Brief Thoughts on Aziz Ansari and What The Heck to Do...

A partial address regarding the #metoo movement but mostly an address regarding the Aziz Ansari articles posted just about everywhere right about now, sourced from this article, about a woman named "Grace":

AP: The Washington Examiner

It's important to teach women and girls to speak up. To say NO. To say what they want. To say YES enthusiastically when that is what they mean. The problem, however, is that we've been taught as girls and women that saying NO can mean more aggression, more pain, more fear. What do we say to the girl who is in the car with a boy at night driving on a deserted highway and he pulls over to rape her? If she says NO clearly and loudly - won't this bigger, stronger boy still do exactly what he meant to do and no one will be there to help? Will she be safer if she goes along, stays quiet, pretends to like it? It is problematic to assume that any time she says no she will be respected and heard. 

She won't. She won't. She won't.

Should we teach it? Yes. We must. 

The reason the Aziz Ansari story is so huge is because it touches on all these things. We want there to be black and white. We want there to be easy answers. We want to be able to simply teach our girls how to be mighty and imagine that will protect them from predators. 

If "Grace" had spoken up with a strong voice and said

NO. 

I hate this. 

Get away from me...

Would Ansari have stopped? 

I'm going to say likelihood is high that he would. He did when she was most clear. But what about those times when your no is not enough. When your pushing away is not enough? When you are alone and there is no one to hear you screaming? When the person you are with is not there to respect you or trying in any way to be a "good person"? And how do we teach girls what the heck to do? And how to know the difference?

I am publishing this here because I do not know the answers, but I am so so grateful that we as a society are finally having this conversation.

IT'S ABOUT TIME.

It is time.

It is time.

#metoo

#timesup

On Being Pretty

I have spent a lot of my life working really hard to be "pretty".

I have tried to buy clothes that are "flattering".  I have thought about how the "style" might "work for me".  I have tried to make my hair make sense in a world where wavy hair with fifty thousand cow-licks doesn't really make any sense.

I have struggled over favorite colors, perfumes, deodorants, shaving or not shaving, tattoo placement, lip gloss, make-up or lack thereof, and how to take the perfect selfie.

And last night I stood at a technical rehearsal for the experimental theatre ensemble I'm a part of with three of the most beautiful women I know, and we all stared in the full length mirrors of the dressing room and talked about the things that bother us about our bodies.

You know what?

I'm kinda done with that.

I've said this before, but now I think... I really might mean it.

I've come to a place where I actually like myself.

Not the person I think I should be, but the person I actually am.

I like purple.  My second favorite color is green.  I like sweaters and boots and scarves.  I like nail polish in weird colors.  I am bad at clipping my nails and remembering to groom certain parts of my body.  This morning I decided to shave my pubic hair into a weird shape.  I want at least four more tattoos.  I don't care if anybody else thinks they're cool or pretty, because they're for me.  Not them.  My eyes are just brown.  My hair is brown with streaks of blonde and grey and it is unruly and my husband cuts it for me at home.

I have ceased to be interested in pretty.  I am interested now in just being me.

I don't want to stand in front of the mirror with my three gorgeous friends talking about how much we hate our bodies.  They are beautiful.  I am beautiful.  And so are all of our flaws.  All the fat in the wrong places and the weird eyebrows and the armpit hair and the broad shoulders and the bubble butt.  Flaws are neat.  They make us who we freaking are.

I like to make weird faces.

I like to play character parts and dress in suspenders and newsboy hats and Doc Martens.  I like ripped up jeans.  I like vests.  I like swing dancing and little black dresses and silver eye shadow and painting random shapes on my face.

I don't know...  I feel like...  now that I get that just being yourself and living that out is one of the major points of being alive, I just want to get to it.  I'm so tired of hiding behind the things everybody else thinks I should be.

I've probably blogged about this subject here a hundred times, but I felt the need to blog again today because I think I've turned some kind of magic corner.  The other day I got an Instagram, and I posted a bunch of selfies today of me.  Just me.  Really tired me.  I was up til 2AM.  And I made a weird face.  And it wasn't pretty.  But it was great.  It was me.

Another Post About Beauty and Power

I know.

I know.

I owe you a bajillion (or like 4) more posts on the Beattitudes.

I know.

I've also been in hiatus for about a bajillion months.

I know.

My life has been changing at a crazy fast pace, and unfortunately, I've been too busy and too wrapped up in my new life and my truly unleashed brain to share it with my larger community.

But today there is a little something that I need to share, because it hit me this morning, and I feel like you might need to hear it.

Last night I had the opportunity to photograph a dance off event.

At first I was nervous.  Especially because my little theatre ensemble was participating and I had already messed the thing up once during rehearsal.  I was also nervous because I was surrounded by people I didn't know.  Not just any sort of people I didn't know, but people I would like to know, and that made it even more difficult, because I wanted to make friends, but I'm horrid at small talk, so I mostly sat in a corner with my camera and captured other people's moments.

I'm okay with that.

And maybe that means I have a whole slew of other issues I'm just not ready to talk about right now, but ignoring that, I want to get to the dance off and the things I saw and learned.

The most important thing was that there are so many empowered, talented, amazing women in the world.  Smart, funny, women who don't honestly care two licks about what anyone else thinks of them.  Women who are assured in themselves and their sexuality and their sense of being.

I had met some of these women before.  They were often hanging out at the artspace where the performance was held and my group rehearses.  Just normal women.  Doing their thing.

I noticed little things.

Their tattoos.

Their unshaven armpits.

Their leg hair.

Their vibrant smiles.

Then last night, I noticed their talent.

I guess I knew they were talented.  They are a group of circus folk, after all, and I knew they were performers, but they were performers unlike any I'd ever seen.

They were able to just be on stage.  Just let everything hang out everywhere - the good, the bad, the ugly - their entire personhood was there, beaming brightly into the lens of my camera.

I was frustrated with my inability to truly capture the magic I felt.

That these were women.  In charge.  Tough.  Intelligent.  Charming.  Amazing.  Brilliant.  Lovely.  It was so powerful.

One of the craziest things was that the event started 45 minutes after the time listed on the invitations.  This makes me insane.  I always feel like it's so rude to be late.  I haven't changed my mind on that - but the way they handled it...  they made no apology.  45 minutes late, they took the stage and the microphone and handled it.  They were in charge.  They were commanding.  And no one cared one iota after the beginning of the thing that it started so late: empowerment.

