Blog In Brief: You Must Trust Your Waxologist!

Photo by Cea (creative commons).

I am having trouble seeing the computer screen.  My eyelids, puffy and scabbed, are collapsing over my eyes.  Yesterday, I had my eyebrows waxed by a new lady, and I think she screwed it up.  I look as though I have been in (and lost) a pathetically mismatched fight.  I am forced to exercise my forehead muscles and keep a perpetually surprised look upon my face lest I be blinded by my bulbous, swollen brows.  I am not sure what happened...I have had my eyebrows waxed before.  But this time.  This time was different.  

This is only the second time I have been waxed by this lady, a convenient up-selling of my already scheduled hair appointment.  Finding it difficult to schedule all of my regular feminine maintenance appointments, I was thrilled at the possibility of killing two birds with one stone, and having my hair and eyebrows done at the same time.  I have learned, the hard way, that not all waxy ladies are created equal.

The first time she waxed me, it seemed pretty simple, much simpler than my more regular waxing salon.  She didn't mess around with trimming or shaping, she just got right to waxing and pulling.  In all, the first session took about 8 minutes, whereas my regular lady takes about 30 minutes for both brows.  The results were okay, and I didn't think much more of it.

This last time, wasn't much different, other than after she pulled off all of her wax strips, she immediately began applying cooling agents to my skin.  I suspect now, she recognized what had happened and was doing her best to cover it up.  "Is this burning?" she asked.  A little, I replied. 

"Wow, you do get red!"  she exclaimed, dabbing my eyes with toner.   I am certain, were I a waxing specialist who had just ripped off my clients brow skin, I would know it, and would say something to the client.  She however did not, leaving me to discover hours later, that something was amiss.

 It is customary for my brow area to remain hot pink for about 24 hours after a waxing, so I honestly didn't think anything about it at the time.  Later however, I started to realize that my skin was blistering and beginning to redden and several small areas were scabbing over.  Lest I were to scare away small children and rodents, I had to slather cover-up upon my brows to conceal my assault for three days following.  In all, it would take just over a week for my eyebrows to recover.  Fortunately, there was no scarring or infection.

What went wrong?  A little research revealed that there were a couple of possibilities.  One, the wax she used was too hot, skin from the eyebrow area could be torn off with the waxing strip.  Ugh!  It definitely looked as if a thin layer of skin was missing.  Also, certain types of wax are harsher and hard wax is often recommended as an alternative (it is peeled off without using muslin strips).  Another option, is a technique called "Threading".  This technique, perfected in India, involves using a double strand of thread to pull the eyebrow hair out in crisp lines, creating a very sculpted, tidy look.  I am not sure how available the latter technique is, and I would imagine it takes a significant level of skill.

It is also important not to wax the same area more than once and to hold the skin around the wax strip taught as the strip is torn free.  I also suspect she may not have done this adequately.

I now doubt her waxing skill and will not have her wax me again.  My regular waxer, whom I am more familiar, definitely seems more skilled and focused on what she is doing, and as I said, takes a lot of time getting it right.  She is very professional and a stickler for technique.  She is very conscious of skin condition and health, and knows how to minimize redness and irritation from her waxings.  

Moral of the story: not all estheticians are created equal.  I would recommend that prior to entrusting your flesh to anyone bearing hot wax, you seek out reviews of your local salons and their staff.  Lady friends are a great place to start because as we know, if you BURN a woman, she will happily tell everyone willing to listen!

Renting FAAbulous!!

Photo by Vivanista1.

I have made a discovery!  A rare and wonderful discovery!  It is so wonderful, I want to share it with all of you fashion-envying, low-budget chicks out there.  I personally, lack the budget to dress in designer duds, and grew despondent whence recently invited to a formal dress party this holiday season.  Aside from an old bride's maid dress and a couple of denim mini-skirts, my closet sorely lacks glitz and her dashing cousin, glamour.  This is partly due to the rarity of occasions I have to wear formal attire and also due to my limited budget for such extravagance   My closet is a testament to the Gap, in all shades of navy, tan and more tan.

My first attempt to outfit accordingly began at a local, high-end, thrift store.  I tried on several outfits, and actually bought a well-fitting, albeit plain dress, for $20.00.  Sweeet!  I liked the dress, for say a funeral or business meeting, but I dare say it lacked the fashion impact I was looking for.  It was a glancing blow off the chin, not a one-two knock-out punch.  Well at least now I have a bride's maid dress and something to wear to funerals.

Thus, I began shopping on-line for an appropriate wow-factor dress.  I reached out  to my personal fashion expert friend, FTC, whom you may recall from prior blogs.  I asked him, What does a typical cocktail dress look like?

"H.O.T!", was his reply.  I immediately questioned my ability to rock "hot".  He followed up with some sample images of dresses he felt were hot.  The first, was a striking velvet number, clinging resolutely to the curves of a skeletal model.  My mind immediately went to my muffin-top and the hideous speed bump it would cause in the silhouette of this remarkable dress.  Thumbs down.  He continued with several more structured dresses, patterned with bold black and white blocking.  I was more hopeful with these dresses, as I was certain they were designed to make me look thinner and/or blend into the furnishings.  Their price tag was too high, and I honestly thought them bland.  If I was going to go for it in the dress up realm, I was going big or I was staying home!

I shopped incessantly, and found a sexy sequin number that I quickly forwarded to him for approval.  His response was a lackluster, "Meh."  What?!  I thought, "Meh!" I was certain this dress I had painstakingly searched for (considering my flabby arms, muffin-top and less-than-perky ass) was a shoe-in, and deserving of far better than "Meh!" Lord knows, "Meh," was not the look I was shooting for.

So back to the drawing board once again!  I decided I was also not going to share any more dress choices with FTC lest he hate everything I chose.  I needed to love the dress I chose and could not risk any more "Mehs".  During my frenzied , all night shopping, I stumbled upon an ad for a web-site which immediately caught my eye.  It was renttherunway.com  .

This, dear ladies, was my savior!  Rent the runway is a website that allows you to rent fancy dresses for a fraction of their actual cost.  And these are not just any dresses.  They are DESIGNER dresses! Included are designs from Versace, Nicole Miller, Helmut Lang, Calvin Klein, Zac Posen, Diane Von Furstenburg, etc. etc.  Unbelievably, I could rent one of the wonderful dresses for as little as $50.00!  They also carried designer accessories (not shoes) and conveniently offered Spanx for sale (just in case...wink, wink).

