be stellar followers of Jesus Christ, could support such a vile man. A man who is, himself, an adulterer, cheats in his business, is the epitome of vanity and ego, and has pretty much violated nearly all of the 10 Christian Commandments. Here was a man whose campaign was run on pure hatred, yet friends who would be the first to say they were good people, jumped on that Trump Train. Friends who I know can barely make ends meet were rooting for the guy who is going to make their financial situation worse, and when this was pointed out, used willful ignorance and fake or hugely partisan "news" to rebut. <br />
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Even the Facebook sites I watched regularly were constantly filled with stories of impending doom at the daily nightmarish actions taken by this ignorant man who had just become president of our divided country. Daily doom, plus gloating by those with too much willful ignorance and hypocrisy, sealed my Facebook addiction's demise. I had hit rock bottom, and one night, after commenting on a story about the fact that the new vice president doesn't believe smoking causes cancer, I quit Facebook cold turkey.<br />
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To be honest, I miss it. I hadn't realized how much of my day was spent on Facebook, and how much I had relied on social media for social interaction or for my news. I subscribed to the New York Times, because I felt like doing this small action would start to remedy the damage. I opened my very neglected "Writing" folder on my laptop and perused some of the stories I meant to finish, and I'm now back to my, nearly abandoned, blog, which I used to take so much pride in.<br />
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I cannot promise that I won't ever log into Facebook again, but for now, I'm having a contest with myself to see how long I can go before dipping my toe back in that water. I'm almost at two days, tomorrow is Friday. I'm usually busy on the weekends, so let's see if I can make it until Monday. After that, maybe a solid week. Is there a support group for Facebook addicts? If so, I hope they don't meet via Twitter.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-48458139905979379502014-10-13T12:29:00.003-07:002014-10-13T12:29:46.463-07:0050 Shades of WTFHere it goes. I'm just going to say it outright: I hate Christian Grey. <br />
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A few years ago, I heard my local morning talk show guy going on and on about this book series called "50 Shades of Grey". He talked about it being some sort of scandalous lady porn, and that women were loving it, but it was just so dirty. I immediately downloaded the book thinking, "I'm pretty hardcore, so I'll decide if it is indeed "dirty"."<br />
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Well, 50 Shades was interesting and, in my humble opinion, dirty light, like on a scale of one to 10, I give it about a six. As I've said before, I'm on the hardcore side in terms of what I've seen and read, so a little bit of tush spanking isn't going to have me passing out on the floor. The writing was terrible and the author made some very big faux pas such as setting her book in a place she's never been to. Note to E.L. James, I lived in Seattle for years, and no one calls it the Pike District. No one. Ever. I've also been a student newspaper editor, and know that given the ambition of a young student newspaper editor, they would have to be quarantined with Ebola not to show up for an interview as big as the one James describes in the first chapter, and if for some reason, the editor was quarantined with Ebola, an assistant editor, or another senior staff writer would take their place.<br />
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All of this is here, nor there, and frankly anyone who has spent time in a high school Creative Writing class could do hours of WTF commentary on 50 Shades. However, the biggest problem I had with the book series was not the horrible writing, the new writer faux pas, or the ridiculous characters, my beef was with the leading man, Christian Grey.<br />
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Christian Grey is an abusive, self-absorbed asshole who preys on a college girl. He is physically, emotionally, and mentally abusive, yet for some reason E.L. James wants him to be every lady's dream man. She reiterates several times about how drop dead gorgeous he is, but also gives an equal amount of time to the portrayal of him as extremely controlling. Christian monitors his so-called love's emails, he tells her what to wear, tells her who she can and can't hang out with, and in one scene that is supposed to show his love and dedication, he flies all the way back home from a cross country meeting to confront her about going out for a glass of wine with a girlfriend without his permission. If any of us gals had a friend who was in this kind of relationship, we would advise her to break up with the jerk, block his email, phone calls, text messages, and get a restraining order.<br />
