Lost In The Amazon

As promised, here is the companion video for 

Stiff Competition Edition II Winner*, Danny G. 

                         The video was inspired by his winning suggestion: 

... Along with the comments offered following the original blog post: 

Thank you! 

Please enjoy!

*click blog link at top of page for a more thorough context of video

Have You Met Nate?

Twenty weeks of suggestion taking, and the quality has remained impressive, inspiring, and challenging.  This is everything I ever wanted! Thank you.

Erica offered an incredible suggestion, which will require more tact and research than others—but one that I would like to undertake. I'm going to work towards putting this out before too long. If anyone wants to contribute, please message me a story, experience, or any nugget of information that lends credence or gives agency to this topic. All opinions are welcome.

John's suggestion brought back memories of when I was 8 years old—and I watched The Accused.

I don't have much of a filter either, and if you haven't guessed by now, John and I are related. 

Let's move on!

Whitney's suggestion is happy and delightful. Certainly it is not for me to say what is appropriate, but this does inspire some video magic. We'll definitely be voting for this in the next Stiff Competition Edition.

And Danny, well—he makes his own magic. This brought me smiles all day. Thank you Danny. 

PIIMM is still working on your Amazon inspired video. 

It will be published in the '13. 

Our winner this week is my awesome neighbor Nate. 

Nate lives across the street. We met the weekend he moved in—on Super Bowl Sunday when I was (appropriately) drunk and locked out of my house with no phone. Nate was home with his girlfriend *Brittany Murphy*. The two of them were so wonderful and friendly. They invited me in, let me use the phone, and insisted I have a beer and watch the game with them.  Surprisingly, it was less awkward than you might imagine this situation could be, "Hi, I'm your neighbor. I'm a bit drunk and locked out of my home. May I use your phone"?

Every story has an angle. This story is not what it appears. I found out later that I had knocked on the door about three quarters of a minute after they broke up. 

Yeah, I know. 

They graciously accepted the flow of the night and I never felt any tension. They transitioned when I made conversation focusing on them as a couple. They were either incredibly good improvisers or it was a very happy occurrence I was as drunk as I was and preoccupied with my current woe of being locked out. It was a nice evening, I still see *Brittany Murphy* and I see Nate almost everyday. 

When I visit Nate we spend a lot of time on his porch, drinking beer and bullshitting. Good neighbor fun. One of the things we delight in discussing is his adventures in online dating. He has magical stories. Stories I want to (embellish and) share with all of you, and now I have his permission. Nay, his encouragement. 

I have always been curious about online dating. Could an algorithm successfully accomplish what I had been so devastatingly unsuccessful at? 

But in earlier times, there was something of a stigma attached. If you were online dating (and a woman) you were perceived as desperate. Even though I admit now to feeling a bit desperate at times, I certainly wasn't willing to then. 

Luckily today, it is widely acceptable and is perceived as a viable solution to, not only dating, but meeting new people with common interest. I'm happy for this refreshing new outlook toward online dating.

Nate has some great stories, and I want to share them ALL with you.  One day I will satisfy our wants to see this in live action ... right now it requires a budget I simply don't have. I'm substituting these story boards in the interim. And since he has a lot of stories, I would love to release them as their own series in a sub category of Put It In My Mouth, we'll call it DATE NATE.

If you object to this, speak now or something.

Also, if you do want to date Nate... he has all those things ladies look for, financial stability (car, job, house, no pets but will take care of yours) LIVES ACROSS THE STREET FROM ME SO WE CAN HANG OUT LIKE ALL THE TIME SISTAS! 

But for those of you who know what really matters in life, here is all you need to know about Nate.

He is funny and has great taste in beer. 'Nuff said. 

*Her name has been changed to protect her privacy. I named her Brittany Murphy because, you guys, I really kind of miss her. :-(

Date Nate

Episode 1  

Episode 2

*I've never seen Nate with a mustache or a bow tie. I took some liberties.