There are hundreds of dresses to chose from, and the search platform allows you to narrow your search by any number of criteria, including age, body type (pear,apple, stick...(okay not a choice, but it should be!)), size, style, etc.  Another interesting, and I might say, daring, option, is the opportunity to browse photos of real, every-day women, who have rented the dress you might be looking at.  That same slinky number may have been worn by tall ladies, short ladies, plump ladies and ladies of varying ethnicities.  On more than one occasion, this preview of what the dress would look like on any normal body (not the boyish, stick models) added valuable perspective to my dress fantasies, and caused me to keep looking.

After narrowing down my styles and honing in on my preferences, I was left with two dress choices.  One, a Versace, had elements of structure that FTC had been suggesting, while the other, a flashy lace number, seemed a little more fun and sexy.  An awesome feature about Rent the Runway, is that when I chose my dress, I got a second size for free, to insure proper fit, and a second dress choice for only $25 more!  Throughout the search for the dress, there were stylist tips and even the opportunity to chat with one to help in sizing, selecting and even accessorizing the dress.

I had a choice between having the dress for four or eight days.  I chose four.  I set the date I wanted the dresses to arrive and that is the date they did!  Everything came in dry-cleaner plastic, enclosed in a garment bag which was packed in a box.  The dresses were clean and in great condition (they did smell perfumed and I prefer to think this was a company fragrance choice rather than one from each of the ladies who had formerly worn the smock).  Included were a large, prepaid, return envelop (to be dropped in any blue UPS box on your return date), a cute little styling kit that included shaving cream and wardrobe tape (which I used) and a free tote gift bag.  

Each of the dresses fit and was of great quality.  With great originality, I paired my Versace dress with a little known designer of women's shoes, perhaps you have heard of him,Tarjay?  (I dare say that is the first time Versace was found in the company of Tarjay!) I purchased the highest stilettos I could find (ending up literally 6'2") to complete the H.O.T look.  I had ordered some cool earrings, along with a vintage looking bling bracelet from the site, both of which were awesome.  

I got lots of compliments at the party (perhaps in part because I was very nearly the tallest person there, and very imposing) on the dress and accessories.  I couldn't help myself but gush that the dress was rented!  FTC was intrigued at such a site as he had never heard of it.  

The next day, I packed everything up in my return envelope and dropped it in the local post box (which I seemed to have clogged with my oversize envelop...but alas I live in a rural area without blue boxes).  Overall the experience was very simple and exceeded my expectations.  So, for your next, and probably for mine, formal occasion, check out this site, and save yourself from spending money on a dress that just might end up sitting next to the bride's maids dresses in the back of your closet, never to be worn again.

Goodbye World!

Photo by NASA Goddard Photo and Video
(note the date)

I wanted to take this opportunity to bid farewell to the earth, the trees, and my awesome minivan.  As many of you may know, the world is supposed to end in two short days, or so sayeth the wise, albeit, primitive Mayans (their famous, yet impractically heavy wall calendar was created around 1300 years ago).

This ancient calendar runs out of stone, and some surmise that this foretells the end of humanity (non-mayan savvy persons like myself ask naive questions like, "It couldn't just be that they ran out of appropriately shaped stones?" and/or "Are we sure we found the whole calendar?")  Rather, to the enlightened (not to be confused with the optimistic or scholarly minded among us...you elitist bastards!) it is much more likely that the Apocalypse is nigh and our time has come.  The shit is to hit the fan at the moment of the winter solstice (4:12 am mountain time on December 21st). (Should I set my alarm?) Damn, just when the days were supposed to start getting longer and why the hell did I buy all those Christmas presents?

To be sure, it has me thinking about all of the things I didn't do with my life.  My bucket list lies unfinished...meaning unwritten.  My house is a mess.  I have made no plans to whoop it up during my last few days, in fact I have to work.   Unfinished business does not sit well in advance of an apocalypse...I better make sure I put on clean underwear, nothing too sexy, that would be inappropriate!

It seems astonishing that this, ran-out-of-room-to-carve-any-more-numbers prophecy, coincides so well with a bunch of crazy world events and a general pall of suckiness that has descended upon the globe.  The list of atrocities we and mother nature have conjured up, is intense and disturbing, and makes one question, were the world not about to explode, where exactly humanity is/would have been heading, given it's current path of shear madness?

Maybe it's a message.  Maybe we don't deserve to remain stewards of the earth?  The earth is breaking up with us, giving itself a shake and making room for new tenants.  How did the Mayans know, so long ago, that we were going to fuck things up so badly in 2012?  I can't help but think "space alien", but again, I am no expert.

There is a fringe group out there, who don't believe this near certain, final days, prediction. (Lest I humor them? The ill-informed, positivist naysayers!....um...)  These kooks, believe that the end of the Mayan calendar actually signifies a time of spiritual transformation (lord knows we could use a little of that).  They propose that it signifies the end of a cycle of bad mojo and culminates with the emergence of a greater collective consciousness. (Try not to laugh at their outlandish proclamations...world not going to end in a rain of asteroids and hell fire, HA! Get a clue!!!)

Loosely translated into modern time parlance, this means: We stop being materialistic, consumption-obsessed, SOBs, who mark our territory on any and all parts and people of the world.  (Aren't we entitled to do with the world what we will? Afterall, don't I have the right to buy my Mickey Mouse sweatshirt for $10.00?  Sew damn you, SEW!)  We are focused solely at looking out for numero-uno and screwing everyone and everything if they get in the way of our frantic quest to keep up with the Jones-es. (How'd they get so popular?)  Hey, you! Look at me when I'm texting you!!

These transformation nut-jobs think there is something wrong with how we are living our lives right now.  Like there is something wrong with our techno-cultural isolationism? I tweet therefore I am!  If I can save a buck, why shouldn't I?  It's my buck after all!  Call me a job creator/wage oppressor/ 1%'er...if the shoe fits, I'll wear it (preferably alligator or some other endangered trend).  Those liberal crack-pots think I should feel bad about poor kids or the oppression of women!  Get government out of my bedroom...unless it's yours...and you happen to by gay!  My guns?? You want MY guns?  Hands off my assault rifle!

Don't get me started on all those rich, old people living off the bank roll of uncle Sam's medicare dole! (Working all their lives, contributing into the system for decades, and then expecting the benefits they were promised...that is the definition of entitlement...right?)   It makes me sick to think of the teachers everywhere, living the high life, on their $45,000 a year...while the poor millionaires in this country are under attack.  Did you know that they might actually have to pay $3600.00 more a year in taxes!  Injustice!  Cut the teacher's pay!  Throw the old people out!  You non-contributing zeros! (stolen from a comedian...prize if you can name him!)