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While E.L. James attempts to explain away Christian's behavior by claiming he had a rough start to life, she fails at this all due to the last scene in Book #1 where Christian decides to paddle Ana's tush. In that scene, he's not doing some BDSM play, because as anyone in the BDSM community will tell you, the play is based on a mutual respect for both people involved, and at the heart of the play is the desire to give each person pleasure. His goal is to hurt her, to inflict real pain and relieve his own anger by inflicting this pain. He is beating her with the goal of inflicting agony, and that is the very definition of physical abuse.<br />
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The sad thing is that this series is being heralded as some sort of a love story. The movie is greatly anticipated, and the books are still selling. This is disturbing given that one third of the women murdered in the U.S. are killed by their partners. As a middle aged woman, I can see Christian Grey for the abusive asshole he is, but my concern is for the women in their 20s who are being told that a smothering, controlling, abusive, yet handsome millionaire is the benchmark for a "good catch". <br />
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In a way, I get the 50 Shades appeal. It would be nice to have someone so into you that they stop their whole world and obsess on every little detail about you, and having you all to themselves is all they can think about...for about a day or two. About Day 3, the reality is that if anyone had to deal with a partner like Christian Grey, they would be calling the police for a restraining order, blocking their emails, calls, and texts, and spending a few nights at a friend's house for fear that the guy would show up with a gun. Sadly, this scenario is the reality for a lot of women, and this best selling fiction just reinforces the patriarchal "no means yes" message.<br />
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I don't plan to see the movie, because I can get internet porn for free and watch an old episode of "Cops" to get the full effect. As for Christian and Ana, my prediction is that they last until Ana hits her 30s, realizes she doesn't have to put up with his bullshit and that she never signed a pre-nup, then she will tell him to "go to hell", and end up with a great settlement including the big house in an area of Seattle that doesn't exist.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-81599025139406828472014-07-19T21:29:00.002-07:002014-07-19T21:29:49.344-07:00Out With The Old, Up With MeTwo weeks ago I cleaned out Rachael's room and chastised her a bit for having seven bags of trash and four bags of clothes to donate. Today, I'm eating my words, and owe her a big apology, because I spent three hours working on my closet.<div>
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For years I carried around close to 100 garments. I carried them from state to state, city to city, house to house, and kept them neatly in whatever closet I called my own. I had sharply tailored dress shirts, a pink and black floral halter dress, khakis, dress slacks, and a plethora of sweaters that came in handy when I lived in the Pacific Northwest, but are useless in Southern California. </div>
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The sad thing was that these garments didn't fit, instead they served as a constant reminder of what I needed to get myself back to. I carried on a persistent 20 lbs. battle, all so I could, once again, wear my beautiful clothes. Opening my closet door was like dinner with a nagging relative, as well as, a source of stress. I have two elegant, silk, red blouses and a brand new black jacket that was such a bargain, but I don't fit into them. At times, I would be down a few pounds and run into my closet to try on clothes that had been sitting there for half a decade. Even if it fit, I would walk into the bathroom to look in the mirror and be sorely disappointed, because it just didn't look good on me anymore. Yet, for some reason, I still housed it neatly on a hanger.</div>
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Today was the day of reckoning. I was done. When I started eliminating all of the items that didn't fit, I really couldn't believe what I had been hanging onto. I found the black, polka dotted dress that I wore on my honeymoon cruise over 12 years ago, the pair of black pants with the white embroidery that I wore to the first dinner party that Jeff and I went to as an official couple from 13+ years ago, the sweater that I bought to celebrate my first bonus check I received when I worked for a concert promotion company before I met Jeff, which was 15 years ago. Was I really delusional to think I could fit into clothes I wore 15 years ago?</div>
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It made me think about why I would schlep all of these garments around over the years. Did I really rest all my hopes on one day getting back to the woman I used to be? When I think about the clothes I wore in my 20s, they were fun and I enjoyed wearing them on my 20 year old body, but I didn't enjoy the insecurity I had in my 20s, the drama that went with falling in and out of relationships, or the "just starting out in the world" wages that I put in 60+ hours per week to earn.</div>