It wasn't just the circus women.  It was all the women in attendance.  All the women who took the stage and awed me with their power and beauty and inspiration.  Their beauty had nothing to do with their physical appearance.  It was their energy.  Their prowess.  Their focus and ability and aura that just floored me time and time again.

When I thought it couldn't be any more empowering or amazing another woman would step up to the plate and bring me nearly to tears with the sheer magic of it all.

The best part for me was seeing my friend K take the stage.

We're still in the tentative stages of our friendship.  We work together in the ensemble of which I'm a part.  She's an incredible improv artist.  One of the best I've ever seen.  I love being on stage with her because she's so out there with her self.

But I know, because of some conversations had within the group, that K struggles with body issues.

Who doesn't?  I certainly do.

I've been feeling pretty darned horrible about my appearance the last few months and I don't seem to be able to muster up the self-discipline to really do something about it.  

Last night, she danced to Beyonce's Single Ladies.  My photography was terrible, really, at capturing her on camera.  I was stunned at her energy, her sexiness, her ability to go to that place with her dance, with her body.  She's gorgeous.  Stunning.  Sexy.  Fierce.

She has nothing to worry about.

I want that.

Even on stage I can't always get it.  These women can.  These women do.

It's my hope that every woman can get to that place of power.  Of empowerment.  Of strength.

It's enchanting.

Cute Boys and Sexting.

I'm writing to address this article from the Daily Mail.  And I am angry.

In the article, the problem with "sexting", which the article defines roughly as sending sexual pictures via cell phone, is addressed.

The biggest issue, according to the article, is that young girls are sending boys nude and sexually explicit photos of themselves at the boys' request.  These photos are then distributed around school, around the internet, and eventually many of them end up on websites frequented by pedophiles.  It is not a small number of girls who are sending these pictures.  And it is not a small number that go viral.  One girl said that her sexualized photograph is the first one of her to appear when doing a Google search of her name.

This is all very sad.  Extremely sad.

But it's not why I'm furious.

I'm furious because this article talks about how we need to talk to our daughters.  About how we need to tell our young women that this is inappropriate, wrong, bad, vulnerable...  that it could affect their futures.  And it says nothing about what we need to tell our young men.

I find it wrong on many levels.

First of all, young women who do this are not wrong or bad or horrible people.  They are girls who want acceptance, love, popularity, kindness, value, and affection.  They are after something real.  Something that at the age of 13 or 14 they feel can only come from a cute boy.  I know, because I was one of those girls.  I would absolutely, positively, have had these types of pictures of me out there.  And it has nothing to do with my parents or how they "failed" me.  And it had nothing to do with me being "that kind of girl".  It had everything to do with the fact that boys in this age group are taught that they are owed something.  It had everything to do with the fact that there is some kind of sick rite of passage that allows boys to think they have a right to act as conqueror.  And girls are taught that this is acceptable.  And boys are taught that they are owed.  And that it is appropriate.  And that there will be no repercussions for them.  In fact, there might be kudos, raised status, and praise.

When we are very young women sitting in kindergarten class and a boy is pulling our pigtails or pushing us on the playground or calling us names or stealing our swing and we come crying to an authority - be it a parents, teacher, or other adult - so often we are told "he picks on you because he likes you". "He pulls your hair because he likes you."  "Oh, it's cute, you have a little boyfriend."  And we internalize this.  But we don't understand flirtation.  To us, it looks like boys are mean because they like me.  Boys hurt me when they like me.  Boys humiliate me when they like me.  And the boy is not punished because they are so cute.  And we girls are taught that the cute boys are the valuable boys.  It's a cute boy you want to catch.  And so a cycle begins.  And there are victims.  And there are conquerors.

And in middle school and high school our hormones kick in and there is a whole other type of victim and a whole other type of conqueror and we are still young and we do not see this change and we do not see the difference between the hair pulling and the name calling and the boy telling us that he loves us and because he loves us he wants to have these pictures of us.  He wants us to perform this sexual favor, this sexual act... he wants us to write him a steamy letter.  We think it is normal for our asses to be grabbed and our breasts to be fondled in the hallway.  And we do not expect that he will share the picture with our peers or that he will pass the letter around the lunch table because somehow things are twisted in our minds - we see marriage as a place where men treat women with some kind of sanctity but we see this abuse as the rite of passage we must wade through in order to get there.  We believe at this stage that these young boys really like us and that they want these things because someday we will be married and it will be okay and YES we believe that.

And we leave the nice guys in the dust because we've been socialized to fall in love with the jerk.

Some of us end up marrying the jerk.

Some of us date a jerk and then we wake up and shift our paradigm and decide that society has lied to us and we pursue the boy who will treat us with kindness.

Some of us are lucky and see through the lie before we lose our dignity or our parents' trust - but we are often ridiculed for it by our peers and it is hard to see it through to a pleasant end.

I don't think that girls should send these pictures to their boyfriends.  Ever.  And girls need to be told that it is okay to say NO.  Girls need to be taught that their value is not wrapped up in their boyfriend or their popularity at school or their "reputation".  Girls need to be told that they are beautiful and awesome and powerful and that they don't need to have a boyfriend to prove it.  Girls need to be valued for their personalities and their intellect and their achievements.  Girls need to know that the boy treating them like dirt on the playground is not cute.  And that bullying is bullying is bullying no matter what your gender identification.  Girls need to know that they are not a prize to be won but a person with whom to have a relationship and that relationships are not based upon physical affection or the amount of information or body parts you reveal and anyone who thinks otherwise is not worth your time.

And it's about time we stop talking about girls and what they need to to and their responsibilities in an already victim blaming culture where boys think it's okay to take photographs of their rape victims and post them online as a disgusting rite of passage trophy piece to prove to their friends something about society's twisted image of masculinity.

It's time that we told boys that it is not okay to pull a girls pigtails.  It is not okay to hurt someone, period.  It is not okay to ask your girlfriend to pose for pornography.

It is important and very much okay to value women.  To protect them when they are smaller or weaker than you might be.  That a good boyfriend and a great man is someone who stands up for girls.  Who treats them with kindness.  Who understands consent and that consent isn't always about yes or no but about an intelligent assessment of a situation in which everyone is comfortable - and yes, it is your responsibility to recognize if a girl is actually interested vs. terrified and no matter what is going on in your pants you need to understand feelings, emotions, and tone of voice and if you can't do that yet, then you have no business in the bedroom with a woman.  I don't care how old you are.

We need to teach boys the consequences of asking a girl for a picture like this.  Explain what it will do to her and why that isn't okay:  It's not okay to ruin someone's life as your rite of passage.