What about all those war veterans, faking head injuries from land mines and missile attacks, so they can leach off government disability payments!  Prove that landing on your head from being thrown 20 feet into the air caused your brain trauma you freeloader!  (I can only imagine the actuarial table of benefit denial, being worshiped proudly in insurance company accounting departments, everywhere as another company dollar is saved!)  And why shouldn't they?  Their CEO can't be expected to give up any of his $43 million dollar bonus, you communist/marxist/solialist/Canadian bastards!  He is, after all, quite good at what he does and the shareholders are very HAPPY!

It's an easier pill to swallow that the world is going to be obliterated in 48 hours, based upon an ancient, mathematically gifted culture, than to accept the possibility that we should be expected to transform.  Obviously that is an outright fallacy.  Who said there was anything wrong here?  Why should humanity behave any differently?  We've got it dialed in...we are on the right track!  Too bad some people just can't seize the opportunities right in front of them.  If they could just work really hard, become janitors as children for example, they too could join the Jones-es in their well deserved mansions!  

Somehow, the end of the world is an easier version of prophetical events to believe than the version that would force us to turn the looking glass upon ourselves.  It would force us to honestly assess the way we are living our lives and perhaps admit that we have chosen the twisted path.  Much easier, I suppose, to perish.  Grab your life jackets you sorry lot....parting will be such sweet sorrow.

Guest Man Blog: Manhandled!

An actual school report written by MY husband as a boy.  My mother-in-law, the wise woman she is, typed it, and saved it to torment him with later in life.

This is the first of  many (I hope!) guest male blog posts to come.  Nothing more intriguing than getting a glimpse inside the male brain from articulate and insightful men!  I invite self-aware and willing to share men to submit!! 

by Mark C.

I would like to take a moment and address the concerning spectacle of men and women competing in the same sporting events.  This injustice, specifically directed towards the weaker sex, has been tolerated for some years but in light of recent race results, I believe this issue must be confronted, and fairness restored!  As we all know, there is significant physical inequality between the sexes:  Men don’t stand a chance!

Admittedly, I am not an Olympic caliber runner, but I can make the occasional podium for the random running race or triathlon.  Recently, however, women have begun to occupy my reserved spots in the winner’s circle.  For example, I managed to finish one of our local races in a respectable time.  This particular race takes you up over twelve and a half thousand feet of elevation and then roundabouts  back to town via an arduous, single-track.  It winds through high alpine, rugged terrain and exposes one to the harshest of elements.  All, very manly experiences, until now.

 

I managed to finish this race second among the men.  Normally, this would have been the end of it,  I would have been second overall.  But this year I placed fourth overall.  To make matters worse, the first place man, finished second overall!  Women claimed the top and third places overall, beating out the men, including me!  Now I was getting the dreaded fourth place, the wooden medal, because of women runners?

In a local marathon I was bumped to eleventh place because two, (selfish I might add) women had faster times than me!  I propose that getting women out of such races would mean more top ten opportunities for deserving athletes such as myself.

Let's face it, women have an unfair advantage.  For starters, they have the ability to endure higher levels of pain.  Who hasn’t seen a female athlete return to sport, post-partum, tougher than ever?  These women can literally push themselves much harder, knowing from their childbirth experiences, how much pain they can actually endure.  Unfair!  As a discriminated against male, I am unable to partake of this unfair training practice! Men, on the other hand, may experience physical challenges, such as taking out the trash, looking for the remote, and even getting up and getting their own beer. All admirable challenges to be sure, but comparable to childbirth? I think not. 

Then there are women who will train five or six days a week.  What man has this time and focus not to mention their ability to multi-task? And these women are slender and light.  It's a well known fact that men develop more muscle than women.  All of this muscle ends up weighing us down.  I have personally developed so much muscle that it has taken to jiggling around my mid section.  Just because women are staying fit and active is no reason why they should be winning races!

  

This is even now becoming an international problem!  For the first time, the United States sent more women athletes to the Olympics than men.  Ye Shiwen, the winner of the Olympic 400-meter swim, did her last 50 meters faster than both Ryan Lochte and Michael Phelps, two of the fastest male swimmers in the world.

Of course, this is all a result of title nine which mandated the unfair practice of equal money spent for sport participation for both sexes in universities that received federal funding.  Since then, it's been all downhill for men.

I think, in lieu of these unfair advantages, there needs to be some rule changes in order to level the playing field.  First, women should have to run on steeper slopes than men.  Better yet, make them run altogether different and harder courses so that their times will not be compared to men.  Second, women must wear backpacks with weights in them: nothing excessive – 40 or 50 pounds- to match their male counterparts body weight.  Lastly, women should have to run barefoot.  On this point I don’t really have any “hard data” but in my gut I think this would add an appropriate handicap.

  

If unchecked, I fear that the present direction of women’s advantage in sport may affect other parts of our culture.  What's next?  Women demanding equal pay for equal work?  Now you're just talking crazy!

Blog in Brief: Mani/Pedi: YOU WANT FLOWER??

Photo by PinkMoose.

I took a time out today for a little "me" time, while my hubby took the kids to an indoor trampoline haven, that apparently smelled strongly of vomit (glad I didn't go).  I hopped on my bike and rode down to the local Vietnamese nail salon, intent on getting a "Mani/Pedi".  Pedicures are fairly common on my experience list, but I am less familiar with the culture of manicures, having only ever had one or two in my life.  My profession (which involves touching people) generally prohibits long finger nails, lest I gouge out eyes or scrap away skin, and so I seldom focus on my nails.

Since I am on vacation, I thought I would splurge, and even try something completely new...a French manicure!  After I ordered it up, I had a moment of pause, as I worried that perhaps I had asked for the wrong thing, maybe something that would involve lavish nail extensions with pictures of my kids decoupaged onto them.  Fortunately, however, I did order the right style, also referred to as "white tips" by a nail-savvy young customer next to me.  This particular style involves hyper-painting the tips of the nails with a white nail polish, disturbingly similar to liquid paper.  The nails are then buffed to a high gloss with some form of soupy, clear lacquer.  Even now as I type this, the flashing tips of my nails are catching my eyes with their blinding white blur.  Something about having your nails done also makes you instinctively begin to hold up your pinkies whenever you touch stuff....thus I am dropping my "a's" pretty frequently as I type.