Kinder What? Kinder Please.

Don't you just love that song, Shaving Off My Muff For You by Whitney Houston?
It's the best.
Admittedly not as much fun to sing as Pearl Jam's Yellow Ledbetter, another gift that keeps on giving from former President George Bush.

Gosh, I sang* a lot as a child. Beyond just singing, I would reimagine my favorite songs to suit my very, very special needs**.

*Eh, sang is being generous. Whimpered, wailed, annoyed...is more accurate {**scatological  humor} 

Maybe I was under the influence of Weird Al, or my zany step father Kai, but I was in love with this farce. 

My sister Tara was my trusted co author and co performer. Some of our memorable* hits include:

*see drinking  problem

Suzanne Vega Puka
Guns N' Roses  Parasite City
Def Leopard  Pour Some Booger On Me

These songs were neither clever or original, in fact they were probably being repurposed and performed all over the universe* ... but they filled me with joy and happiness**.
*anywhere with radio transmission
**and poop


I am downright positive that I have mutilated more song lyrics than most people. The trouble was/is, if I didn't/don't recognize I was doing/am doing so myself—I might not/will not ever know. 
I've never been formally called out for this, not that I can remember*. Because I definitely remember calling out my older sister for some of the lyrical liberties she took.
*perhaps my mind is protecting me from the shame and embarrassment suffered from getting lyrics wrong. a complete blackout to protect my self esteem.

These are some of my favorites:  

This one was mis-sung by one of my sister's friends. She and I (my sister) loved it, and continued to mis-sing it accordingly

Just because I don't remember the embarrassment of being exposed, doesn't mean I don't remember discovering for myself (frequently) that I have been uttering the wrong lyrics under my breath*, and for some time. 

*how I sing in public

Because what is more threatening than love? Am I right?

Around the same time as this, I learned that I was signing one of my favorite Pixies songs hopelessly wrong too

Gesundheit

Surprisingly, I felt silly upon learning I had been accidentally singing songs wrong, versus satisfied —like when I had purposefully revised songs to my liking. 

As soon as my household had internet I stumbled across a lyric database. This girl printed* (*sorry Mom) every G-D Misfits song lyric. 

I wasn't going to let Glenn Danzig trip me up, no fucking way. That went the same for Peter Murphy and Dick Lucas too. There was much potential for me to look like an ass—but I had it under control. 

I still sing today, or something resembling it. I don't always know all the words, I'll gladly skip over them or make them up proudly. Matt and I sing silly songs in the kitchen or the car and my musical tastes* admittedly haven't changed much.

*scatological

You can probably guess that I would love to read your mis-heard song lyrics. Part of you is desperate to tell us, I know it. 

Put them in comment field, anonymously or openly. It will be wonderful, I promise. 

Thank you for booking your trepidation. See you next fall.

Are you afraid of the dark ... or are you afraid of the light?

Love and fear. Both can be crippling and both can prompt greatness. 
It is as complicated as it sounds.

To write about love I have to decide which idea of love I am writing about. When the suggestion was proposed I imagined “love” was the commonly regarded, romantic love. 

Love and fear appear to be coupled together in some cosmic or empyrean way, in fact many of us live in fear of love. 

Fear of finding love, fear of losing love, fear of being open to love, fear of letting love go...

It's all very textbook, and frankly a little blasé. 

I don't think the connection between love and fear is as inexplicable as one might think.

I think I can account for it. I think it is this. 

We, mostly, fear change. And love, inevitably changes us. 
Bam. 

We are not wrong to be afraid of love. 
Love can frighten. Love can evade. Love can entice. Love can trick. Love can dissect. Love can keep you prisoner. Love can kick your ass. Love can fill you with doubt. Love can leave you alone. 
All of this changes us; that is, if we're lucky.

There are so many more provocative things to be afraid of than love

and there are so many more worthy responses to love than fear. 

I'm not impervious to fear of love, I just suffer from a different stroke of it. 