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The sexy peek-a-boo shirt that used to highlight my cleavage wouldn't work now. If by some miracle I managed to make it back into that size, the cleavage, sadly, would never look as awesome as it did when I was 31. I liked all of these garments when I wore them, and I liked the ages I was when I wore them, but I like who I am now much better. At 41, I have shed the insecurities. Sure, I'm not the young thing that could pull off that nicely hugging sweater dress, but I am the woman who takes care of her family every day, enjoys a great relationship with her husband of 12 years, and has a level of financial security that she never thought she would ever have.</div>
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I did hold onto a few things like the Rammstein windbreaker that was given to me when I worked at PolyGram (my first real job in the music business). I kept the blue shirt I wore the first night I met Jeff face to face, and the shirt I stole from my stepdad's closet. My mother always wanted to throw that shirt out, but he would never let her. He got it his first year of college and held onto it. I grabbed it from him during the '90s when vintage and thrifting were all the rage. He used to be amused at the way I would wear his old college shirt over a white tank top with jeans. Since he has been gone almost five years, I don't feel like parting with his shirt, because it reminds me of him and makes me smile.</div>
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I wound up with five bags of trash and seven bags of clothes to donate. I'm happy to send them to a new home. I am also relieved to know that when I walk in my closet, everything will fit me. Now if I could just convince Jeff to part with his old suits, because the only way those are ever going to fit him again is if he starts amputating limbs. Seriously, you're 45, you don't need the suit you wore to college graduation, I don't care what kind of deal you got on it!</div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-60353126528568521962013-09-17T12:46:00.000-07:002013-09-17T12:46:03.090-07:00Miss(understood) AmericaI don't give a rat's ass about the Miss America pageant. In fact, I think beauty pageants, in general, need to go away. We are in 2013 for fuck's sake, can't we leave the high-heeled, bikini clad meat parade back in the '50s where it belongs?!? However, after the shitstorm that followed the crowning of Miss America this week, I feel compelled to respond, which pisses me off worse, because I would rather just keep ignoring the Miss America pageant altogether.<br />
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It was the typical story, a very beautiful, 20-something lady was crowned Miss America. It seems like no big deal, except for the fact that our country is filled with a ton of racist shitbags who had a huge problem with the new Miss America's name and skin color. The new Miss America is Indian American. Her family immigrated from India over 30 years ago, so she was born and raised in New York. She is neither Hindu or Muslim, the two most prominent religions in India, but even if she was, why the hell does that make a difference? <br />
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Minutes after they put that ridiculous crown atop the head of the lovely Miss America, a bunch of asshole white guys took to Twitter and twatted out ridiculous things like '9/11 was just a few days ago and they choose her as Miss America' and 'more like Miss Terrorist America', because these said assholes aren't educated enough to know the difference between Arabs and Indians. These are the same morons who, after 9/11, were threatening members of the Sikh community, because they wore turbans. <br />
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What was more disheartening, but not surprising, was a Fox News radio commentator who proclaimed that the new Miss America was wrong, because she didn't look like a Miss America, and that the honor should have gone to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed chick from the Midwest with the tattoo and safer name. I don't know if this particular fucktard has been living in a cave, or small town in South Dakota, for the past 30 years, but *NEWS FLASH* the new Miss America is what America looks like these days.<br />
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In my neighborhood, alone, there are at least a dozen different ethnicities. We have everything from Chinese, Persian, Indian, Pakistani, Korean, Mexican, African-American, African Africans, to just plain, old white folks. We get together on occasion to have neighborhood BBQs, talk about ways to keep our neighborhood safe and clean, and complain about traffic. Do you really think I care that we are the only Jewish family in our neighborhood? Not as long as we are allowed to live in peace, do our own thing, and live happily. I would like to believe most people feel this way, but after the Miss America ordeal, I'm not sure anymore.<br />