Typiclly, I keep my nails mostly short with a roundish crescent shape.  Whence my very petite (I noted the width of my body was easily twice hers) and heavily accented technician mumbled something which I could not make out, I nodded knowingly (having already asked her four times to repeat herself and insecure that my manicure inexperience would be revealed), thus freeing her to file my nails into blunt rectangles.  I guess this is the more fashionable way to do it.  I had an urge, when she finished, to dash out and apply for a cashiers' job at Walmart.

I proceeded to the pedicure chair, which conveniently also allowed time for my perky nails to dry. Despite holding my pinkies aloft as I attempted to turn on the built in chair massager, I inadvertently touched one of my newly painted nails up against my pants, denting the just completed paint job.  To hide my faux pas, I moved my hand to insure my nail lady couldn't see the damaged thumb, lest she scold me for my clumsiness.  (I hate being yelled at in Vietnamese!)

Periodic pedicures are the staple ingredient of my foot maintenance program.  I am prone to calluses because of the activities I engage in, and I love when those ladies take the cheese grater to them, paring them down to something resembling femininity.   This must be one of the grosser parts of their job.  (The quantity of dead skin they removed used to embarrass me, but now I say, F%$^# it, I'm paying her, right?)

"YOU USE STONE IN SHOWER!!", my nail lady yelled at me, her body rocking with vigorous effort, the clumps of gloopy grey skin growing in a pile around her.  She seemed so angry that I was worried she would scrape my heels down to bone.  

"OKAY!", I shouted back, in a tone mixed with pleading surrender.  To my relief, she plunked the tool into the scalding water that swirled at my feet.  This signaled the end of her furious assault upon my leathery feet, and I gladly noted there was still some skin remaining.  More importantly, it also signaled the start of the massage portion of the service. (My personal favorite!) As she slathered brightly colored, "Birch and Mint" lotion upon my legs and feet, I zoned out, pretending to read the closed captions of the college football game, silently playing on a flat screen mounted high upon the spa wall. (I prefer not to make small talk in these situations, more so because of how difficult it was to understand what she was saying (unless of course she was yelling at me)).

I also enjoy watching what the other ladies in the salon are up to.  There were all sorts of manicure techniques being employed, including ruby red nail tips applied on the fingers of one woman.  They were being determinedly filed down into the same squared off shape as my nails.  Some ladies had their finger tips mysteriously wrapped up in miniature pieces of foil.  They were all very intent on the outcome, certain about how their nails should end up looking.  I found myself curious about their nail design choices and wondered where they had learned their preferences.

The reception man, also Vietnamese, captured my attention right from the get go.  I watched him most of all as I admired his bold clothing choices.  He wore a skin tight, netted and layered, sequined shirt, paired with D and G ultra detailed jeans, whose leather trimmed cuffs were up-turned at the ankles.  He also sported the longest toed cowboy boots I had ever seen.   The toes were so long and lifted up off of the ground, that he was having trouble walking on the tile floor.  The boots seemed to slip out from under him with each step he took, very much as if he were walking around on sand.  Despite this, he walked around a lot, as he was determined to over decorate every available surface of the salon with super tacky Christmas decor.

"PRETTY COLOR!", my tech balled at me, as she moved me from the pedicure chair towards the drying area.  (I am certain that is part of the salon's sales policy, and that in fact, she hates the neon, salmon-pink I have chosen).

"THANK YOU!", I yelled back as I settled into a chair and grabbed the latest People magazine.  I astonished myself by how absorbed I became catching up on my celebrity gossip (including the fact that Halle Barry is 46 and still smoking hot!).

My nails were well dry when I left the salon.  Relaxed, primped, and certainly polished, I jumped back upon my bike, pinkies held high, and headed for home.

This Cheatin' Heart

Photo by oedipushpinx.

The topic of fidelity, or more precisely infidelity has been front and center in our collective awareness of late, what with the exploits of once upon a time, acclaimed General Petraeus and a loosely connected group of modestly unattractive, miscreants.  (Although to quote a friend, the dramatic application of mascara we are witnessing here, is mesmerizing!) From the indebted socialite, to the fitness-maniac-file-stealing, biographer.  From the sending-of-topless-photos-whistle-blowing, FBI guy to the sloppy-seconds-wing-man-other-general who was getting funky with his texts.  This sordid affair is like a national viewing of the movie Fatal Attraction, who's message (sans dead bunnies) is simple: "Cheating Ain't Worth It."

The question then, (beyond, if a secret super spy can't keep his affairs a secret and get away with it, then who can?) is why do they keep happening? So publicly, so pathetically, and with women, quite frankly, that make Pat look feminine!  Why are we surrounded by greatly accomplished people succumbing to the call of the loins?  Time after (Tiger Woods...total skanks, his wife was beautiful!), time (Coby Bryant...that one cost him!), after time (Newt Gingrich (Ugh Callista!!), time (Brad Pitt...poor Jen...), after time (Bill Clinton, a cigar, really?? and would you have honestly saved the dress??), after time (The Terminator, did steroids do any long term penile damage, I admit, I am curious!), after time (old and misshapen US senators aplenty, in Argentina or truck stop bathrooms, you pick). etc. etc. etc.

On some level, we all know that cheating is wrong, right?  Right?? (At least that's what our cultural, religious based morality tells us.  Deny your human-ness...for it is written!)  After all, isn't it just a bunch of hot and crazy sex, with a near stranger, often up against a wall, or in a coat closet, with mostly black clothing, just barely removed, hanging provocatively upon nude, well-muscled, and glistening flesh, an instance where all of your resistance and will have been stripped away with an overpowering passionate urge to unite your hot, excited bodies, pressing, and straining, for more, your lips tearing at each other...all other thoughts vanishing other than a desperate, single minded need, a need that must be and by God, will be fulfilled? (Yawn. Ho Hum.  Soooo boring!).  (Time out...I just lost my breath!)

Societal rules would have it that Mr. Petraeus, should rather have, lovingly,  and I can only imagine, sex-lessly returned to his Mrs. Bush Sr. clone of a wife (I am sure she is a lovely woman...but seriously...makeover?) (update: saw photo of said Mrs. Petraeus from 1974 and she was Meg Ryan cute...women age so poorly...but that is another topic altogether), the one he has been boffing in perpetuity for 87 years.  He should have been able to cast aside the sexual diva-ishness of the hard bodied civilian and her wanton, lustful ear-licking!  (There are no confirmed reports of ear licking, I just imagine that is what he was into.) We must rise above that trite you say!  We are after all domesticated humans, not wild animals!!