Of course we need to explain that to girls too.  But we also need to understand that for young people who go to school the school environment is their world and survival there is much more important at this stage than survival in "the real world.".  Young people would much rather go through a school day upheld as valuable and beautiful by their peers without bullying and pain than be respected by a circle of adults.  They will do what it takes to survive in that environment even to their future detriment.

I wrote in my diary when I was 14 years old:

"A note to my future self when I am a teacher - remember that right now, getting a boy to like you is the most important thing.  Having a boyfriend is really important and you really feel like you are in love with them."

And I don't want to let that young girl down.

She wrote that there for a reason.  For posterity.  To remember.

Let us not fail her.

Let us empower her.  Let us help her to understand what real love looks like.  What real men look like.  How to say no.  How to see the difference between affection and victimization.  Give her tools.  Give her words to say.  Give her social value outside of a boyfriend.

And let us empower our young men.  Even through the bullying they might encounter on their end when they say this is wrong and refuse to share the photo of the naked young girl or even refuse to look at it.  Explain to them the value of other people.  The value of women in our society and culture.  The value of standing up for others.

It is a cold and difficult world in our school system.  There are not enough teachers to see every action, move, note, and text message.  Kids are on their own for the majority of the day.  They need more tools to navigate the harsh realities of crowded hallways and clique-filled lunch tables and social anxiety and peer pressure.  Help them.  Have the hard conversations.  Value the things that are truly valuable.  Be happy when your daughter dates someone who isn't necessarily cute, but who treats her with respect and integrity.

And remember that it all starts with how we see their behavior on the playground.

Why You Should Vote.

It looks like a party.

But it wasn't.

Before the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was ratified in 1920, women couldn't vote. 

It was against the law.

It's something that seems so far removed from us here in 2012, but it's not.  It was less than 100 years ago. 

And at that time, the pervasive thought was that politics in general weren't women's business.  Some thought women weren't informed enough to vote.  Some thought they were too stupid, uneducated, and weak. 

And the fact is, some people still feel that way.

In the late 1800's and early 1900's, during the First Wave of Feminism, women wanted a change.  They were no longer content to sit on the sidelines and have their fates decided for them by the male collective.  They stood up to be counted.  They protested.  They held rallies.  It was a worldwide movement.  And it was hard.

Women were thrown in prison for asking to vote.  They were chained to walls.  They were beaten.  They were fed worm-infested food in prison and when they refused to eat it a tube was thrust down their throats to force-feed them until they vomited.  (Google: Alice Paul)

But it was worth it to them.

It was worth it to be treated equally: to have a say in the fate of their country, the fate of their families, the fates of their friends.  They took a risk and stood up to be counted.

They stood up for you.

There was no way for these First Wave Feminists to know if they would ever live to see the 19th Amendment ratified.  They had no way of knowing if they, themselves, would ever cast a vote.  But they put their hope in the future.  It was worth risking their lives. 

Honestly, I don't care who you vote for.  But you owe it to these women to at least show up at the polls.  Register to vote.  Get educated on the issues (it's insanely easy with the internet at your fingertips).  Cast a vote for the future.  Engage in politics with an educated voice.  You are able to do it because your fore-mothers marched, starved, sang, screamed, rallied, chanted, and endured through thick and thin to prove that you are worthy.

Oral Sex

I titled this "Oral Sex" because not only is that what this post is about, but I knew it would be eye-catching.  I also knew that when people typed it into Google hoping for some tips and tricks, they might just get this post instead, and gain a different sort of understanding.

I spent the past week at my parents' house, which gave me a rare opportunity to talk with my mom almost uninterrupted.

We talk via telephone often, but there are always chores or kids calling to me in the background, and my thoughts can get muddled.

We've become friends over these last several years, my mom and me.  It hasn't always been that way.  There was a lot of lost trust and argument and general dislike through the years... especially the teenage ones.  We have our differences now, but we've chosen the road of sorting them out over coffee, instead of estrangement, and I'm thankful.

This past week we got to talking about how things have changed since she was attending the public school system.

She told me about a movie that she watched on Lifetime that discussed oral sex in middle school, and how it is becoming so common - even at school.

I already knew this, unfortunately.

A school in our area ended up with separate lunch tables for boys and girls and banned recess because 11 - 13 year olds were using the time for, let's face it, blow-jobs.

For the girls, it didn't always feel like a choice.  Peer pressure was intense.  If you wanted a boyfriend, it was expected.  And when you're 12 or 13 and just slamming head-long into puberty, you desperately long for acceptance, especially by the opposite sex.  And the boys felt like - well - if he's getting it, then I deserve to have it too.  A dad even stood up at the parent meeting and announced that his son was just doing what he wished he could do at that age.

When I was in middle school I am certain this was happening, but it wasn't quite as common.  More common was groping in the hallway and during movies in the social studies classroom.

As a young girl I can't say that I enjoyed any of that, but I allowed it.

I didn't know what else to do.

I remember feeling incredible attraction to several different boys.  I remember wanting them to like me.  To choose me as their girlfriend.  To dance with me at the 8th Grade Dance.

I was a bit awkward, and so they didn't often choose me for for their girlfriend or their dance partner.  That would have been much too public an acceptance.  But they did grab my butt in the hallway.  They did touch my breasts in social studies class.  And so...  I thought... it seemed better than nothing.

At all ages, we women simply want to be thought beautiful, attractive, lovely. 

My daughter wears her dance costume covered in pink sequins and her pink hair bow and sparkly, strappy shoes and asks her daddy to dance with her.  Asks us to watch her put on a show.  Loves for us to delight in her beauty and personality.

We never really lose that.

It stays with us.  It just manifests in new ways.

We realize there is a great big world outside of our family and we'd like them to accept us too.  We want them to delight in us as we wished our parents would.  For some of us, our daddy's said yes to dancing.  Said yes to applauding our preschool shows.  For others, they turned away: ridiculed us, left our moms.  And for BOTH it is intensely difficult to navigate the pressures that lay before us when we hit middle school and are faced with boys who are riddled with hormones and educated by their peers and the pornographic media that is so readily available on the internet and all around us from the time we are born.

I don't blame the boys.  The media portrays sex as something they deserve in a dating relationship.  And it feels good... obviously.  Oral sex is "better" because it doesn't result in pregnancy.  It feels safer.  And it can be carried out under the lunch table or within a circle of your friends in the parking lot.

The thing is...  it's a really bad idea.  And without a serious committed relationship...  it's degrading.

