That's Right, You're Not From Texas

Wow. Ever since Governor Goodhair (rest in peace, Molly Ivins) threw his giant, oversized cowboy hat into the presidential ring, Texas has really been thrown back into the national spotlight. And not always in a good way. Being a blue chick in this, the reddest county in the reddest state in the union, I can dig it. I've long moaned about many disappointing aspects of Texas, such as the government's allegiance to businesses over humans, for example.

But when the state caught fire after Perry prayed for rain? It got nasty. That's when I started to see and hear some downright unfair commentary about Texas and Texans that got my back up. And even though I am not considered a "real" Texan (you have to be born here to be called that; they actually make certificates. I am not making this up. I am merely considered a Texasissippian), I feel the need to defend what I call home.

Because that's actually the first example of the coolness of my state. Velvet rope stuff! Not everyone gets to call themselves a member of this exclusive club. Texas may be a dysfunctional family, but we are definitely a family. We may fistfight each other, but for an outsider...God forbid, a Northerner...say something sideways about us? We'll all band together to stomp a crater in your behind. I love the cohesiveness and pride of Texans. Even if some of them don't want to be confused with the facts.

It seemed timely, what with the unending supply of unintentional humor Perry is providing the nation, to spread a little knowledge on the state for those not familiar with actual Texas culture. You should know from an insider a little about how cool being a Texan...er, Texasissippian...can be.

Yes, that's right: TEXAS CAN BE VERY, VERY COOL. There's a toughness here, a George-Bush-clearing-brush kind of mentality. Plenty of elbow grease. Forget New York; if you can make it here in the land of the scorpions and searing heat, THEN, my friend, you can truly make it anywhere. Surviving the summers here just gives us more swagger. It's like getting a tattoo, going through your first Texas summer. After awhile, July comes, and you just break out your Clint Eastwood squint. Bring it.

And Texas females are particularly amazing, speaking of swagger. Don't let the big hair and soft accents fool you, my friend. Most of us can throw a punch while never creasing our designer clothes or tipping over in our six inch heels. We know football stats and can hold our margaritas. Did you ever see Ann Richards on her pearl white Harley?

Some Texas-sized misconceptions I'd like to address:

Myth: Everyone in Texas is a cowboy or JR Ewing. Guys. Most of us live in very urban areas. We work for Texas Instruments, AT&T, EDS, Frito-Lay, Ericsson....very little wrangling going on in the halls of the tech industry (unless you count jostling for stock options). We don't all drive trucks or wear cowboy boots. Most of us don't own a belt buckle off of which you could serve a turkey. Some of us even have an active loathing for Toby Keith.

Myth: Everyone in Texas is a hayseed who votes Republican. Much of Texas is actually urban. Dallas itself is actually a blue city. We have a thriving gay community and one of the largest gay churches in the nation. George Michael's partner is from here (whoops! He and Kenny Goss just broke up, I forgot), and they owned an art gallery downtown. Dallas runs a close third in the fashion industry behind New York and Los Angeles. Two words for you: Neiman Marcus. Austin, also blue, is one of the hippest cities in the nation. 

Myth: Everyone in Texas is a rich jerk who belongs to a country club. Okay, this one is mostly true. NO! I kid. Actually, 51% of Texans earn $33,000 a year...or less. We're second in food security in the nation. I've never met a murdering cheerleader. You'll never see a reality show about all the hard-working, two-income families here. Regular Texans are not the car wreck "Dallas' Most Eligible" are, but everyone loves to rubber-neck a wreck. Related: they're most eligible BECAUSE THEY'RE REPUGNANT AND NO ONE WANTS THEM. But I digress.

Myth: Texas hates immigrants. Boy, this couldn't be farther from the truth. What you hear from elected Texas officials does not reflect the love this state has for the Mexican culture. It is inseparable from Texas culture. Mexican food, Catholicism, mariachi...Texas wouldn't have its identity without its spicy dash of Spanish culture. White and brown have lived and loved happily here together for decades...and we wouldn't have it any other way.