But lo, despite our many moral and puritan rules o' monogamy,  the startling truth is, that the majority of us, YES, the majority of us are dirty little cheaters!  According to the hard-to-imagine-it-exists website, Infidelity Facts.com, a shocking 57% of men report that they have been unfaithful in their relationships.  But hold on, sisters, we ain't so virtuous either, claiming hold of a 54% infidelity rate!  To further barrage you with statistics, only 31% of marriages survive an affair (the average affair lasting two years), while only one in two marriages ever even has a chance of making it.  With daunting stats like these, why bother getting married in the first place?  Especially since the natural state of humans is most likely one of polygamy...or multiple partners.

In his article, "Why Some People Resist Relationship Infidelity Better Than Others", Scott Barry Kaufman, Ph. D, shares that those of us with greater cognitive or "executive control" are less likely to cheat.  This control requires mental effort to overcome our "default state" which is to "act on impulse". Essentially, we have to think our way out of infidelity.  Interestingly, the ability to do this is impaired when we have plentiful, attractive options (the more aggressive the harder it is to resist), when we are overly stressed or mentally taxed (we have less brain power to devote to resisting) and after we consume alcohol (that's a no brainer).   High profile individuals, with high stress, busy lives, may therefore be at greater risk because their brain defenses are down further than the average Joe to begin with.  Not to mention power lusting women throw themselves at these guys a lot more than they do upon the plumber down the street (except for maybe "Joe The Plumber").

Perhaps our modern day lifestyles are more inherently stressful and busy and our resistance to our natural urges (yes, they are natural...we are attracted to attractive people) is diminishing.  Also, a majority of women work outside the home, exposing them to more tempting options.  There are lots of relationship issues as well that "drive" people towards affairs, unmet needs, sexual conquest, lack of fellatio/cunning linguistics, etc. etc.  Men can argue that they are genetically designed to "spread their seed" with multiple partners.  Women on the other hand may be lacking in intimacy (MEN: this is not simply sex: it is cuddling, pillow talk, kissing, caressing and connecting) and seek it elsewhere.  Marriage is a breeding ground for staleness both emotionally and sexually...unless of course the garden is well tended.

When someone does cheat, and fails the great cognitive challenge...what are the pros and cons?  Well the pros are obvious...crazy sex with some wicked stranger!  Maybe you get to do it often, maybe only one time.  Perhaps this new conquest will turn into a lasting relationship, but most likely it will not.  What it will do however, is at some point, overwhelm your ass with cons, as it did for General Petraeus and his innumerable counterparts.  Need I list all of the significant consequences he endured for the satisfaction of his penile ego?  He lost his job (a mighty important one at that), his wife is PISSED, he may have been used to gain access to top secret info which is a serious offense, his past reputation is now tainted, his future career prospects are grim (within his chosen field for sure), he is a public joke and a daily, seedy headline, and quite likely he ain't bangin' Broadwell anymore.  And he sure as hell ain't banging his wife anymore either!

It doesn't seem worth it, does it?  Why couldn't he and all the other cheaters see beyond the orgasmic moment towards the future consequences that their actions were sure to cause?  Our cognitive efforts, it appears, can be used in reverse, to justify our actions, and to fool us into thinking we can get away with it, that it doesn't mean anything, that it will only be "just this once".  Chances are however, that if you do get away with it, you will be more apt to do it again...why wouldn't you?  

Some argue that a more natural married state would be a sexually open one...for both partners.  Our morality cries out against this obscene talk...but morality is simply a narrative we have created, originating from this newly evolved part of our brain , responsible for conscious control.  A man-made rule intended to control natural human behavior that culturally, we have learned to abhor as something primitive, less than worthy of our evolved human status.  Morality has a huge upward battle to fight when it comes to conquering our default, primitive brain programming. Impulse is a low energy, instantaneous process, a part of our hard-wiring, whereas, cognitive control or resistance via conscious consideration takes time and energy.  This internal brain-battle is a lot like a financial adviser running around in a casino trying to get all of the people in there to stop gambling.  They all know they should stop...they know he is making a good case for stopping...but they can't stop.  That's why our society is rife with compulsive behaviors, addiction and obesity.  WE ARE WEAK!

Perhaps our expectations of ourselves are too great, our rules unnatural and restrictive?  Perhaps our fast paced society is too challenging for the thoughtful parts of our brains to remain within moral control?  If we stand back for a moment from our lofty moral pedestals, from our place of judgement over those who have fallen from fidelity, we should ask ourselves if we, in a similar position or circumstance, would have or better yet could have, lived the ideal that we expect them to live by?  (I tried to ask my husband what he would do if a super-hot woman started to manhandle him whilst begging him to do her.  Did he think he could resist?  He glazed over, mumbled something and walked out of the room.  I know...and he knows...that it would be nearly IMPOSSIBLE for him to stop it from happening).

Are we asking too much of ours and their human-ness?  Should we just get over ourselves and start getting busy?  Some of us will and some of us won't, but I am not so sure, next time, I will be as quick to pass judgement.

Relational Aggression Update: The Power of a Vacuum Cleaner

Like most people exposed to issues of bullying or relational aggression, I want this problem to GO AWAY! "Please, mean people, would you mind just quietly and magically disappearing so that I can return to my idyllic version of my family, the world and my daughter?"  Sadly, they haven't left, they're still here, still hurting her.  Dealing with this is uncomfortable, painful, frustrating and stressful.  I worry that one day I will come home to find my daughter hanging, dead, in her closet.  Seriously, I worry about that.  I have to handle this right, I tell myself, I can't let her be that lost child.

It seems harmless.  It's only words.  Simple words like, "I hate you!", "Get lost!", "You're Stupid!", "Nobody likes you!", "Let's take a vote to see if we want her to play with us today.", "You are the worst player on the team!" (someone told her that on her soccer team this year...she wanted to quit).  But it isn't "just words", it becomes her world, her reality created in language, as it is for all of us.  These words shape our thoughts, the conversation in our heads that tell us who we are, create our insecurities, our fears.  These simple words create a world of isolation.  Next to death, isolation is the worst punishment you can inflict upon a human being.  The common thread of kids who kill themselves or commit violent crime is "He was a loner, he kept to himself."  It should read, "He was rejected by society and sentenced to a life of isolation."  Most likely, he was bullied, often just with words.

I convinced myself  (and tried to also convince my daughter) that fifth grade would be better. It's just a "phase" right?  And inherent in the understanding of a "phase" is it's short term nature.  Unfortunately, this appears to be a protracted phase in the lives of our children and sadly, one we continue to act out in adulthood as either perpetually wounded victims or callous bullies.