Self love. This is my personal struggle now, and it's closely related to fear. 

I have always been careful in my words when writing about this,
I do not wish to change who I am. 
I am only seeking growth, 
but with growth comes pain
and sometimes 
it hurts so badly 
I want it to stop. 

But I can't let it. 
When I think of all the times in my life that I was most unhappy, I think of the times I was stuck. 
The times I reconciled everything around me, including myself.
I challenged nothing and no one. I expected nothing and accepted everything.
I was content.
In other words,
I was so unhappy. 

I spend more time with myself than anyone else. I don't want to simply like me, I want to love me. I want to be proud of me. I want to introduce me to other people. I even want to brag about me sometimes. 
But similar to romantic love, I evade, I dissect, I kick my ass, and I doubt...


My advice for those afraid of love is this;
Trust. 
You must trust. Especially if you are afraid. 
Something Everything is at risk, therefore you have everything to gain.

Love can't work without trust. I've witnessed what the absence of trust does to love ... and I feel what it does to me when I can't find it in myself.  
It is a labyrinth of fear. And there is only one way out. 
Trust.






This is a playlist I made for writing the blog:

Oops, I clicked it again

Winner, winner, chicken dinner! 

Almost never have I made a drunken Amazon purchase. 
This is true only because, for me, shopping and acquiring do not give me pleasure. When I am fully inebriated, I try to stay away from such laborious and joyless responsibilities. 
However, in the past (when drunk), I would find myself online...

...I would take to social media like it was my mountain and I, Roland Orzabal of Tears For Fears.

In other words, nothing was too embarrassing for me to post. 
It wasn't that I didn't have any shame, it's just that my shame was floating on top of a pint glass and I must have swallowed it — or something ... 

In the easiest words possible, I was a drunk — and I preferred online sharing to online shopping. 

For Example

But oh, how much easier my life could have been if only I'd retreated from playing Silver Strike and treated myself to some guilty shopping pleasures. 
Instead of just a hangover (and an overwhelming sense I need to apologize to someone) I would wake up to something more ... something new at my door. 

It could have been this:

Jack Burton figurine 

Or:

John C. McGinley trading card

Even: 

Jason Segel pillowcase

No matter what ridiculous item I drunk shopped, the consequences seem less traumatic and definitely more delightful.  I wish Danny had filled my head with the idea of this drunk decorating earlier. 

My Amazon purchases are, in truth, quite lame. 

I buy school books, shoes, household items, and toiletries through Amazon. Only once did I buy something unique ... and frankly I had to because I was so shocked it was being sold on Amazon, if you follow. 

My wish list now consists of more housewares, some video games, some books, a swatch watch, and a new liner for my dog's bed. 

Basically—lots of uninspired stuff that if I got drunk now and bought it, the psychological repercussions would be low to null. 

I did some reading and found that "buy and ship now" syndrome is occurring and is nothing to screw around with. 

I wanted to make Danny a video inspired by his suggestion, but I came down with icky strep throat and lacked the physical strength to do so by deadline. In fact, I barely have the mental faculties now to write this.

What I propose is this:

If you have been afflicted with "buy and ship now" syndrome (please) tell me your most anguishing purchase. 

You can do so anonymously as a comment on the blog. I will pick one and dedicate a video segment to it ... and who knows, maybe it will facilitate a little healing?  

Snap, Crackle, Rock, and Roll

Runner Up

For me, in first grade there were hierarchies of best friends. I had Margaux, my true (and neighborhood) best friend and I had Jamie, my classroom best friend. Jamie once punched me in my gut during recess in front of the whole grade, just for funnies. That is how I can safely make the distinction. 
Jamie came to play at my house one afternoon. We were outside and playing at the bottom of the driveway. I remember distinctly how different ends of the driveway mattered for playing. You could potentially have more fun at the bottom of the driveway, at least the kind of fun Jamie and I were having. 
I was experiencing that first moment when you find pleasure in poking fun at other people. Jamie and I were taking turns making jokes about kids in our class. This is when I first discovered how easy it is to be funny at other people's expense; a crutch I have used but am proud to say doesn't define my humor. 
This could also serve as insight into why Jamie wasn't my true best friend. 