Myth: Texas weather is unbearable. Okay, we crowded "unbearable" a little this summer with seventy days above 100 degrees. But on the whole, the rest of the year is mild and amazing. We have beautiful hiking, river tubing, and camping areas. There isn't a ton of rain to depress you. Bonus: we don't wear much sometimes because of the heat. But come visit us in April or October, because there isn't a prettier state in the union then. And lastly:

Myth: God is punishing Texas with heat and fire because we are evil and stupid. This isn't even funny as a joke, y'all. Over 500 houses were lost in wildfires. No matter what your politics, you don't deserve that. I forgive those who made the jokes; they're just trying to say something hideous and undeserved would never happen to THEM. It wasn't right when Pat Robertson said it about Katrina and New Orleans. It's not right to say it about Perry and the fires.

So even though I don't get to call myself a "real" Texan, I sure am affiliated. Even in my Dallas suburb, I am surrounded by eclectic artists, very cool musicians, intellects, and a healthy counter-culture (shout out to my favorite biker bar right now). In small town Texas. We ain't leaving, because it's our state too. The bumper sticker reads "Keep Austin Weird" down in the capital, y'all. And guess what? We might just turn the whole state.

So, if you're ever in Texas, look up your favorite McKinney Momma. I'll show you cool Texas. It really is like Lyle Lovett sings: That's right, you're not from Texas. But Texas wants you anyway.

You Are Not Your Status, or: Talk to the Face

So I'm reading in the news that something like 80 percent of us use "social media" here in America these days. I do it; I Faceplace and Twit with the best of them. And on the whole, I think the whole thing's pretty smooth. Keeping in touch with far-away friends, getting the latest news...the whole Arab Spring revolutions could not have taken place without the internet, for example. All hail the power of the interwebs, right?

But then I'm scrolling though my Facebook postings this week. And in between posts between the local Harley shop (I'm saving up; see previous posts referencing my raging mid-life crisis) and updates about the fourth season of Sons of Anarchy (I'm obsessed; that's for another post), I see a status change from my brother:

"Joe Schmoe" (names have been changed to protect the blogged-about) "has changed his status from 'married' to 'single'."

SAY WHAT? Okay...

This post is followed by comments from my sister-in-law (do they become "out-laws" after the divorce?) about how it's an amicable split, they will always be friends, and some other astonishing posts. Complete with photos. And I'm all: do I press the "like" button on this? There's no "appalled" button on Facebook, it turns out.

Now, I didn't think I was a curmudgeon. And maybe I am insane to say this, but why would anyone want to break this kind of information on a social media site as opposed to sharing the news in a more personal and private way? My brother is ten years younger than me, but still. Is this how the young people do stuff these days? Maybe I'm just having one of those "get off my lawn" kind of moments.

Perhaps I'm asking too much. Maybe it is terribly old fashioned to actually speak to people any more. Even when I'm out with the girls, everyone's got their smart phones out updating their status and posting photos and showing each other links and photos online. Am I awfully out of touch that I would just like to talk at your face?

I'm not sure too much of a good thing isn't turning us into a nation of the emotionally retarded. Our IQs may or may not be slipping as a nation, but I swear we're shaving points off our EQ, our emotional quotient, by the hour. The art of conversation has deteriorated to the point that I've got 140 characters before I lose your attention. The fact you've read this post this far clearly indicates you're above average.

And I'm not even getting into the scary, anonymous part of social media. On Twitter, almost no one uses their actual identifying information, and that enables what people call "trolls." Hate and vitriol flows freely, because no one can be held accountable for what they say. Like the road-rager who feels protected by the interior of his car, the internet troll hides behind some inane handle like @twinkiebutt077 and says things they would never have the nerve to say to someone's face on account of the throat-punching that would inevitably follow.

So here's the challenge: y'all get in touch with your inner human today. OH YEAH I FORGOT YOU'RE ALL HUMAN. Have you forgotten it? Have a conversation with another human today. You know. All those other warm bodies staring at their phones too. With your voice. Remember eye contact? Sigh. Those were the good old days. If I get a smile AND eye contact, I might just pass out. I miss the days of verbal status checks.

If you can say it in person, do that. We are not the Borg, people. Let's rejoin humanity. If you can call instead of text, DO THAT. Walk down the hall instead of writing that email. I know! Real live people can be scary. But I know we have it in us to like a few without having to be in front of a screen to press a button on Facebook to do so. Technology is great. But a laptop or your smart phone? It won't hug you back.

Too Old to Kid, Too Soft to Rock?