It started right where it left off at the end of fourth grade and also spread to her soccer team.  Somehow there was an awareness that she was a safe target.  Meaning, anyone could bully her, try it out, and not risk retaliation or consequences.  Even girls who the previous year I was fairly certain were excluded themselves, began to turn on her.  It was a bizarre case of "scapegoating" where they would pin all of their failures as a team upon her.  Each would confidently tell her what she did wrong "Nice pass!" (sarcastic, eye-rolling), pushing her physically into position "You are supposed to go here!" (they don't do that to any other girl on the team), criticizing, out loud, every mistake she makes (one girl having missed a shot on goal, then turned to my daughter and yelled, "Pass the ball (says her name)!!" (even though her last contact on the ball was 5 touches ago).  They yell at her "Stop laughing and focus!!"  "I don't like your clothes!"  "I'm going to play that position, you go over there!"

I sat back and watched practice one day, really watched, as objectively as I could.  And I could see it.  It was obvious.  She was the go-to-girl for all of their frustrations the target of their criticism.  They could all make her a worse player then each of them and therefore make themselves feel better.  I said to one parent sitting with me, "I am at a complete loss as to why these girls hate my daughter!"  I spoke with the coach, in general terms, asking if he could discuss team building with the girls, that they should support each other, rather than criticize or belittle each other.  I explained I had noted they were doing that to each other and he replied, "Really?  I hadn't noticed that!"  I thought, he must be deaf and blind, because as I sit here, I see it, I see it all!  He glazed over with the look I have grown to recognize from someone who would rather not deal with this.   I am dismissed as an overprotective parent, the problem, and won't I just please go away?

She LOVES soccer, and began to beg us not to go, to please let her quit.  I would watch her shut down, go limp, stop trying, retreat.  I would have to convince her, coax her into going.  I forced her to go to a place that hurt and demeaned her.  Was that the right thing to do?  Running away has not felt like the right answer.  She needs to develop the tools to handle this foreign world of meanness, because sadly, she will be exposed to it for the rest of her life.

Two weeks ago, she was hit at school.  Slapped across the face, hard, by a fifth grade BOY!  My daughter walked by as the ringleader was kneeling on the back of this boy, pinning him to the ground, exclaiming, "Everyone bow down to me!"  My daughter sarcastically replied, "Yeah, everyone bow down to you!"  The boy leaped up and said, "This is for saying that!"  And slapped her as hard as he could across the face.  Realizing his mistake, he began to run away.  Upset and enraged, my daughter chased him.  He tripped, and she pounced on his back, punching him "five times as hard as I could!"  He cried.  The ringleader ran up and said to my daughter "You don't have to be so mean!  He didn't mean to hit you that hard!" (WTF, right???)

She guiltily told me this story at home.  Ready to apologize for her actions.  I stopped her, and held out my hand for a hi-five.  I said, Guess what will never happen again?  She asked, "What?"  I told her, He will never hit you again.

The more I thought of this, the more it effected me.  How little must these children think of my daughter for a BOY to hit her?  How far could this go?  How embarrassed and hurt she must have felt after he hit her!  That night I lost it.  I cried.  I broke things, hurling them against the wall.   I huddled in a ball and wept for the destruction of my daughter.  I cried for all of her pain.  I cried in hopelessness and anger. What should I do???  Was I doing the right thing or was I allowing my daughter to be damaged in an irreversible way?

We met with the principle.  He called their parents.  The kids met with the principle.  They apologized.  (I never heard a word from his parents by the way.) The end.  But not really...just, Until the Next Time.  I am now paying $120.00 an hour for counselling for my daughter.  The goals of which are to build up her self esteem and confidence again,so that she can stand up for herself. (Thank you mean children, for this.)  I've learned she is more afraid of hurting other's feelings than protecting her own.  I've learned she is timid when expressing what SHE wants. It is fascinating, that she is victimized for caring!

At the beginning of fifth grade, each member of the class is assigned a "job", one they will do for the whole year.  The coveted job is "Teacher's Pet" (not your context, so take that away) where at the end of the day, kids assist the teacher with some random chore.  My daughter was assigned this job and was thrilled.  A boy (ironically, the one who would hit her several months later) cried.  He had wanted that job, and had been assigned the least desirable job of "Floor" (an end of the day picking up of the classroom floor).  Worried for his feelings, and I am sure, hoping to win his friendship, my daughter gave him "Teacher's Pet", and took the "Floor".

I learned of this recently one night, as we ended the day, before bed.  She was sharing her daily schedule with me, ending with her job, "Floor".  I asked her about that job, and she burst out crying.  "I hate floor!", she cried. "I had the best job, and I gave it away!".  I prodded her some, asking her if she thought that by giving the job away she had hoped that this boy would be nicer to her, a better friend.  This incited her to more passionate crying, "He didn't even say Thank you! He didn't invite me to his birthday party! And now I am stuck with "Floor" for the rest of the year!"

I asked her why she had thought that his feelings about the job had been more important than hers?  She could only reply, "He was sad.  He cried!"  My cynical mind imagined this clever fellow understanding how to manipulate her to get the job from her.  After about twenty minutes, I calmed her down, and told her that it was okay to put her feelings first, and that she had gotten the job fairly, and could have kept it without worrying about how upset this might have made him.

It was then I had an idea.  What if I could change the context of the job?  What if I could turn "Floor" into the coolest job in the classroom?  What if I bought an awesome, cool, vacuum?  I got permission from the teacher.  I went shopping and found a super-cool, bright orange, metallic Electrolux complete with a detachable dust buster.  I then donated it to the fifth grade, "Floor" job.  It worked like a charm.

The boy who slapped her , immediately asked her if he could try it.  She said, "No".  (perhaps he'll consider being nicer to her?)  Another boy asked if she would like to trade jobs.  She said, "No thank you."  She beams with pleasure speaking of her job. "Floor is the coolest job!" she gushes happily.  I asked her how it had felt to say no to someone who wanted her job?  She said, "It feels fine."  I reminded her that it was okay to keep this job, and honor her feelings.  She commented in a moment of happiness (ever increasing moments I am happy to report), that "life had seemed so bad a short time ago, but it had gotten better, and I guess that is what life does."

I sure hope so my love.

THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU!!

Photo by Jim Linwood.