Backing up a moment—at the bottom of the driveway lived a Dogwood tree. In the fall it produced tiny berries. Jamie dared me to eat a few of them. It was also at this time I learned that if you do things people dare you to do, they are likely to be impressed with you. Or so I thought. It turns out what they are noticing is that you can easily be coerced into doing dumb things. This truth didn't materialize until recently. In other words, I have a long history of putting things in my mouth on a dare (keep this clean readers) and perhaps it led me to this very moment, and this aptly titled blog you and I share. 

And now, the moment I laughed the hardest:
Jamie and I, bottom of the driveway, basically making fun of our peers <bad><don't do this>, laughing hysterically (and yes, mostly because I am hysterical). 

Barf

I threw up

All over the bottom of the driveway

Jamie ran inside to get my Mom, convinced that I had been poisoned by the Dogwood berries I had eaten (for popularity).  I had not. I had just laughed so god damn hard that I threw up.

 It was pretty awesome actually.

Winner

This video should say it all. I hope it pleases you, I really do. But I guess if it doesn't, I could always record me eating this stale....

Are you kidding? NO, watch the video. 

It's Friday. Where do I send thanks to?

I am super grateful to those of you who voted. The hard numbers make truthful this statement; 3 out of 5 co-bloggers want to put it in my mouth on a Friday. I am here to make that dream come true.

pay day

With voting occurring on Friday, I will be postponing the following week's post until Saturday [in a strained attempt of maintaining the integrity of the voting thread]. 

This is our first "Saturday post".  Curiously it is written about Friday. 

Having worked nearly two decades in a field that mandates weekend work, I never embraced the T.G.I.F spirit that so many 9-5'ers do.  You might even say I was antithetical.  I did, however, completely abide by the idea that no matter where you worked, weekends started on Friday.  My Friday was Tuesday for many consecutive years and, come that day, I would proudly announce, "today is my Friday".

Having to assimilate my week with other working civilians wasn't difficult, but there exists a certain level of alienation that takes host in your body. Mine serves as a reminder to be grateful for all opportunities to see the world from outside the offered perspective. 

No matter when your Friday is, can we agree on the small amount of magic we endow it with, and everything it preludes? 
A little respite from our slave lives, an opportunity to slow down and be with family, an excuse to party, take a jaunt, a cessation of work, leisure time! 

This past Friday, [yesterday] September 20th, was my older sister Tara's birthday.  One thing we loved more than anything, growing up, was The Cure.  She, specifically, had an intimidating wealth of posters, B-sides, and T-shirts.  She knew more about Robert Smith than I've known about most of my boyfriends.  Her fandom rivaled all that I have ever seen.  

This video is for Friday, this video is for Tara, this video is for you. 

They can all just kiss off into the ... jumbotron

Wow — 4 time winner!

You guys have been my writing partner for fourteen weeks now; I think that's very special. Thank you guys, <whispering> I love you! 

It also took fourteen weeks to completely stump me, that's right. 

I'm stumped. Kiss Cam. Wow. What can I say about kiss cam? 

Certainly it's an awkward experience, and this should resonate with me.

I enjoy kissing and feeling embarrassed by attention —why not achieve both at the same time? 

What a great suggestion, but how do I approach it? I've never been the subject of a kiss cam. Am I letting you guys down? 

You know, today may be Friday the 13th — but I had the strangest day yesterday. I'm not kidding. See for yourself. 

Hey lady, what are you cosplayning about?

This is Jeremy's second win! 

It was appropriate that for Dragon Con weekend Put It In My Mouth received D*C themed suggestions, and it was even more appropriate that only a couple of dorks participated. 

Participation is something that Dragon Con thrives on, in fact participation and fandom are the parents of this now twenty seven year old convention. 