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I don't understand why there is a faction in the media that perpetuates the notion that if America isn't white, it isn't right. Given our country's history of discrimination, racism, and prejudice, you would think the people perpetuating these messages would know that no good can come from promoting racial hatred. Our country was designed as a melting pot where all cultures and peoples are welcomed to come and build a life for themselves and their families. Think about how boring the U.S. would be if there were only three or four cultures. What would our restaurant selections look like?!?<br />
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When I was in grade school, I remember we had a Flag Day assignment where we had to write what we liked best about America. The 8 yr. old me wrote something to the effect of, 'I like the U.S.A. because everybody looks different. In China people don't look different, but in the U.S.A. we all look different.' I remember my mother giving me a kiss on the forehead and bragging to her friend about what I had written. It's 32 years later and I still feel the same, although I'm a bit more enlightened to the regional differences in appearance of Chinese people.<br />
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I'm glad that our new Miss America is of Indian decent. In a way, I'm glad that there was a big racist outcry, because I'm sick of Fox News and the Right Wing putting the message out there that racism doesn't exist. It does in a big way, and is often perpetuated by the very same people who claim it doesn't exist. Often in order to incite change, an entity must be shown what needs to change, and we need to do a lot of changing.<br />
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It would bring me endless joy to begin a concrete, national conversation on how we can educate our children and our media to be less racist, only then can we tackle other important issues like the fact that it's 2013 and we still have televised beauty contests.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-80751860518132633632013-08-09T10:31:00.000-07:002013-08-09T10:31:02.230-07:00Parental Privacy & Reality Check20 years ago if I told you I woke up covered in pee, your response would have been, "Wow! You must have been really wasted last night", or "Geez! That guy you were with must have been really wasted last night." Fast forward to this morning. I woke up covered in pee thanks to a toddler who forgot to visit the potty before crawling into bed right, smack dab, between my husband and me last night. This pee incident concludes a very tension-filled 12 hours where I have been asking myself why I didn't know that becoming a parent meant giving up basic privacy rights. <br />
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I know that becoming a parent means you change everything about how you think and live, but just once, I would like to be able to use the bathroom without having someone knock on the door, yell to me at the door, or just come in through the door. When they were younger, they actually sat on my lap while I was on the potty, and would get angry or upset when I removed them from my lap, so I could wipe. None of those fucking, 'life with kids is beautiful' parenting books ever tell you that, but it happens to all moms!<br />
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And don't get me started on the sex life! Once upon a time, there was something called morning sex, and my memory is extremely cloudy due to the passing years, but I seem to recall enjoying it. On the weekends, my husband and I used to lounge around in bed until close to noon, sometimes asleep, sometimes awake, then when we did get up, we enjoyed the whole day together. Now, it's 8:30 am on the weekends when I'm usually roused by my toddler kicking me in the head, because she sleeps like a disturbed puppy having a squirrel chasing dream. It's all about breakfast production, getting dressed, rushing out to a lesson, and figuring out what activity to do that day, because so help you God if you don't have a plan and the kids have to sit around the house.<br />
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On some lazy Sundays, we used to have afternoon sex, but gone are those days as well. Even if the kids are watching movies downstairs or playing with toys, they can (and will) at anytime barge into your room and demand your time. This means that any semblance of a sex life is relegated to evening hours between the time you finally get the kids to sleep until the time they come in and want to get in your bed with you, and even then, there are no guarantees.<br />
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My nearly 10 yr. old now believes that our house is going to be robbed at any time even though we live in one of the safest suburbs in SoCal, have an alarm system on our house, and have a private security service that patrols our neighborhood. She is using this excuse to sleep on the sofa in our bedroom, and throws a fit every time we lock our door. My revenge for her ridiculous behavior is that in about three years she is going to figure out why we lock our doors for about 45 minutes in the evening, and will be completely grossed out. Until then, we have to try to steal, sometimes successfully, sometime not, less than an hour of privacy to actually be a married couple.<br />