Where DOES hot go to die? Sorry, folks. It's that time of year again for me: my birthday is in September. I'm turning forty-mumble, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm having a mid-life crisis. Or perhaps just trying to stave one off by re-enacting my adolescence. I mean, I'm having a great time since I left the office and began blogging! Maybe that's why I'm suspicious. Aren't grownups supposed to be much more serious? Weren't we told by authority figures if it's fun, it's probably bad?

I'm asking because something weird happened after I stopped running my office, came home to write and be more present with the kids. Over the summer? I turned into an artist. Or at least some version of me that slowed WAY down, dressed the way she wanted, and said whatever she wanted online. And this chick? Most noticeably, a much more relaxed and happy bohemian. The pleasant change has me musing: I loved my old job, but was I becoming it? Did my suit have a secret plot to turn me into a Republican? Or someone equally as grim?

Don't worry; I haven't totally gone all Lester from American Beauty. No smoking pot while lifting weights in the garage for me. Yet. Oh, I kid. But it does seem to me like once you hit a certain age as an adult, you're expected to behave and look a certain way. There's a scene in Steel Magnolias in which Ouiser says she grows vegetables, for example, because that's what old Southern women do. I HATE GARDENING. I am not fated to raise tomatoes, dammit.

And I didn't notice how much I was stifling myself in that suit every day until I left it in the closet. That I had resigned myself to a life of selling myself as a "professional." I was looking all Lawrence Welk but feeling Motley Crue. I was like a mild-mannered alter ego by day to my word-slinging, by-night superhero self.

Changing jobs took some chutzpah but gave an unexpected gift: appreciation for the ease of authenticity. You can't write well in any voice but your own. It involves pretty much sitting down and opening a vein for you (sidebar: you're welcome). If I could disguise my insides at the office, there's no doing that as a writer and succeeding at it.

So here's some things I have learned about my authentic self I now embrace publicly at the risk of ridicule: I enjoy dressing like a fourteen year old boy, a la Sarah Silvernan. My love for heavy metal music and Harley Davidsons may, indeed, be cliched and/or cringe worthy. I think tattoos are sexy. Well. Some tattoos. I get way too much enjoyment out of popular culture. I will never become a morning person. I am energized at nightspots, parties, and with my girlfriends. I must dance to live music weekly to maintain my sanity. I am opinionated. None of this changes just because my age keeps advancing. I'm weird. I'm here. Get used to it.

If it's a mid-life crisis, it's teaching me this: I gotta do me. The real me. Not a watered-down, Reader's Digest Condensed Version, family-friendly version of me. I can be an acquired taste; some of y'all aren't going to like me. But the plan is for me to like me best of all.

Are you doing the real you? You're beautiful in there, you know. It took a career shift to show me how muted my voice had become. It happens slowly, inch by inch. There's maturity, sure. But when does it become surrender, or worse: hiding to avoid standing out? I hope you'll do something today for yourself that lets your freak flag fly.

So welcome to the first day of the rest of my mid-life crisis! I promise I'm going to be a LOT more fun this way. On account of the immaturity and non-professionalism, of course. Much more fun to read about anyway, right? Right. And thanks for coming along. 

The Back To School Mommy Manifesto

Ah, school days, school days. Transitioning around here to the new routine has been a little rough. For the kids, sure. They're used to sleeping in and playing X-Box all day. However, I do confess they are doing better than their mother, who's new to this work-from-home, car pooling, full-court-press-mommy scene.

But I came home to work for this very moment: to up the parenting bar for myself, so to speak, to be more present and active with the kids, and so I say: bring it, school year! I OWN YOU.

So while I still have the energy, I've created myself a kind of Mommy Manifesto, if you will, of aspirations I have as we enter the 2011-12 school year. As God is my witness, this school year will be improved from the last by the sheer force of my iron will. Thus:

1. I will make lunches the night before school, not in the melee the morning of school, lay out the children's clothing, and have backpacks ready to go. I will not be afraid of the parent-teacher communication folder. I will open it on occasion. Red stars mean you're exceptionally well behaved, I'm sure.

2. I will forgive myself daily for the fact my children eat nothing for lunch but peanut butter and chicken nuggets.I will tune out the guilt I get from chirpy mothers who somehow get their kids to eat carrot sticks and apple slices without emotional scarring.