Last year I wrote an exam paper about the fandom, cultural hegemony, and cultural capital of Dragon*Con. I was given a grade of 92 out of 100. 
The flaw of my paper was that I approached it as a fan. My paper merely served to celebrate everything I loved about D*C, highlighting very positive aspects of the convention. I even cited the genius of Henry Jenkins to reinforce my opinions — how could I go wrong?

Rose-colored typewriter ribbon

When you're in love with something it is difficult to be critical; as a student it is your job to be critical.  I did a bad job addressing the less celebrated virtues of Dragon Con and I am taking this opportunity to redress that. I apologize to everyone for the tone of this blog entry—but I can't discuss cosplay without disclosing my true and tortured discord on the subject. 

Origin Story

In third grade my school promoted a "Come as Your Favorite Storybook Character Day". 
Without question I would be dressing as Ramona Quimby. In fact, it couldn't be easier. I already had Ramona's hair cut and I felt confident I had a wardrobe I could work with too. After all, I deeply identified with her. I was going to nail the costume, it was going to be great. 

It was not great. It was humiliating, decimating, and discouraging. No one recognized that I was Ramona Quimby. Peers were picking on me, teachers were criticizing me and accusing me of not putting any effort or thought into my costume. So for the rest of the day I wore a name label "Ramona Quimby: Age 8", but that didn't help. Other girls were dressed like Cinderella and Alice in Wonderland. Their mothers made their costumes, they looked perfect, and the teachers made sure I understood the comparison. They didn't have to wear a name label. They didn't have to defend themselves or their choice; and they didn't spend most of the day crying. 
I learned that being true to yourself wasn't easy and it wasn't popular. 
Believing this informed nearly every choice I did or didn't make from then on. I hid the parts of me that were rejected and I embellished the parts of me didn't give a frak about rejection.

To this day, I am still learning to separate

from the character that developed from that.

Torridity Story

Not participating in cosplay due to Atlanta's unrelenting heat has always been my number one excuse and it seems to be effective some of the time. But let's be honest, cosplay is about commitment; and devotees will never let their fandom be weathered. 

One solution, wear less. And that brings me to this ...

Minority Story

One of many places myself and Ramona Quimby should feel safe is a convention that operates within participatory culture and reveres individuals that embrace the expressions of fandom.  

Only as an adult, what is at stake seems to be different.  
In third grade I didn't have to worry about being sexy. 
Who would I most want to visit Dragon Con as? 
Cheetara, She Ra, Lisa Garland, Number Six? These are a few characters that always come to mind but they are inherently sexy characters—and I often hesitate to intentionally dress sexy. Correction, I always worry people will think I want to be found sexy. Being found to be sexy is exhilarating. Directing people to notice how sexy you are gives me pause.

SDCC

This cosplay example is from San Diego Comic Con but Google is no fool, Google knows what we are a fan of.

On the other hand, dressing up like Olivia Dunham or President Laura Roslin, who dress modestly, would make me almost invisible in an environment that encourages gawking. And just like that, I am wearing a name label that says "President Roslin" and no one is impressed and my commitment is questioned. At least, this is my fear. 
The truth is cosplay isn't for the meek; and physically revealing costumes will remain an important measure of "quality cosplay".

Deformity Story

Worrying about being liked and being sexy is not the essence of cosplay. You can experience cosplay and be completely unaffected by the over sexualization of women, and I suggest you do try to have that experience.

But the reality of these pressures are pervasive and shouldn't be ignored. 

Before I proceed any further with this dialogue let me be clear about what I am NOT saying:

I am NOT saying sexuality is bad [I mean I'm posting from a blog called Put It In My Mouth, for goodness sake]

I am NOT saying sexy cosplay is bad

I am NOT saying it is wrong to find these costumes sexy

I am NOT saying I have never dressed in a manner in which I hoped may be perceived as sexy

I am NOT saying it is wrong to want to be perceived as sexy

I am NOT saying any of these things

What I AM saying is that the very narrow image that is being projected and perpetuated as sexy has a pejorative effect on both men and women. 