First of all - oral sex can transmit the same diseases.  You can get them all, Ladies.  On the Lifetime program that my mom watched an STD infected so many girls there was a line stretching down the hallway outside the nurses office for treatment and testing.

But second, and really more importantly, this is about our dignity.

This is a huge loss for girls AND boys, and while boys shouldn't be asking for it, they're battling the urge to fit in, the screaming of their hormones AND the fact that YOU are allowing it.

If all the girls got together and said NO, then the boys would back down.

Sure, it would get ugly for a few days.  Maybe even a few weeks.  But girls need to stick together on things like this.  We are strong together.  You can take a stand at your school.

You're not a plaything or a cheap hooker.  You are a young woman of dignity.  You are beautiful and priceless and there will be a man someday who won't ask such things of you.  And those men will be much more common if you stand up for yourself today.  Should they get a clue about treating you like a princess?  HECK YES.  But as long as they aren't, it's up to us to tell them NO.  It's up to us to hold on to who we are and not give that away to a boy just because he asks, or pressures, or gets his friends to pressure.  Because after you give a guy a blow-job, you don't have a lot of other places to go, physically.  And he has already used you just to pleasure himself.  It's like masturbation with a doll.  You can't go places emotionally with a boy that you've already gone everywhere with physically.  If it happens, it's rare, and you've got to take a lot of steps backward to go forward.

Take it from a girl who's been there.  Who has felt the pressure and who has given in.  Who has been called "dirty" by someone she loved.  Who has tried everything to get a boy to stay - and they left anyway.  Guys respect you if you stand up to them.  If you use your smarts.  If you respect yourself.  It is okay, even today, even in our rape-driven, sex-on-the-first-date, Cosmo reading culture to look a boy (or man) in the eyes and say, "I'm not that kind of girl."  It doesn't matter how many times you've already given in.  You can change.  You can be bigger and better than you were.  You can be a leader and stand up for you and the other young women around around you.

You can walk away.

The Tipping Point: Women in the Olympics

The 2012 London Games have been a huge turning point for Women.  Women in the media.  Women in the workplace.  Women in sports.  Women in general.

The US women won 58 medals.  FIFTY-EIGHT.  We didn't top the medal count for women in the world.  But we. won. 58 medals.

More than the men in our country.

But that isn't the point.

The medals aren't the point.

The topping of the men isn't the point.

The point is that the women of this Olympics have changed the face of women's sports and women in the media forever.

Never before have women represented our country so faithfully, so beautifully, and with so much gusto and sportsmanship.

It was with great pride that I viewed every women's event.

I swelled with joy as our women's beach volleyball team overcame Brazil, whose team was trash-talking and even arguing with one another during the game.  Our women were losing, but they fought together and with unity and they were rewarded with victory.

All of the U.S. women displayed positive responses to winning and to losing.

The announcers couldn't be silent.  Near the end of the games all of them were raving about women in sports.  Women being just as exciting if not more exciting to watch than men.  This commercial from Nike sums it up for me:

I cried watching it.

These Olympics prove we've come a long way when it comes to equality and women's sports.

And in that, I am proud to be an American.

And yet...there's a tarnish on that gold: our reaction to Gabby Douglas.  The young woman who made history when she took gold in the all-around.

The tweets and FB posts in reaction?  They talked about how she had "bad hair".  I was floored by that.  She wins gold and we're talking about the way her hair looks?  Oy.

The worst thing?

It's us.

It's the women who are tweeting and posting on FB about Gabby's hair.

Forgetting Gabby's spirit.  Forgetting Gabby's skill and precision.  Forgetting how she brought home gold for this country.  Forgetting her beauty, inside and out.

It's an issue.  A serious one.  Because it proves something:  the biggest thing holding back women in this country?  Other women.

We look at a girl like Gabby Douglas and we see someone with whom we must compete, instead of someone we must lift up.  We want to tear her down.  We have a problem with her hair.

Bottom line?  That's jealousy, people.  Pure and simple.

We need to get over it.  We need to get over ourselves.

For the good of women and girls all over the world - let's take some pride in who we are as women.  In the fact that there are strong, amazing, intelligent and talented women all over the world making history.  And let's stand behind them.  Together.

Fifty Shades of Grey: My Thoughts

There's been quite a lot of buzz about the Fifty Shades of Grey Trilogy by E.L. James.

It's interesting because erotic fiction doesn't always make it into the mainstream critical circle, let alone into the hands of most mainstream readers.

Fifty Shades... obviously, has been different.

As you all know, I lean strongly to the feminist side of the femininity spectrum.  I'm for equality in all things.  I absolutely believe that we are currently living in a rape culture where victim blaming is rampant.  I still see the struggle for women to get the same jobs as men, to be treated in the same way, to be upheld as truly equal members of society.  I have serious issue with the fact that, as a woman, it is up to me to "make the right choices" when it comes to walking home at night or doing a trail run alone, rather than up to our society at large to say that rape is unacceptable and disgusting and I should be able to walk wherever I please without fear.

But there are things where I differ.

Things where my love for Jesus and my husband and my family trump the feminist party line. 

One of those things is when it comes to lust.

There are those feminists who feel that women should be able to express their sexuality just as much as men should.  Here I agree.  But there are also those feminists who believe that this means we should be able to put our bodies on display if we want to, sleep with multiple partners if we want to, watch porn if we want to, and generally behave as men behaving badly. 

That's not the kind of equality I'm looking for.

I'm looking for an equality that looks more like mutual respect.


In college and part of high school I hoped that men would look at me with lust in their eyes.  It meant attention, and that was what I craved.  It was good enough for me.  I thought lust was equatable with love, or at the very least "like".  Now I'm a little more aware of what that means.  Lust is never love.  Lust is undressing with your eyes.  It's masturbation when you're alone in your bedroom or in the shower with a certain person on campus in mind.  Lust is thinking about sex with that person with whom you don't have the emotional and mental relationship to back up the physical longings.  It's not love.

I have always had issues with lust.  Ever since I had an inkling about sexuality, lust has been a problem.  My having issues with lust and giving into those wants does not make me more of a woman.  Cheating on my husband mentally and emotionally is still cheating.  Looking through pictures of muscle bound actors covered in beads of sweat and feeling my heart-rate increase for kicks?  Still cheating.