Really.  There is nothing wrong with you, and thank God, with me either.  No, I haven't been on a self- help book reading frenzy.   I have recently begun a business leadership training program, motivated by a desire to improve the culture at my office.  Little did I know that this journey would be more about changing me and how I see myself and my future.

The latest seminar (we do one per month for nine months), "Mastering Performance", was put on by Jonathan Clark of Coriolis Consulting 
http://www.coriolisconsult.com/documents/who_we_are.php
I had heard of this class through alums of the program, and it piqued my curiosity.  I was most intrigued by their difficulty in describing what it was actually about.  They said things like, "He helps you figure out what "IT" is", (everyone has an "IT" they tried to explain), and he helps you find yours.  "Well, what is "IT"? I would ask.  "IT's different for everyone", they would say, wrapping up with, "It is an awesome class!!"

How awesome could a class be if nobody could tell me what is was about?  From his own summary of the intentions of the course, Mr. Clark, assures us that he is not there to teach us anything.  Rather, he is acting as a guide or facilitator to help us discover something for ourselves, about ourselves.  (Participants are also required to sign a confidentiality agreement, which might explain some of their vagaries).  The goal of the class is to free you from yourself so that you can live with intention and integrity.  And by golly!  That is exactly what it did!

In short, I have stopped listening to the self-bashing voice in my head, whose chickenshit intentions, keep me from living the life of my choosing.  I have been stuck (like most of us) with an inner dialogue about my reality that is based upon made up fears and perceptions that have trapped me with an assessment of myself that is narrow and confining.

From infinite potential as an infant, we slowly whittle down our options by creating barriers to things we "can't", "shouldn't" and "dare not" be or do.  (Most of which aren't necessary nor related to actual survival) We latch onto negative experiences and create a filter with which to judge and hold back all future experiences that might mildly resemble them.  This can be with situations in life and also with people we meet or interact with on a daily basis.  These filters are used to prevent us from repeating our perceived mistakes (shame filled moments, screw ups, times of hurt, etc), but the consequence of this narrative of self bias (and loathing for many of us) is far reaching, obstructionism in our lives.

Very early in our lives, we learn to cower in the corner, swatting irrationally at things that might (heaven help us!) make us feel the same way again.  As we age, we just hit the "refresh" button to keep these perceptions current. What is so surprising it how truly infantile and non-reality based these self imposed rules are.  We are literally letting a toddler run our lives!!  This toddler, lives in our amygdalas.  This is the primitive part of our brains, designed to be the "negative-nilly", "backseat driver" and "wet blanket" of our lives.

Long ago, in a much different and far away world, this part of our brain was really useful in keeping us out of the jaws of saber tooth tigers.  Unfortunately, it's power to suppress logical thought, did not go extinct alongside these ancient predators.  In our current world, free of many real life and death situations, our amygdalas are satisfied to make scary shit up for us. (Your brain apparently will do this for you, should you happen to be fresh out of fear.)

So, if once upon a time, someone made fun of our most favorite outfit (for me a crushed velvet dress and stiletto heels worn to 6th grade picture day (yes, an odd and overly mature choice, but it was a delightful hand-me-down outfit, that I thought reeked of fabulosity!!))  I realize now, that I decided then and there, under relentless teasing and embarrassment, to never "risk it" again. (Dressing up drew attention and it was much safer to pass under the radar, stay invisible, lest I be shamed again).  I learned that I had no fashion sense and thus framed all future primping from this context, and literally threw my potential as a well dressed and manicured diva out the window (along with the dress and the stilettos) from that one, horrible, ancient picture day moment.

How many irrelevant and stupid moments continue to hold me back from who I can and WANT to be?  Even now, I will find myself dressing up for an evening, eventually undoing  everything, as my inner voice warns me, "You don't know what you are doing!  People will think you look awful!  You will get attention!  You have shitty taste!"  This is a 31 year old amygdala moment continuing to influence my life!!

I remain a work in progress.  I have gained awareness of my inner "saber tooth tigers", and when they start growling at me, from deep within my brain, I am learning to shut them the f&%$# up!!  I am trying to see the world that actually lies in front of me, not the one I created to avoid foolish danger.

What are your vestigial fears?  What don't you do because you have an inner story about yourself that is outdated, wrong and holding you back?  If you are curious about how little of the world you can actually see when you choose to focus from a predetermined context, check out the "Awareness Test" in the following link, it might surprise you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ahg6qcgoay4

Clitoral Management

Photo by CarbonNYC.

"Treat it like the Clitoris!", I admonish my husband as he roughly manhandles a fragile piece of furniture he is assembling.   I realize he is not following the manual...and is using more aggressive tools than seem appropriate.

"Shit!" he exclaims, as he drives a screw in sideways, fracturing the delicate wood.  This will be another "Jerry Rigging" assembly job, patches and fixes employed before the object has ever fully come to life.

"Hmmm", I mumble, my face blanketed by an "I told you so" expression.  "Clitoris", I whisper, softly, making a gentle double mouse-click gesture to emphasize the point.

Treating something like the Clitoris is a way I typically emphasize the need to exercise gentleness when handling situations that require increased sensitivity.  He relates to this instruction due to the "sit on my knee" discussion we once had, early in our relationship, after he had numbed my lady bits with furious stimulation.  He, like many misguided blokes, mistook my apprehensive twitching, for pleasurable reactions.  To be fair, he is not the only man who has seemed at a loss for how to respectfully handle a woman's pleasure hub.  Most men approach it over zealously, much like they might attack a spot in the carpet they are trying to remove.

It is commonly held that we touch each other in a manner we prefer to be touched ourselves.  Based upon this assumption, I have surmised over the years that men must like their penises slapped silly!  I imagine myself, foot wedged upon navel, donning a set of work gloves (to protect against blistering), firmly clasping his male member, as I might a very stubborn and woody weed, grabbing and yanking and pulling until the damn thing comes!  (I get exhausted just thinking about it!)

Early in a sexual relationship, I keenly assess a new lover's general "touch" ability, monitoring for signs of excessive aggression or more desirably, an intuitive silky touch.  If he demonstrates a blind, infuriated groping, I would inwardly cringe when he reached towards my nether regions, fearful for the beating my clitoris was about to be subjected to.  My defenses would immediately trigger, and I would begin to swivel my hips away from his clumsy hands...doing anything to distract him and lead him in a different direction.  "I really get off when you fondle my knee caps!"  I would pant desperately. My mind, reluctantly yanked from sexual revere,  would be thwarted in her pleasurable meanderings, by the need to focus on self preservation.  The odds of me climaxing, despite his most ardor fueled efforts, and persistent manipulation, would move towards zero.