3. I will cancel any and all parenting magazines. This prevents my despair over my inability to shape food into cutesy vegetable faces, facilitate crafts Martha Stewart couldn't complete without staff, and the realization my children dress like Depression era hobos. 

3. I will make as few car pool trips in my pajamas as I can muster. I will wear shoes in the car. Either that or sleep in my workout clothes so when you see me, you'll think I'm on my way to the gym instead of back to bed. I will embrace wearing a hat. Related: I will not curse other parents who are immaculately dressed, alert, and relaxed at 6:30 am. Even though I hate you and your superior organizational skills with the heat of a thousand suns.

4. Related: I don't care how awesome Sons of Anarchy is, I will not stay up until the middle of the night on a school night just because I'm enjoying a) silence and b) R rated programming.

5. I will not actively hide from school staff.

6. I will volunteer cheerfully. I will not sulk by the ring toss at the fall carnival checking my watch and changing the rules to the game so we can run out of supplies earlier and go home. Hell, I might even face paint with a smile.

7. I will attend a pep rally with the kids. Never mind that I used to hide in the bathroom as a teenager from the pep rallies at my own school. No matter how I feel about hundreds of kids screaming in an echo chamber of a gymnasium. I will not scowl when I do. I will don, albeit reluctantly, "spirit wear."

8. I will not complete my children's projects for them the night before they're due because I've been too busy to help them, and I won't leave them alone to do it all themselves. I will not allow this year, for example, a rock glued to the bottom of a shoebox with sand thrown in the bottom to be called a diorama. ("No, really, it's a representation of the ecosystem in Afghanistan! Yeah! That's the ticket!")

9. I will resist the urge to throw elbows at other parents who crowd their way in front of me at school programs. I will not judge you for bringing what is clearly the equivalent of a news crew to record your child's breathless rendition of "The Turkey Boogie" at the Thanksgiving program.

10. I will not arrange bakery cookies on a plate and pass them off as home made. I will not search the house frantically the night before the class Christmas party and end up wrapping paper clips or a used stapler as a teacher gift.

I thought about also including a promise to chaperone a field trip, but forgive me. I'm only human. Herding hundreds of kids with sack lunches in a school bus? I'm not woman enough. Clearly so much growth for me left to be had. But these above aspirations are just a few musings I've had on how to make this one a better school year. I'm also kind of sure this manifesto resembles New Year's resolutions in that I really, really mean them. For at least the next ten days. Best of luck this year, parents! We're going to need it.

Marriage: Now Without Divorce or Homicide!

When people hear I've been married over fifteen years with no arrests or appearances on the news, they start asking for my secret. Let's be honest: those of us with long marriages under our belt will admit there's love in it. Sure. But there's hatred and madness, too. So with more than half of marriages ending in divorce (and did you know about 65% of second marriages also end in divorce?), I'm here to give you a few pointers on how not only to stay married, but maybe even be glad you did.

Forget the breathless romance. Too many people are sold on the idea that you will always feel the way about your partner the way you did when you first met him. LIES! Even if you marry Gandhi, there will be a time when you will want to scream at him to get his damn sandals out from under the coffee table. Long marriages are based on friendship. So if y'all don't enjoy doing similar activities and mutual shared projects, it'll be hard. And when you're relationship isn't good, folks, the sex is the first thing to go. A good sex life is an indicator of an emotionally intimate relationship.

Realize you married who you married. I have discovered that men, indeed, are not tomatoes. You don't pick them and have them magically ripen on the shelf into the person you actually want. If he's not much of a talker now, he never will be. Marriage is not a magic wand that changes someone into someone else. Time to quit asking that tomato to be an apple. It's called maturity, folks. And guess what: you picked that tomato, honey. You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.

You suck, too. Realize that just like when your partner leaves empty containers in the fridge, making your head want to explode into a fine, pink mist, you too have foibles that make YOU less than easy to live with. Does my husband gnash his teeth every time I fail to alphabetize the spice rack? I have a theory. But here's what we do for each other: we review the list of each other's negative qualities and invite each other in, anyway. For every annoying thing your partner does, you irk him in kind. In the end, it just comes down to one question: But am I better off with or without this person?