SDCC

I'm relying mostly on examples from San Diego's Comic Con, because this convention receives more public attention, but please understand the same sexual explicitness happens at Dragon Con. It is a crude coincidence that the founder of Dragon Con, Ed Kramer, is an accused sex offender.  Update: Ed Kramer plead guilty three months after this was published.

Actress Michele Boyd came forward publicly this year after being

sexually groped by a stranger, or as she eloquently describes him—a douchenozzle, at SDCC. 

I argue that the environment created at these conventions can facilitate the very wrong sense that this activity is okay. 

Sexual assault occurs more often than any of us can imagine and the scope of the victims suffering is truly unmeasurable. 

1 out of every 6 American women and 1 out of 33 American men are victims of an attempted or completed rape.

By the time I was 18 I had been the victim of an attempted rape. By whom? My best friend. By the time I was 25 I had been the victim of domestic violence. By whom? My best friend, my spouse. Just earlier this year I experienced the panic and anger described by Michele Boyd when I was at a rock show and was sexually groped by a stranger.  

I've recently noticed that my resting stance, the one I take while standing, waiting in line, or being on display is with my arms crossed in front of my lap. It is as if I am literally protecting my genitals, and I do not think this is a coincidence. 

My experiences aren't unique, and one more time — let me be clear that I am not implicating cosplay as an institution that is responsible for sexual assaults ... I am directing awareness to the idea that the images we see and share daily contribute to a sexually violent world that we have become tolerant of. I am saying that as of today,  these conventions have not broken this convention.

As always, someone else has said it better. Author, speaker, and filmmaker Jean Kilbourne:

"Turning a human being into a thing is almost always the first step toward justifying violence against that person.  We see this with racism, we see it with homophobia, we see it with terrorism; it is always the same process. The person is dehumanized and violence then becomes inevitable."

               Jean Kilbourne: Killing Me Softly 4: Advertising's Image of Women 

I take responsibility for my role in establishing these values as acceptable. I believe most of us perpetuate these ideas and knowingly or unconsciously help sustain them. 

Danai Gurira thoughtfully asks us to bring consciousness to the media and images we consume. 

"The media image is America's biggest export."

         
            Women Who Kick Ass Panel SDCC 2013

It terrified me to have this discussion with you. To bring up something as grossly complex as this and to admit to you that I know of no solution and to understand that many of you wouldn't agree there is even a problem ... to take that risk ... it's terrifying. 

To Jeremy, who was probably not expecting a response this dark [on a comedy blog]: 
All cosplay is great. The only regrettable costume, one that requires dependency of a staff to go to the bathroom. 
I suppose I could've honored your suggestion with a simple potty joke. 

Here is my closing statement: 
There is a subculture of cosplay devoted to sex appeal, this is not a bad or shameful thing. Sex should be celebrated. I advocate for sex, everyone should feel sexy—this is a good thing.
Our current and collective ideas of what sex appeal is and our reactions to it is what I take issue with. 
I don't know how we can work together to change that but I do know that the world never got better without confronting change. 
Having discussions like this (no matter what side you fall on) is a great start and having media literacy and a conscious mind is even better. 

Here are my sins of D*C week: 

Byron, I'm sorry I patted your ass (and that I am discussing it here). You did nothing to invite that behavior and it won't happen again (unless we are in improv).

Miley C., I am sorry I referred to your music video as kind of skanky. Skanky is the word I use to describe the way I feel when I get off of work. I do not think your music video is covered in sweat and pork fat. I do not know anything about you even though the media wants me to believe I do. All I know is that you are a woman and you probably encounter a lot of the same conflicts as I do. I will be more respectful of the way I inform all of my opinions about all women.

Chewblacca: Puppies & Panties

Week Twelve Winner:

Holly, what a bad ass. She won by a landslide. 