I stopped watching romantic movies years ago because I always left the theatre feeling empty.  Feeling "why isn't my boyfriend like that" or "why isn't my husband like that" or "why don't men understand that".  I always left with all sorts of activated triggers about ex-boyfriends and handsome colleagues and the cute barista at Starbucks.  I didn't think about the fact that the writers were writing specifically to play on those places in my psyche.  To hold men up to an impossible standard - one they could never achieve.  That's not equality or respect.  In fact, it's the opposite of both.

I see this as porn for women, essentially.

And porn is something that feminists get all hot and bothered about.  A thing that Christians get all hot and bothered about:

It's degrading.  It's wrong.  The women in that industry are sick or needy or damaged.  Or whatever.  Some of us say "it's okay to watch it under these circumstances".  Or women and men should both watch porn and enjoy it in a healthy way.

Whatever.

It's porn.  When men watch it, we call them pigs.  We say they're struggling with an addiction. 

When our husbands have a cache on the computer filled with naked women we're enraged.

When we find Playboys under our son's bed or in our dad's closet we are mortified.

Because we feel cheated.  And cheap.  And we feel like we must not be good enough if they need this other thing to satisfy this part of them.  And it feels crappy.

And yet...

I see my women friends, who also claim Christ posting pictures of shirtless men on their facebook pages as "motivation".  Women who would be scandalized if some other women's husband posted a picture of some babe in a bikini.

And tons of women around me from all faiths and walks are filling their minds with Fifty Shades of Grey.

At the pool today I heard a woman recommending it to a friend: "It's SUCH a great book."

Bottom line?  It's porn.

I'm not writing this to pass judgement on you for reading it.  Maybe you can read it and feel nothing.  Maybe it doesn't affect you physically.  Maybe you don't get all hot and bothered reading eroticism.  Maybe you don't put the book down and wish your life were something else.  We are not all strong in the same areas.

Some of us, like me, can't watch a romantic comedy without bitterness.  And I certainly can't read Fifty Shades... without sinning.


A book like that is like poison for a person like me.  

And yep, I call myself a feminist.  I'm absolutely looking for equality.  But real equality.  Like in my marriage - I trust that my husband isn't looking at magazines with pictures of scantily clad women and wishing I were more like them later that night - because aside from the sin argument, it would make me feel crappy.  And when love somebody, you don't want them to feel crappy.  You want them to know you love them.  That's supposed to be clear.  And for my part, I'm staying away from anything that will make me wish he were something different than what he is. It's not about asserting my feminine independence or sexuality or anything else.  It's about the mutual understanding between me and the man I love that we won't intentionally do things to make the other person feel crappy.  Cause that's a big part of equality.  Love.  Respect.

If we all worked hard to stop making people of other genders feel crappy, equality wouldn't be an issue.

So...  all that said...  if you can read Fifty Shades of Grey without making someone feel crappy (including you in those moments after you put it down), go ahead and read it.  I've heard it's all the rage.  But if you can't, then don't.  Get your partner a sexy grey tie and work it out amongst yourselves.

MIrror-Mirror

I just finished an article in the May 2012 issue of Whole Living Magazine about a woman who decided not to look at her reflection for a month.  It was hard.

It's funny, because I'm sitting in a five star hotel at present with my family on the government's tab surrounded by mirrors and reflections.  A huge window.  Full-length mirrors on all sides.  An entire wall in the bathroom.  A desk I an see myself inside.

It's funny, because I was just thinking before reading the article how much fun it was to do ballet and yoga in front of the mirror with my daughter.  To see the length of my legs.  The flash of my brand new jeans.  The blemishes and wrinkles that have come to identify as me.

While I read about this woman who decided to stop looking in the mirror so that she could focus on The Moment instead of how she looked living it, I pondered the practice of deeper reflection of moments in the mirror.

Maybe it's the artist in me.  I love to make faces in the mirror.  I love to take photographs.  I love to paint pictures.  Images.  I'm fascinated with how we look to ourselves versus how we look to others.  How my daughter exclaims at the braid down her back or my son flexes his muscles or my husband shaves his head and trims his beard.

I wonder what it would be like if we couldn't see ourselves.  I wonder if this woman's experiment was worth it.  What would it change in me?  What would it change in you, if you could no longer see your own reflection?

How to Save Our Daughters.

I just finished reading an article in Better Homes and Gardens discussing plastic surgery and "injectables" as viable options for "looking your best" for the holidays (November 2011 issue, for those of you who are curious, I couldn't find the article online).  I'm more than a little floored by this, and needless to say, I will not be renewing my subscriptions (one I've held for ten years).  More than just make me angry, this article shows just how mainstream the idea that we are not okay just the way we are has become.  We need cutting, injections, invasive surgery, tattooed eyeliner, more make-up that doesn't look like make-up, more hair dye, shinier hair, more product, more facial cleanser, skinnier waistline, less fat, ...  the list extends into eternity.

Besides my fury that ALL of this is corporate mumbo-jumbo to make us feel "less-than" so that we will purchase a particular product or line of products, I see this as extremely detrimental to the future.

Any of us who have daughters feel that those little girls are GORGEOUS.  Our daughters are beautiful.  We look at those long lashes and those pretty eyes and those rosy cheeks and adorable smiles and we see pure, innocent, loveliness.  And if we don't, it's time for a reality check, because your little girl is AMAZING.  A princess, ladies and gentlemen, is an understatement.

When we look at those little girls, we don't want them to grow up thinking that they need more make-up, more product, a nose-job, a boob-job, etc in order to "look their best".  We tell them that they are beautiful.  We long for them to see it themselves every time they look in the mirror.

But...  often...  they don't.  Why?

Because, Ladies and Gents, actions...speak...louder than words.

So...

What to do?

1.  Stop it with the daily make-up.  


I've said before that I'm not against make-up.  But you know what?  The more I think about it.  The more Lucky magazines I get in the mail.  The more re-touching I see my husband do when he does a head-shot series for an aspiring actor or model... the more I hate make-up.  After all, why do we wear it?

We wear it because society has established a FALSE idea of beauty.  Way back in the day, only prostitutes wore make-up.  It was a sign.  It was a cover-up for the ugliness, the pain, the hurting that was underneath.  The hope that it would be enough...

Cover-up was made so that you could go out in public and no one would know you really had the Bubonic Plague (Queen Elizabeth wore quite a lot of it).

There were times in history when men wore it.  Times when eye-liner was royalty.  Different signs and symbols.

Today, it seems, at least in America, make-up is an expectation.

I've had woman apologize to me because I've seen them with no make-up as though they were apologizing for running over my beloved dog.  As though they were committing a high offense.

Ladies... this is a problem.