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I've always been tempted to write a book about what parenting is actually like, but the problem is that if I did, no one would want to have kids. Don't get me wrong, I love my little monsters, but the preconceived notion of what parenting will be like, as opposed to what it actually is, are polar opposites. When I brought Shayna home from the hospital, I envisioned this beautiful scene of me spending time lounging on the couch with my new, sweet baby and my oldest daughter cuddling up together to enjoy the new life in our house. Instead, I got a colicy infant who kept a very sore and tired me trying to figure out how to sooth it, while the resentful 6 yr. old pouted, screamed, and developed a new war cry yelling, "You care only for the baby!". <br />
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I've been told by other parents to enjoy this time with my kids while they're young, but I would be lying if I didn't say that I am looking forward to getting a few things back as they get older like an undisturbed bathroom run, a bed with only myself and one other person in it, and more than a 2-3 hour window for sex. The kicker is that by the time we have free reign again for intimacy, I will be menopausal and he will be over-the-hill, but at least we won't have to watch the Disney Channel anymore.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-47630336984271654952013-08-03T19:58:00.000-07:002013-08-03T19:58:44.497-07:00Revenge of the Summer Kid MoviesWhile sitting through a painful viewing of the cinematic excellence known as "Smurfs 2", I began to advance my theory about the people who make summer movies for kids. These people hate their parents and have made it their life's work to torture other parents. <br />
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This theory first appeared in my head as I sat through the minion-filled abortion that was "Despicable Me 2" with my enthusiastic 4th grader and my toddler. It was further advanced while attempting a drive-thru viewing of "Epic", the film that not even Beyonce's voice, could save. After an afternoon of watching little blue-skinned cliches dance across the screen, I'm convinced my theory is 100% correct.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I don't hate animation or all children's films. "Wreck It Ralph" was a great movie with a good plot and terrific characters. I liked "Tangled" even though the whole princess thing has never found a place in my heart, and I'm a really big fan of the "Monsters, Inc." and "Toy Story" franchises. I just find that, much like grown up movies coming out of Hollywood, most of the summer releases lack substance.<br />
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In a way, the thing that pisses me off the most is that the people who make summer movies for kids know they don't have to try that hard. Summer is a long stretch of time, and the options of what can be done with kids might seem vast at first, particularly in Southern California, but after awhile, you want to do something different, that doesn't involve a potential 3rd degree sunburn. Movies are always a fun idea, but the crap they put out in the summer just ruins the whole experience, particularly if you happen to be a fan of animation.<br />
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I love animation. I'm one of those freaky people who have been watching cartoons since I was three years old, and never stopped. On any given late night, my television watching includes a selection of what my husband refers to with disgust as "your fucking weird cartoons", such as something from Adult Swim along with reruns of "South Park" or "Family Guy". I nearly came unglued when "Metalocalypse" appeared on t.v., because it was heavy metal plus cartoons plus dark humor plus a whole lot of wrong. What could be more perfect than that!<br />
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The sad thing is that the summer isn't over. I still have to stomach "Planes", which is clearly a ripoff of "Cars", and "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2". The only positive thing about these crappy summer kid movies is that they only last about an hour and 15 minutes, so by the time I've made it through a tub of glorious movie theater popcorn that I shouldn't be eating, I only have to sit through 30 minutes of lame jokes before I can go back to the minivan and pretend I enjoyed the experience just as much as my kids.<br />
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I guess the only thing that could be worse are the inevitable 'tween movies that are sure to come as my daughter nears her 10th birthday. She has already put me on notice that the One Direction movie is coming out soon. I know I'm going to be the one stuck watching it with her wishing the whole time that I could fast forward through the next four years of movies, and go straight to the teenage horror film obsession, but I know that will be a big cheat, too, because by the time her movie tastes improve, she won't want her mom to go with her.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-12386935737675451742013-07-25T14:38:00.000-07:002013-07-25T14:38:02.646-07:00Revenge of the WeinerI have to take a moment to sound off about this Anthony Weiner scandal, not because I want to. I don't live in New York City. I don't care who they elect as mayor. I am not interested in who sends naughty pics to who. My beef with this scandal is not about his indiscretion, but about the way the media is making Huma Abedin out to be some sort of idiot doormat.<br />