And it is no surprise.

What an innocuous YET insidious subject ...

Good job Holly, that's what people like.

Here is your win (and because you are a bad ass—I made you a video too).

I have been a lover of panties almost as long as I have been a lover of dogs.

My affection for dogs was immediate ... my affliction with panties began around the age of fifteen when I got my first job (@Dunkin Donuts). 

As a wage earner, I could now afford luxury items. It didn't take long to find out that spending that cash on under things sent me over the moon.

Garter belts, thigh highs, brassieres, negligees, corsets ... I couldn't stop. 

But my main obsession—panties!

Panties pleased me. So be it.

I am a certified Victoria's Secret Angel. <----I made this up, but what it means is that I have spent a small fortune on V.S. panties—and I'm far from retired.

Unfortunately having a wealth of panties doesn't inherent a wealth of good sense and sometimes you do foolish things like leave your pantie$ on the floor. Oh, and I forgot to mention you have a puppy.

You may not have good sense, but your puppy definitely thinks you have good scents.

The proof is in the now crotchless style panties you never anticipated owning. Boys, puppies like your manties too. 

The bad news is—there is little that can be done about this habit. 

The good news is—they grow out of it.

I won't go on about the psychology behind it, because I am not qualified to do so ... but I heard you guys like videos. 

Framing the conversation: coolness is an optical illusion

week 11 winner

I always felt extremely fortunate to have perfect vision.  
You see*, there aren't many things I am good at. 
I don't wish to devalue myself. These are just the facts.

· I don't draw well
· I don't sing well
· I don't dance well
· I'm a woman so, of course, I can't drive well
· I'm not a very effective feminist ☝
· I don't take compliments well
· etcetera 

But I can burp at will and I can see perfectly, 20/20. 
Well, that is, I could see perfectly. 

This happened—March 19 2013

My vision declined rapidly and with seemingly little provocation. 

I remember it like it was six months ago, because it was six months ago. 
Spring semester, 2013. 

I was convinced that the projectors in my class rooms were out of focus. 
That's right. I convinced myself that multiple projectors were out of focus.
I would form my hands around my face in a vain attempt to refract my own light. I would even do this while watching TV. 
My boyfriend told me I needed glasses.
I said, "No way, that's silly. I have perfect vision". 

He would smile.

It started to really stress me out that I couldn't see. I did a myriad of web searches to sleuth out what disease I possibly had that was causing my blindness**. 
To no avail.
One day at school I had a full blown panic attack. 
I fell apart. I couldn't breath. I couldn't see. I could barely walk. 
I was scared.
I made an appointment with an optometrist.  

Once diagnosed with an astigmatism I had to wait several long weeks for my very expensive glasses. 
Once I received the glasses I had to find out all on my own what happens when you:
· open the dryer
· have a cup of hot tea
· are caught in the rain
· work in a restaurant 
· live in a humid climate
· go to hug people!
I mean, someone should've told me (srsly guys)!***

That is a lovely story Val, but aren't you supposed to write about wearing glasses without a prescription?

Yes. And here is my confession.

"These are cute. I wish I could wear glasses". 

These were the words I said [out loud] while I ogled my mother's glasses this past Winter break when she visited me.

I don't believe I invoked optical damage with this utterance …
but I do understand the visually gifted's eyewear envy. 
The glasses were cute in the same way someone else's child is … for a minute. 

Not knowing that desperate dependency to the glasses, I could adore them from a safe distance. 
In the same way that not having to take that child home [and keep him/her alive] defines a much different relationship.

I did my usual amount of research for this piece and I noticed a
unanimous outcry from the visually impaired who feel as though their handicap is being exploited for vanity. 
The comparison of using a walking cane when you do not need assistance walking was made often and there is much logic to this criticism. 
The idea that glasses are being elevated to chic, sexy, and stylish is of very little consolation. Most would trade this desired aesthetic for better vision any day. 
Counter arguments were made in the name of fashion owning that nothing is of limits when it comes to accessorizing; you don't have to be a ballerina to wear ballet flats, you don't have to be on a boat to wear a skipper's hat, and other bad examples. 