And when we make it a point to put on make-up in front of that mirror and our little girls see it - that is what they think about adulthood:  that you can't be good enough once you've grown up.  That your skin has to be perfect.  That blemishes make us "less than".  That no boys will like them if they don't wear it.  They see what we do and they know that no matter how many times you tell them they are pretty they will never be all the way there until they can do what you are doing.  To them, YOU are the ultimate example of beauty.  How's THAT for responsbility?

2.  Stop it with the magazines.

Every. single. magazine. you bring into your home is a huge advertisement for product.  I have learned over the past year (and maybe this makes me a fool for not noticing before) that each and every article - each and every photograph, is about selling a product.  Not always a blatant advertisement, but at very least a proposition to purchase the next issue of the magazine.

And Ladies and Gents, it's all just. stuff.  Not stuff you need.  Just. Stuff.

Everyone is selling make-up and clothing and scent and all this STUFF they tell you will make your life better.

We worry about our children watching too much television or not learning to think for themselves...  be careful what you read, what you have in your home for your children to read... everyone is selling something.  Before you read it and have your children read it, be sure it's something you want them to buy.

3.  Stop making make-up a right of passage.

My mom took me to the make-up counter for the thirteenth birthday.  It was what I wanted.

It doesn't have to be that way.

I wanted it because all the other girls in my class were wearing it.

Parents tell their girls that they can wear make-up when they reach a certain age.  It's a Big Deal.  I've decided that if my kid wants to try the stuff at age 2 then so be it.  She has her very own lip gloss, thus far.  I am sure to tell her how pretty she is when she's NOT wearing it.

Make-up should be fun, not forced, not necessary, not expected.  And if you can help it, not present at all.

4.  Stop getting cosmetic surgery.


There are women who get breast reductions because their huge boobs are causing them serious pain.  This is NOT the kind of cosmetic surgery I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the women who don't like how their nose looks.  The ones who want bigger breasts.  The ones who are fed up with getting wrinkles.

Ladies...  God made you the way you are.  He doesn't think your nose is too big.  He doesn't think your boobs need to be bigger.

Wrinkles...oh, my Dear Readers!  I can see them gathering at the sides of my eyes and all along my forehead and when I first saw them I was dismayed and afraid but please know! - wrinkles are a sign of wisdom.  They are rivers and streams of knowledge, beauty, and power.  They are the signs that you have been there, you have experienced that, you have frowned in deep thought and smiled with such joy and cried tears that left permanent paths down your cheeks and all of those things make. you. even more beautiful than before.

Our daughters need to know.

They need to know that when they're 35 and look in the mirror and see those crow's feet it doesn't make them less of a person.  It makes them so. much. more.

5.  Stop hating on yourself.

Jesus said, "Love your neighbor as yourself."  We remember that loving our neighbor part...but we forget that we need to love ourselves too. We never stop to think when we look in the mirror and tell ourselves "NOT good enough" that this isn't what The Lord wants for us.  We would never dream of going up to our neighbor and saying "You are not good enough.  You are stupid.  You are ugly."  And yet we do these things to ourselves on a regular basis.

Stop buying into the lie that FAKE is beauty.

It's a LIE Ladies and Gents!!!  A big. fat. Satanic. lie.

And if we all stopped believing it, how much better would our lives be?

If we really believed that beauty came from the inside.

If we really believed that God made us beautiful just the way we are.

If we really believed that WE were empowered to make healthy choices.

If we really SAW what everyone looked like under the make-up and before the surgery and...  how differently we would see one another.  How differently we would see the world.

Ask yourself - if I was the only person in the world wearing make-up, would I feel the need to wear it?

If I went to the movies and SAW that Julia Roberts had a pimple that day...  would I think of myself differently?

When you love yourself - you are giving your daughter the most wonderful gift.  The gift of knowing SHE is beautiful all by herself.

And finally...

6.  Stop judging her based on her appearance.

How many of us grew up in a house where our moms mentioned the clothes we chose.  The weight we'd gained.  The outbreak of acne on our foreheads...  and told us just what we needed to do about it, even if we didn't ask.

Our moms wanted to help.

They KNOW what it feels like to feel less beautiful.  To be ridiculed by classmates.  To be mocked.

And so moms step in with facial cleanser and concealer and money for different jeans and diet ideas and Fat Camp and...

And where does that leave us?

What does it say to our daughters when we do these things we believe are loving?

It says, loud and clear, You. Are. Not. Good. Enough.  It shows how we see their flaws.  It shows that we are no different than the classmate who points out the pimple or the bully that calls us fat.  It shows that we, the mom, aren't making the effort to see the Girl Inside.  We feel the need to change her.  Cover her up.  Put her on a diet.

The fact is - self-esteem and knowledge that you ARE good enough makes all that unnecessary.  If you've got the confidence that your mom and (especially) dad see through any flaws to the true YOU inside the skin then you can face the bully head on.  You can take it all with multi-grained salt.  You can hold your head up high because you know that the people who you come home to love you unconditionally, and The World can suck it.



Moms and Dads... it's not too late.

Your daughter is a precious jewel.  Some of you already see her that way.  Some of you need to wake up and smell the sea salt.  Daughters are a fabulous gift from heaven.  But they are a fragile gift.  Don't break them.  And if you fear you already have...  break out the glue. 

A New Beginning.

Welcome back, Readers!

After a long hiatus, RJ is back online and raring to go!

You'll be privy to several entries that I've written during this hiatus - and they'll be published off and on between now and December 2012 (when the world will be ending, apparently).

It's a privilege to be back with you.  To be officially back online.

So many changes have happened for me and for my family since I last wrote here in real time.

We have converted an old school bus into a home, and we are headed off on some incredible adventures as a family - some of which I am sure I will be able to share with you here.

In the meantime, I am finishing up my final acting class with my teenaged actors at my studio in Olde Towne Leonardtown, Maryland, closing up my shop, moving my paintings and pieces of my life into storage or selling them or giving them to friends and family...

It's funny.  My advanced teen and tween acting class consists of all girls at present.  The environment is nurturing for all of us, I think.  We've been able to explore this craft at a level not possible in mixed company.

There is a certain amount of self-consciousness around the opposite sex that doesn't exist when you segregate the genders.

Girls are free to be wild, interesting, rebellious...  the internal is allowed to become the external without fear of ridicule or "looking stupid".

This gathering of women together is important on so many levels.  Not just in the classroom, but in the rest of our lives as well.

There is something sacred about women connecting with one another.  Something beautiful.