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I liked Anthony Weiner as a politician. I felt that he fought for some strong, progressive legislation, was a champion for the working class, and I agreed with most of his politics. When he was busted the first time, I really didn't care about what he had done. My philosophy has always been that it's no one's business how you get your freak on, as long as it's done between two consenting adults. I didn't think it was necessary for him to resign the first time, but he did. <br />
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I thought the worst part of him getting caught the first time was that he was stupid to think that the photos wouldn't get out. In the great age of the internet, every photo and piece of info you put out there is subject to regurgitation at any time, by anyone for any reason. <br />
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When Tony decided to run for mayor, I wasn't surprised. You can never keep a good politician down. I didn't think for a second that the scandal would matter much to most New Yorkers, because they are a fairly down-to-earth group of people. Plus, after two terms of Mayor "Fee Increase" Bloomberg, they could use someone way savvier to run their city.<br />
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Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like Tony will get his chance to run the Big Apple, because he was busted again sending dick pics. Again, I don't care how one gets off and I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to see the twits or the pics. I don't want to hear some spin-crafted explanation from him or Huma. I didn't care when Bill Clinton screwed around on Hillary, or when Elliot Spitzer got busted with hookers, or when Mark Sanford made his trip to Argentina, or when any other politician got caught having extra-marital relations, because it is personal. It is that particular couple's issue to deal with, and I'm going to go out on a limb and say that most people probably feel the same way.<br />
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The one thing that resonated loudly during this whole Weinergate scandal is Huma telling the press that she has forgiven him and that this issue is private. She is 100% correct, and I'm really sick of people, newspapers, pundits, and what not, bashing this woman. I realize that the whole "stand by your man" political wife thing is old and can look somewhat degrading. However, we don't live in their marriage. We don't know them, personally. We don't know what they talk about at night. I think what everyone might be worried about is the possibility that maybe Huma doesn't give that much of a damn. Perhaps she's more upset about the public embarrassment than she is about Tony talking to internet women that may or may not exist.<br />
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He is a dumbass for not learning his lesson the first time. At this point, I don't think he should be mayor, because he's an idiot, not because he did freaky things to get off. As for Huma, she is a strong, smart lady. I think she is more than qualified to make her own decisions about her relationships and family without the rest of the world sounding off.<br />
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<br />Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-14332794686942393142013-07-23T15:08:00.003-07:002013-07-23T15:08:39.462-07:00Not All Motherhood is Created EqualIf you haven't heard by now, you are probably a deaf, mute hermit who has been living in a cave, the royal couple had a new prince. The news coverage of this has been so ridiculous, I've had to relegate my television to a "Wii-only" device, so as not to vomit a little in my mouth every time I see an aerial shot of that freakin' hospital.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for the couple and their new baby, as I would be for any couple who eagerly awaited and had a successful, problem-free birth of a first child. The problem I have with this, aside from the disgusting level of news coverage, is the absurd idea that the prince and the duchess are going to be parents just like the rest of us.<br />
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In this amazing age of technology, we are able to have access to people like never before. If you would have told my 13 yr. old self that at some point in the future, I would be getting weekly messages directly from John Taylor of Duran Duran, I would have been on Cloud 9 and spent the rest of my early teen years anxiously waiting. On a lot of levels, this new access is cool, but the downside is believing that access is an equalizer.<br />