So let's talk frankly about our mutual friend, the Clitoris.  She is an enigma.  At once fleshy and proud, her true self is shy and hidden, preferring her nestled home behind lush, shock absorbing vulvular walls who serve to shelter her from excessive prodding (such as from relentless pounding, super-sonic vibrations, pinching or twisting).  She is twice as sensitive as the penis and inhabited by 8000 nerve endings, more than any other human body part. (See the book, Woman, by Natalie Angier)  (One might imagine that were a blind woman to learn to read Braille with her Clitoris,  it would be comparable to a sighted woman being able to see in the dark!)

Often unappreciated by the unevolved male, the Clitoris can be so sensitive that overly direct stimulation can be uncomfortable.  According to Angier (whose book is a fabulous dissection of the female body), many women tolerate more generalized attention, that is inclusive of the entire pubic mound.  The nervous system tends to modulate sensitivity based upon stimuli, and in instances of over stimulation, it will raise the threshold for feeling, essentially rendering the innocent Clit, numbed and unfeeling.  

Gentle, variety laden play, will yield much more effective results than outright poking.  You must foster trust in touch, which leads to relaxation and sexual openness.  The goal is to touch in such as way as to not distract your partner, as most women require a cerebral connection to orgasm.  If she is distracted, it will be more difficult for her to climax.  Think, trying to fall asleep in a room where every so often someone walks in and screams shrilly.  Not only will you not fall asleep, you will become inpatient and irritated.  If you go too far in your ministrations, you won't be able to pull her back, and she may very well check out of love making.

During intercourse, some amount of clitoral stimulation is often necessary for a woman to climax.  Woman who are most successful in achieving climax, including the coveted multiple orgasm, according to Angier, are fully aware of the best ways to position themselves in relation to a partner for maximal, and appropriate stimulation (girl-on-top is a favorite of these lusty mavens).  Those less likely to climax, she writes, often rely silently on their partners to practice mind reading and demonstrate masterful sexual skill.  

Sadly, many women are as ignorant about the preferences of their Clitoris as their clumsy lovers (also the name of a fun, Canadian, bluegrass band), having never explored possibilities or scenarios to seek out orgasm.  Often guilted into believing that self pleasure is shameful, these women may pass through life never experiencing the mighty "O".  If you are such a woman, please, do yourself a favor and start touching yourself right now! (unless, of course, you are at work).  To be successful, you must guide your mind into desiring the touch...not rejecting it.   Follow the sensation like an itch being delightfully scratched, and let it take over. It will gradually build to a point that you cannot, nor would you want to, back away from it, and soon you will find yourself tumbling and fully absorbed in the warm, pulsing pleasure of your body.  (What an awesome gift!)  If you become overly analytical, you will end up frustrated, and climax will remain elusive.  Let me state emphatically, THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH TOUCHING YOURSELF!   I would even suggest you bring self-touch to the sex act, most especially if your lover proves incompetent or you can't figure out how to get enough stimulation.

So you Clitoral thugs, BACK OFF!  Ask for directions for once in your life, and rely on the expert lying in bed next to you.  Mastering the mystery of this precious gem is time well invested, as it will pay dividends towards your own pleasure, motivating your partner to seek you out more often to help guide her to the summit.  Fail to, and she will turn to a trusty vibrator, and her back towards you!

Blog in Brief: Is it Safe to Go to the Movies, Mom?

Photo by whiteafrican.

"Murderers don't go to children's movies!" I blurted out, shocked that my seven year old son had just asked me if there might be a murderer at the movie theater we were headed to.  We were off to see "ParaNorman-3D" ($3Bucks) and out of the blue, he started to ask if we would be safe.  

Recovering somewhat, I added in a "don't-be-silly-tone", "There won't be a murderer at the movie theater, Honey."  I  can't believe I just said that sentence! 

"But how do you know for sure, Mom?" I watched him nervously in the rear view mirror, wondering how much this was effecting him.  I realized he was not going to let this rest.  He was genuinely worried about our safety.  How was I supposed to answer this question?  How different is the world that he is growing up in, that he has to worry whether or not some maniac might open fire on him...at the movies, at the mall, at school??

"Bad people like that are very rare, and those things don't happen very often,"  I began.  Hoping not to create more fear I added, "Sometimes airplanes crash, but we still go on them.  These accidents don't happen very often and we know that almost all of the time, we will be safe."  This placated him a little, but I could still see the possibility of being attacked at the movie theater was worrying him.   My mind was racing.  How far was the right distance to travel with this subject?

I began to wonder whether it was my duty to give him the knowledge and tools to handle a shooting situation.  It worried me to discuss this in detail, lest I turn him into a fearful and paranoid individual.  I still believe these episodes are unlikely to ever happen to us... Could the frequency of these episodes continue to increase and actually become part of his future reality and something he would have to be on the lookout for?  Was teaching my child how to protect himself in this kind of situation now a necessary part of parenting?

I had recently watched a video that was chain-mailed to me, called "Run Hide Fight: Surviving an Active Shooter Event" available on YouTube on the following link: 

https://www.google.com/search?q=run+hide+fight+you+tube&sugexp=chrome,mod=13&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8

At first I was skeptical about watching it...worrying it was just a gun rights promo video.  Afterwards however, I was glad that I had, and yet saddened that such a video needed ever have been made.  This viral video presents a graphic dramatization of a public shooting incident that provides guidance about what to do if you should ever, God forbid, find yourself in a situation such as this. Armed with this information, I decided to take the discussion with my son one step further, and actually review what he should do in the event of a shooting.

"What do you think you should do if there ever was someone with a gun at the movies?" I asked, monitoring his reaction in the mirror. 

"RUN!"  he stated confidently.

"That's right!" I replied.  "Would you stand up and run?"  I tested.

"No, I would get down low!"  he said defiantly.  

"If it wasn't safe to run, would you hide?" I asked, feeling more at ease with the conversation.  He seemed to feel better knowing we were making a plan.

"Yes," he agreed.

We further discussed that it was most important to make himself safe first and to be Super-Spy quiet.  We discussed calling for help and warning other people, much like it is reviewed in the video.   

As we arrived at the theater, his questions had ceased.  Perhaps he believed that there would be no gunman after all or perhaps he felt safer knowing that we knew how to handle it if there was.  I hoped I had handled this properly.  I hoped I'd risen to this unexpected motherly challenge.  I hoped we would be safe...

Cultural Enlightenment

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