When we set aside our petty competitions and differences and decide to be simply supportive of one another, to acknowledge our own individual talents and beauty...  it  is...  Divine.

Welcome back, readers - old and new...  it is so wonderful to be writing for you, talking with you, and joining our spirits in this miraculous way.

More to come soon...

~ Missy (Redefined Juliet)

Conversations. And Barbies.

I am sitting at my son's tae kwon do class while my daughter is at Vacation Bible School.  I sat amongst some friends of mine and two girls (ages 5 and 11 approximately) who were sitting on the floor playing with various Barbies.  Below are various segments of the conversation during the fifty minute lesson.

Mom 1:  As you can see, Ken is naked.

Mom 2:  All the Barbies are naked at our house.  We have a little Barbie Utopia.

Girl 1:  As she fits Ken with a yellow fairy skirt Well he has to wear SOMEthing on his bottom.  He's going on a date with one of these girls later.

There are three Barbies lying against a bookbag on the floor, all dressed in different clothing.  Multiple hair styles and colors.  The two girls are supremely engaged in their play.

Mom 2:  What's that?  she refers to a few sheets of paper in Mom 1's hand.

Mom 1:  Oh, that's my thirty day de-tox.  I got it at yoga.

Mom 3:  I tried that.  I only made it to day three.

Mom 2:  Let me see it.  She scans the document awhile.

Girl 1 finds a lip gloss applicator in the book bag and begins to apply imaginary make-up to each of the three Barbie's faces.  She is meticulous:  eye shadow, lip gloss, blush, etc.  Girl 2 brushes each doll's hair with a miniature brush.  

Girl 2:  She's getting ready for her date.

Girl 2 attempts to fit Ken into a new skirt (there are no "Ken" clothes around), but it won't go over his hips.

Mom 2:  It's just not meant to fit Ken.  His hips are too big.  This is a lesson in why Ken shouldn't be a cross-dresser.

There is some laughter.

Mom 2:  still scanning the thirty day de-tox  Okay - no sugar - not a problem, I don't really do sugar anyway...  scans further  Oh.  I couldn't do no starches.  I like my starches: corn, mashed potatoes...

Mom 3:  Yep, that's when I quit.

Mom 1:  I haven't even read it yet - you guys reading it out loud is the first time I'm hearing it.

Mom 4:  Are you doing this to lose weight?  She is incredulous.

Mom 1:  No, I'm not.  I'm doing it to be healthy.  I went to a nutrition class at my yoga place and we got it there.  I do need to lose weight though.

Mom 2:  Excuse me?  You do NOT need to lose weight.

Mom 1:  I just want to lose this gut.

Mom 2:  rolls eyes

Girl 1 puts the finishing touches on Barbie's make-up.  Ken is back in the yellow fairy skirt.

The conversation amongst the moms moves from bellies to breasts:

Mom 3:  Well I don't have anything up here.

Mom 2:  Well I'd give you some of mine if I could.

Mom 1:  I don't think your husband would like that.

Mom 2:  You're right.  He'd be all, 'where'd they go?'  makes desperate searching motions with her hands and arms.  All laugh.  

Mom 2:  You know men like big boobs and big booties.

Mom 3:  But I don't have big tits.  So I can't have a big booty.  I'd be all imbalanced.

laughter

Mom 1:  Right, it's a balance thing.

Mom 2:  Well I wouldn't want to be imbalanced.

Ken has now chosen THE Barbie for his date night.  He is donned in the yellow fairy skirt and only the yellow fairy skirt.  

Mom 1:  No underwear.

Mom 2:  Looks like he's got a Scottish thing goin' on there.

Giggling as we all acknowledge Ken's lack of undergarments.

Ken and Barbie hold one another as Girl 1 dances them across the floor.  The tae kwon do class ends.  We congratulate our kids on their accomplishments and gather their belongings so we can move on to the rest of our day.  


Mom 2:  I tried Weight Watchers - it didn't work for me.

The Barbies are packed away into the bookbag and the bag is zipped tightly.  The kids chatter.  As our car pulls out of the parking lot, my son sees Girl 2 walking with Mom 1 to their vehicle - he rolls down his window:

My son:  Bye, _________!

Silence means No.

I recently posted a blog from a friend on the R.J. Twitter feed about rape - and what exactly means "No."

We've heard "No means no."  But what about other things?

What about:  "I have a boyfriend."

What about:  "You're drunk."

What about:  "I'm not sure if I want to."

What about:  "You're hurting me."

What about:  silence.

It was the one that struck me most. 

When I was fourteen I had this boyfriend.

I didn't know what I was doing and he didn't either, but it was silence. 

I never said "no".  I never said anything.  I just... went away.  Or I was... just there. 

There are times when we don't know what to say.

Times when we are afraid that saying something will lose us someone, or something.  Something we think we can't afford to lose and so we say nothing.

We are silent. 

We allow whatever it is that is happening to happen and we think that because we were silent we aren't hurting anyone and we're keeping ourselves innocent.

We didn't agree to it.  It happened TO us.

And we are keeping the person doing it from getting upset, from leaving, from knowing that we don't know what the heck we're doing.  That we're really much too young or much too scared or much too lonely or much too blinded or whatever it is... silence...  it means "not ready".  It means "afraid."  It means "unsure".  It means "don't leave me."  It means "No."

Because doing something for someone because you think it's what will keep them around isn't doing it for "love".  It's doing it for obligation.  And that's a resounding NO. 

It doesn't have to be about sex.  It doesn't have to be called "rape".

It can be about him putting his arm around you too hard at the hockey game.

It can be about him making you do things you've never even heard of in the movie theatre.

It can be about sneaking around because he'll leave if you don't.

It can be about hurting yourself or other people to keep him.

It can be about hand holding or kissing or heavy petting or oral sex or elaborate touching or him watching you take your clothes off or asking you to write specific letters or send specific texts or take photographs you were embarrassed about taking.

Silence.

You can't speak.

You don't know what to say.

You're frozen.

It means




NO.

Inspiring Persons.

Tuesday must simply be my day for being inspired.  It's always been my favorite day of the week.  Something about it just rings freedom for me...

Anyway - in honor of Tuesday, I will be posting descriptions of the people who most inspire me. 