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Yes, I see FaceBook updates from famous people, but they are a one way communication of only the information that the person/artist wants me to see. I find them interesting, they are also helpful if it's an artist I like to see live, and always entertaining, but I don't believe for a second that if I met that entertainer in person I could walk up to them like an old pal and consider myself in their circle. However, I don't know that younger people, perhaps around the demographic of 18-25, think the same way.<br />
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This belief is re-enforced when I see op-eds penned by writers in their late 20s/early 30s giving Duchess Kate advice on late night feedings and play dates. I saw the same thing when Kim Kardashian had her baby. Does anyone with half a brain really think that these women are getting up in the middle of the night with their infants? Let's face it, I'm a dedicated mom, but if I had the ability to hire staff to deal with my infants at night, I would have done it in a heartbeat.<br />
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The truth is that Duchess Kate, Kim, and other celebrity mommies don't have the same motherhood experience as the rest of us, because they can pay someone to deal with most of the shitty parts of being a mom. The late nights, the diaper changing, the loss of sleep and personal time, having to make a choice between working and staying at home, none of these issues come up when you have people whose sole purpose is to make sure they never come up, no matter what their Twitter twits say.<br />
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Yes, they are mothers in the respect that they gave birth to a child who will, hopefully, be the amazing focal point of their lives. They will feel love, worry, joy, frustration, anxiety, anger, happiness, and all of the other emotions that go along with the role of motherhood, but until I see Duchess Kate leaving the palace at 2:00 am in her pajamas, hair disheveled with bags under her eyes, getting into the minivan to drive her screaming newborn prince around aimlessly just to get him to go to back to sleep, I'm going to ask that we stop pretending that her motherhood experience is the same your average suburb mom's.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-84395916229221674712013-07-20T10:35:00.002-07:002013-07-20T10:50:28.990-07:00The Bomber & The CoverRolling Stone's cover of Boston bomber, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, has really pissed a lot of people off. I get why the people of Boston are angry about it, and why others are angry, too. Just a year ago, people would have looked at Tsarnaev and thought he was a decent young man. Several retailers have refused to carry this issue of the magazine, because they feel that featuring Tsarnaev on the cover glamorizes the terrible act that he is now in prison for, whereas others are crying that not selling the magazine is akin to censorship.<br />
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In this case, I think Rolling Stone could have done a story on Tsarnaev without the cover. I'm the biggest supporter of anti-censorship and freedom of the press. Right now, a New York Times reporter has been told by an appellant court to reveal his sources, and he has refused to the point that he is willing to go to jail. I'm 100% behind this guy, and I really hope this decision is overturned once it gets to the Supreme Court.<br />
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I'm not supporting Tsarnaev on the cover, because unlike the Time magazine cover that featured Charles Manson as Man of the Year back in the '70s, our culture has changed drastically. In previous decades, if you saw a bad man on the cover of a magazine, you automatically assumed that the story inside would be about how bad the guy or his act was. There was a general opinion of distain when a criminal was featured on the cover of a magazine. I know this Rolling Stone article about Tsarnaev will be a well-written account about how a seemingly good, immigrant kid went from run-of-the-mill college student to the murderer who placed a backpack full of explosives behind a child, knowing that child would be killed the moment the backpack detonated.<br />
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The problem is that we live in a culture that is now so obsessed with celebrity and reality television that why you are on the cover doesn't matter as the fact that you are on the cover. Ten years ago, Tsarnaev on the cover would have been no big deal, but now, Tsarnaev on the cover means he is being talked about. He has elevated himself from being one of the faceless masses to someone people are talking about, and it doesn't matter that none of the talk is positive. Today's culture, particularly the majority of the 18-28 yr. old population, has been so trained to think that if you are a regular person, you are nothing, that bad publicity is still publicity.<br />
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A few years ago, a group of teens were breaking into celebrities' homes and robbing them. When they were finally nabbed, all the ringleader cared about was the fact that the celebrities, whose homes she robbed, knew her name and who she was. It didn't matter that she was facing a heavy prison sentence, she was on television and in magazines.<br />
