All the Modern Ladies, or, a Rant against the Ranters.

Why is it that people who are uncomfortable with change strive to make the change a moral thing? (If that’s the case, then there’s a special place in hell for Apple.) Look, anyone who uses the internet knows its pitfalls. It’s a time-trap, for one. You jump on to check the hours of your local Kroger and end up reading about the mating habits of the Duggars. Then there’s Facebook–which has basically put the divorce lawyers on an economic boom. And don’t get me started on the smart phone, which has robbed children of the mothers who before smart phones never read a magazine or watched a soap or talked on the land-line or over the fence to the neighbors or got really distracted trying to build a fire in their cave and actually paid constant and vital attention to their kids. You get the idea.

So the people rise up in protest, and the links go viral…viral…meaning online about the evils of the modern era. Which we read on our smart phones and cry “hear-hear!”

I recently read a thread (because I’m a glutton for self-punishment and bad blood pressure) online about Pinterest. This lady was freely bashing it, even though she admittedly didn’t use it, saying people should have original thought. First of all, you’re right lady, original ideas only. Glad you didn’t get your hairstyle off of Friends and that you hand-wove that shirt-form-thingy you’re wearing out of cat-wool. When I posed the question (it’s less offensive if it’s an interrogative, right?) asking if it were fair to bash something she hadn’t tried, she stuck by her guns. (Well, not guns… some other social-media approved thing you can stick by.)

The thing is, the internet has turned us ladies into 5 year olds. You know, some people post stuff on Instagram to make others feel bad. Who is this mystery lady, maliciously frosting ombre cupcakes to post on Instagram to ensure that Jennifer from small-group has a really crappy day?

“But it’s fake!” you cry. Ladies, please. You know our gender can’t use that argument. Pretty sure that padding in your push-up bra didn’t come with your birth certificate, and your eyelashes aren’t actually brownish-black. What, you think Cher actually has hair? As if the bad-food-pictures online aren’t enough, do you really want to see my pile of dirty dishes? You know, there was a time when showing your ugly was considered inappropriate. Then Wal-Mart came to town, and it got kinda normal. Here’s the thing, in an age where girls are instagramming their nekked fannies, and women are slinging around words like placenta, take the little bits of beauty and be thankful for it. We need more beauty.

What if those evil-posters are actually sharing their gifts to the world? What, the lady who raised chickens and then served it on her hand-thrown pottery to her natural-birthed-free-range baby isn’t allowed to share of herself with the world? Because she’s got too much going on that’s good? We were meant to share. Preachers and motivational speakers share their thoughts and gifts with the world. Musicians give of themselves and their gifts to the world. Where on earth would we even BE without Oprah? Nobody would be having Ah-ha moments! You think I don’t feel bad about myself by stuff I see online? Of course I do! I’ve got a Facebook friend whose post-baby going home outfit was a bikini. Ok, I’m exaggerating, but barely. Thing is, she took care of her body. She didn’t become BFFs with the Pringle can. And guess what? This isn’t the Mary Lekoshere show.

So take inspiration, not offense. Rejoice with those who rejoice. Band together as sisters and be thankful. Get that joint Facebook account with your husband, and make really sappy new-baby compliments under his name and confuse everybody over your siamese-twin-birthday.

In the words our the great modern-day poet, “Shake it off.”

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Resolutions, or, How I Intend to Improve Myself in 2015, or Dream On

I hesitated to “publish” my resolutions. It seems a little presumptuous at this point. Kinda like telling someone about the dream you had last night. Why do people do that? Why would the listener care to emotionally invest themselves in something that never happened? But, this is a blog, and it is personal, and you, dear reader, are not forced to read it. 🙂 Of all the dreamers in the world, I am chief. So giving someone like me a new year is basically forking over a narcotic. Nevermind that I have a terrible track-record for resolutions. There’s always 2015.:)  Would love to hear what yours are! 1. Read my Bible through. Never have accomplished this one. Even tho I have a Bible that conveniently breaks down the reading for me. Mothers of young kids don’t have time for this you say? Tell that to my Netflix que. No more excuses! 2. Stop biting my nails. If for no other reason than to remove this resolution from future lists. And to make my fingers look thinner. (See resolution #6) 3.Will not participate in any controversial status or debate on Facebook. In other words, I will improve my blood pressure in 2015. If someone is honestly asking an opinion, then I will PM them. Stop cheering. You’re welcome. *Disclaimer. it is possible that my humor in a status may cross the line into controversial. 4. Interactively play with my child/children 1 hour a day. Gasp! You Don’t already! No. But I produced and maintain one-of-a kind playmates for them. So that’s something. 5. Do art for 1 hour a day. This is a goal, not a life-sentence. There will be days that are not art-friendly. 6. No list would be complete without some dream, I mean goal, of fitness. 🙂 A few months ago I went on an insane diet. It worked beautifully. I got thin. For like 12 hours. Then I climbed climbed climbed to even greater heights than I would have imagined. Sigh. Now, when I put my arms to my side, I feel squish. My jeans keep getting all passive-agressive on me, “You know, your thighs and I would be better friends if you’d put down the Cheeze-Its.” Some women, when they put on weight, just get more lush. When I put on pounds, I look like I should be the bare-bellied star of a painting in the Met. And it’s not because I’m putting an extra tablespoon of greek yogurt on my avocado at lunch. It’s because I’m making poor choices all.day.long. Because food is my drug-of-choice. Another consideration, given my time of life and desire for more kids, is another pregnancy could be looming. Maybe when 2016 hits I will be monstrously pregnant. But this time, I hope that I don’t fat-out of my clothes and go shopping for a Christmas tree in lesbian shorts. So this is my crazy plan. For a year, I’m saying no to bread and sweets, except on special occasions. Don’t give me too much credit, “special occasion” is used pretty loosely. The exception is one piece of chocolate a day, and the food-group of Lattes. So, tonight, when I watch the glittery ball descend, possibly on time, I will feel challenged and hopeful.

what I’ve said before…