The Soul Sister - I don't know if she knows I feel this strongly about her, but I so do.  She started off as a kid I taught back when I was in the public school system, and now she's blossomed into this amazing and inspiring friend.  Back when I was teaching we had this time where we weren't really talking - things were very professional on my end, and she wrote me this letter about how she felt like we had a real relationship and "what happened to that?"  It really jolted my perspective - she had always been a kid I looked up to (yes, that happens).  She steered me toward vegetarianism and encouraged me to think outside the box.  Now - I think - we encourage each other in our multi-faceted endeavors.  I never feel like there are pieces of my life that I can't share because it will sound stupid or conceited or lofty or too "head-in-the-clouds".  

The Roommate - We're not roommates anymore, but it was good when we were.  There aren't a lot of people in this world I think I could stand to live with, but she was the best.  There also aren't a lot of people out there who I can say truly understand me, in the depths of my being, and she is one of them.  No matter how much the outside layers of me change, she knows the core of who I am, the unchanging part that makes me, me.  She knows just what to say at all the right times, and even if we haven't talked in ten years, I know I can call her and we'll pick up where we left off.  She's the first female friend I ever really trusted, and she's never broken that trust.

The Accountability Partner - In my life today, I have a "best friend".  She's the one who calls me on my crap.  She's the one who tells it like it is.  She doesn't sugar coat it.  She just lays it out on the table in it's raw energy and sticks by my side til I'm through the rough patch.  She knows my darkest sins, my secret fears, and she loves me anyway.  I tell her things I would shudder to tell another soul, and she does the same for me. 

The Self-Proclaimed Temptress - another former student who I'd consider now more of friend and colleague, she's a person who knows who she is and doesn't care what anyone else thinks.  A person who is actually in tune with her sexuality and who continues to inspire me as a creative creature, she is not who I am or who I was, and we are not on the same paths, but her path has brought light to mine.

The Playwright - One of the most beautiful people I've met, she knows her faults and weaknesses and pushes through them to get to the place she wants to be.  Her entire essence is something I like to drink in.  Her play pushed me to places I never thought I'd go, and she's one of those people who is truly bottomless when it comes to character and soul.

The Voice Teacher - She's been to the top of her game, and fallen to the bottom of the ladder.  She knows what it's like to have everything you've dreamed of and then to have your hopes dashed beyond repair.  Her journey is incredible, even as she lives in this little house on the water and teaches lessons and dabbles in new genres she has kept her spirit alive, and rekindled her love for a thing that had become her enemy.  She inspires me with her encouragement and her creativity in facing each challenge left on her doorstep.

The Director - I haven't directly spoken to her in years, but she is constantly in the back of my mind as a woman I want to emulate.  She's quitting the college circuit to be a life-coach full time, but for me, she will always be what femininity, directing, and theatricality should be.  When I first saw her I loved everything about her - the way she dressed, the way she smelled, the way she spoke - and the more I got to know her the more I wished to be so grounded, so talented, so beautiful.  Every time I put on a long sweater and sit behind a casting table I am reminded of her and how she influenced my life.  

The Mentor - She is one of those Christians who has "sparkly eyes" - one who is sure of her faith and who God is and where she's going when she crosses to the other side.  She speaks with boldness and apologizes with sincerity.  She loves just a little too much and pours herself out even when she, herself is in pain.  She is supportive even when she doesn't fully understand, and she hugs when we find ourselves in tears over a foiled plan or spoiled relationship.



And there are more, but I could sit here for hours describing them and their beautiful, flowing, creative lives that have touched me in so many ways.  Being around these women gives me energy and strength, and inspires me to try new things and go through decidedly open doors with boldness and love.  It is women like these that I desire to be around, to mold friendships with, to emulate and understand. 

It's funny - when I started this list, I assumed that there would be an equal number of men and women, and here I am with this lengthy list of women.  Ten years ago, I don't know that I could've named anyone except the obvious few teachers and famous folks and my mom who influenced my life and taught me a little bit about how things COULD be - my list would have been full of men and boys who lit or drove my path for a time.  And so I change, and so change the things around me. 

If I could be in a room with all of these women, I think it would be too overwhelming for words.  Each of them so beautiful it brings me to tears.  Each of them so important, I owe them more than I could ever give.

Thank you.

Hair Today...

So I've decided, pretty much definitely, that I'm giving up cutting my hair for Lent.

I know.  It's seems sort of trite, but I need a reason and the whole reason I'm thinking about growing my hair back at all has to do with God.

I know.  Weirdness.

But I really feel called to grow my hair back, at least for a season.  I don't need to know the reason, I just need to know it's something I'm supposed to do. 

I know it's not me - because I LOVE my hair this way and honestly would keep it this way forever - but something in me, a Little Voice, says - grow your hair out.  Just do it.  It's important.

Maybe it's just an act of obedience.

I'm okay with that.

I'll be growing the stuff during Lent and then I think I'll have a better idea of what's going on.  Is this really a God thing, or is this a whacko me thing?  Is this something necessary and important for a long season, or just a short one? 

And, right now, I'm thinking that the goal will be dreads.

I know.  Tons of you have already told me that dreads are a bad idea.  I've heard stinky.  I've heard racist.  I've heard gross.  I've heard I'll never be able to take them out - but c'mon, I already shaved my head once - if I don't like them, I'll just do it again! 

And stinky - really?  All the dreadies I know WASH their dreads.

And racist?  I've heard that white people shouldn't have dreads. 

I find this supremely interesting.   People of all cultures and races have sported dreads.  Maybe it's just where we live, but I know tons of people, white people, in the U.S. who have dreads for a myriad or reasons, not to mention all of my Celtic ancestors, who are documented as having dreads pretty much since the dawn of time.  I don't want to offend anyone with my hair choices.  I've done enough of that, but I think this particular grievance is really unfounded.  Maybe some feel that white people look dumb with dreads.  I'm okay with that notion.  People think people look dumb on a regular basis and across the board.  I don't really care if you think I look dumb.  But please don't think I'm stealing someone's culture - I'm actually looking back at my own.

I've heard a lot about dreads.  Done a ton of research on dreads.  And when it comes right down to it I think this might be one of those things I just have to do.  Have to try.  It's not just about my Celtic roots, which are important to me, especially since my excursion to Ireland in 2001, it's also about exploring this other side of myself that I'm just beginning to unearth. 

Hair communicates a lot for me.

I think it does for all women. 

There are things that I simply love when it comes to hair.

My shaved head.  I think it can be really elegant on a woman.

Long naturally gray hair.  I don't think there is anything much more beautiful when it comes to hair.

Long dreads.  They make such a personal statement.  I love how they look on both women and men of all races.

Hair with purple streaks.  This has been a fascination for me since high school.

What does your hair say about you?