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The brilliant artist, Andy Warhol, once said that everyone would be famous for 15 minutes, and thankfully he didn't live long enough to see that day. I imagined when he said that, he might have been thinking that everyone would do something fabulous that would make them famous, even for a fleeting second. I don't think he ever envisioned a time when doing the most vile acts would make one eligible for celebrity status.<br />
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The majority of the reality "stars" add nothing to our culture. From the Kardashians to Spencer and Heidi to Courtney and her geriatric hubby to Honey Boo Boo, reality television is the bottom of our cultural barrel. Not only does it glorify the worst traits of human beings, it celebrates them, and makes others think that vile, ignorant and repugnant behavior is the quick way to success and celebrity. Forget talent, creating art, bettering society or doing something meaningful, just be the worst and most negatively outrageous,<br />
and you too, can be on the cover of the magazine.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14552620.post-62169861504607050372013-07-10T15:33:00.001-07:002013-07-10T15:33:57.643-07:00The Mommy DilemmaThere are a million dilemmas you end up with when you become a mom, but the one that's been nagging me as of late is a doozy, and has me questioning my purpose in life.<br />
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Nine years ago, when I had Rachael, I tried my hand at being a stay-at-home mom, and I nearly went crazy. I got depressed, started this blog, and felt like I had lost my identity. I remedied that feeling by going back to work full-time. Yep, the stay-at-home mom gig is so difficult, I only lasted 24 months at it.<br />
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I worked full-time up until my sixth month of pregnancy with Shayna. The job I had at the time had not turned out to be what I wanted, and my boss was an extreme micromanager, something 99% of the workforce hates, so I quit. I thought I would be home for a year or so, and then would go back to work full-time, again. However, no one told me that the more kids you have, the more complicated the schedule becomes. About two seconds after I gave birth, it became clear to me that resuming a full-time work schedule may have to wait.<br />
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In order to not go crazy, I started my own business, and for a few years, it went gangbusters. It was during the height of the Great Recession, and organizations needed to do their major fundraisers, but couldn't afford to hire full-time staff to do it, so they hired me. I swooped in, gave them good results at a set price, and only made them commit to one year at a time. All was well until the economy turned and the organizations were able to hire full-time again. Now I only have half the business I did in previous years, and way too much time on my hands.<br />
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Ideally, I would love to go back to work full-time, and enjoy the full-time schedule (and full-time salary) that comes with an actual job. I like working, always have. I'm great at what I do, and I love helping the organizations I'm with reach and exceed their goals. Unfortunately, I live in the real world where my soon-to-be 4th grader gets out of school everyday at 2:00 pm, except for Wednesdays when she gets out at noon. That's right, I said noon. Wednesday gives you enough time for a quick workout, a shower without leg shaving, and right back in the car for pick up.<br />
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Through my own business, I pull in the equivalent of a part-time salary, and although my husband would go out of his mind if he heard me say this, it's not the money that matters the most. I find myself with an abundance of time on my hands. I have tried to fill it with exercise, revamping certain internal items for my business, and other activities, but nothing comes close to the fulfillment of getting up everyday to go to work.<br />
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Now, I face the dilemma of working full-time and subjecting my 4 yr. old and 9 1/2 yr. old to full-time daycare, or giving them the mom who is at home for them at the expense of potential earnings, professional development, and my sanity. I suppose every mom faces this unless they have to work in order to pay bills, so staying at home isn't an option, or they've structured their lives specifically so they can stay home. I envy those women with their clearcut direction.<br />
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I know my Fall will be far busier than my Summer. I will be working on two events, one of which is my biggest event of the year. Perhaps I will look into obtaining that Master's degree that I've been considering doing for the past 10 years. Either way, it doesn't relieve my present boredom, but at least by the end of the summer, I will have some killer abs.Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02159268143775400457noreply@blogger.com0