What I have learned is that I feel incredibly self conscious in my glasses.****
When people see me in my glasses I feel like they know that I have failed at something. 
Then I assume they know everything I have failed at. 

The glasses are meant to make me stronger, so I can see better. But when I wear them, I feel vulnerable. 

I know I am projecting these fears and I know it is nonsense to feel this way. 

My issue is that I haven't embraced my new identity, "needs glasses". 
I would still rather squint than admit I need help seeing, and this has been a running theme for me. 
The truth is, the ability to see confidently could, in fact, make me look confident. 

If people want to wear vanity frames, please, go ahead. 
Because even with a visual handicap — I can clearly see*^5 how little the fashion choices of other's matters. 

Srsly guys. *^6 

         Burberry Grace

      I take you out of your case

         I put you on my face

        And know I can see all over the place

*first and only pun
**I even peed on a stick
***I used internet shorthand! I'm all grown up now. Ew, I feel gross. I nd a shwr, brb. 
****Even though my boyfriend adores me in them
*****I lied, another pun
******srsly is seriously not a word, but I can clearly see how little the online/sms language choices of others matters. 

I srsly should not take credit for that poem, it's pretty lame.

Now Everyone Can Put It In My Mouth!

It has been ten weeks, you guys. You and I have been blogging together for ten beautiful weeks. 
Maybe I am getting ahead of myself but I think we are ready to share ourselves with more people.
More people, more ideas, more votes, more magic!

I am inviting you to like my Facebook page and to invite others to join.
All voting will occur on this page and now you will have the opportunity to get more votes for your suggestions. 

Did I mention how beautiful you and your suggestions are? 

Business as usual

• I post a request for topic ideas on the new Facebook page every Friday morning.
• You provide suggestions for the blog topic, if you are so inclined.
• Between Friday morning and Monday night you are also encouraged to vote for your favorite suggestions, this can include your own suggestion.
• The suggestion with the most votes Monday night will be the topic I write about.
• I will post the winner’s blog before the end of the day Friday.

This week's blog winner is: Matthew! 

You will see this winning blog posted to the site this Friday.

I totally had to wear prescription glasses to write this. 

Children Of The Corona Borealis

Congratulations Jeremy! 

What a mind blowing, vaginal numbing suggestion. 

Gross, I wish I hadn't said that. Too bad, I did.

When I think of space babies, and I sometimes do, I usually think along these lines: 

Jeremy's suggestion forced me to do some critical thinking about the topic, i.e. "googling". 

After a long afternoon of laying in bed watching the butt end of S1 Orange Is The New Black* I learned this; 

Jeremy will be devastated when I report to him that giving birth in space may not be a viable option. 

Childbirth is something I know very little about.  I saw a video of the aforementioned event early on in grade school and swore to never let that happen to me.  Instead I would adopt a baby boy, work shifts at McDonalds and dance ballet.  Laugh all you want, those were my goals when I was 6 (I have since met none of them).  I did make good on the "never let that happen to me" vow but only by way of an endocrine disease.   

 plie segue?

What I am saying is—childbirth in space? 

Unlikely. 

Even if two very patient people found a way to 

find 'the G' in zero G 

and their "John Travolta" successfully made it to someone's "Kirstie Allie". . .

I maintain that no women would be trusting enough to let someone perform an episiotomy while hurtling through space at an alarming rate. 

There are scientific implications that babies born in space may develop as fatheaded, off balance, weak, fragile, disproportionate (as we understand it to be), atrophied babies. 

That sounds like a lot of time in the NICU and the coffee is terrible there, boo to that.  

Enough nonsense.  It is still my self-prescribed job to satisfy Jeremy's curiosity. 

Launching: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, you're supposed to click the video now. . .             

*Spoiler: Tan is the new Black