Animus et fortis. Latin for "friendship and fidelity." This is a mindset, folks. Do you treat your partner as considerately as your best friend? Accept that you swore on an altar before God As You Understand Her to defend this person? If you look carefully, the old saying about hurting those closest to us is inevitably true. Do you speak more respectfully to retail store staff than your partner? Check that. And fidelity? It's not just keeping your underwear on, people. It means aligning your lot with your partner, being on their team and being head cheerleader for Team Marriage. At all times. Even when he or she is wearing his or her butt on his or her shoulders. Maybe even especially then.

They don't complete you. I am a romance addict; ask anyone. I'm addicted to soaps (don't judge me), chick flicks, and frothy Gothic English novels by Jane Eyre. But even I know that hubs and I are two separate people. Too many people, women especially, enter into relationships and lose themselves. And suddenly we're pouting because our partner wants time alone or with friends. Remember where you end and begin, friends. It's alright hubs wants to watch Dr. Who in one room while I read in another. Togetherness is not always all it's cracked up to be.

To everything, there is a season. My father's wedding day advice? "You're going to want a divorce one day. Just know it isn't an option." No, I didn't get my romantic streak from him, but perhaps my blunt honesty. Because the truth is you will want a divorce if you stay married long enough. Hell, you'll want to commit a splattery crime, I assure you. But kind of like knocking over a liquor store when you're broke, you just won't go there. There will be times you will wander more away from one another, and then seasons when you are closer than ever before.

Build yourself. Give up the fantasy your partner will change as well as trying to force your partner to change. Change instead your expectations of your partner and yourself. Let your partner do it their way. Make requests instead of demands, and accept "no" as an answer without getting angry or sulking.

Marriage. It ain't for the feint of heart, friends. Maybe it ain't even natural. But it can be deeply satisfying and mutually beneficial. But we've got to lose some of the ridiculous expectations we have about love and marriage that we've learned from the radio, TV, and movies. Because having a best friend with benefits for the rest of your life? That can definitely not suck.

You Can't Fight Crime in a Thong: Mysogynist Madness

So, if you're like me and raising a daughter, have you noticed it's not getting any easier making sure she knows her worth isn't in her looks? Do you, like me, fear her highest aspiration will be only to be a Real Housewife, or God forbid, a Bachelorette? Luckily, my daughter has two older brothers, so she is constantly exposed to their toys, books, and shows. She's into action, so it wasn't too surprising when she asked for a Wonder Woman party for her birthday last year.

Now, the superhero world is clearly male-dominated, sure, but did you know it's practically impossible to buy Wonder Woman or Super Girl party decorations, toys, or clothes? When it comes to girls' toys, entertainment, and clothes, your choice is pretty much pretty much princess, diva, or brat. And even if you do see a strong, capable female in the media, she's always all tarted up. I'm looking at you, Lara Croft.

For further example, the new Justice League comic is out. And sure enough, Wonder Woman is hypersexualized. Here's some fun via Bleeding Cool: let's see what the male superheroes look like when they're posed like Wonder Woman (complete with the actual rendering of her at the bottom):



Men would never stand for such nonsense. I mean really, people. It's 2011. Are you basing your daughter's worth subtly on her looks? Are you praising your son for his efforts and your daughter for how pretty she is? Why are young girls' clothes getting sluttier and sluttier? Related: my daughter's young tuchus will never sport a message, thanks. When I see a pre-teen girl wearing the word "Juicy" across her behind, I fear a future on the pole for her.

And speaking of poles, shouldn't we be a little embarrassed we're speaking about poles? Pole dancing has come out of the strip clubs and into the fitness clubs. Ten year old model Thylane Lena-Rose Blondeau is featured spread out suggestively in the name of "fashion." Suri Cruise rocks high heels at age four. What's next? A porn career for Dora the Explorer?

Seriously, folks. If you're parenting, gain some awareness about how you interact with your daughter. If you're a female, check yourself. Are you sending the message of body acceptance? Or are you reinforcing the message that you are who you wear...and it better not be over a size 6? Make sure she understands her worth is based on the content of her character and how she behaves, not the size of her behind or what brand's stamped on it. Oh, a little princess fun can't hurt anyone. But raising a generation of women who think the only vehicle to success is being hot? Then I'm pretty sure the terrorists win.