Adventure in Rape Culture

There was a bit of an uproar when this commercial happened during the Super Bowl. Not among any men, of course, but groups of feminists and groups of brooding mothers were at odds. Even the feminists saw it as something relatively offensive. But if you ask me it actually teaches us a pretty valuable thing about our culture. A sad thing about our culture. (it’s about to get feminismy) That men are free to wear whatever they want, unjudged, unharmed. If a woman dresses as if she wearing nothing, or more often next to nothing, if anything happens to her it’s her own fault. Which isn’t true. Rape happens regardless of what one wears. And I believe in modesty.. More than a lot of people, but a fair amount of that comes from insecurity. That doesn’t mean that if a woman feels comfortable with her body she shouldn’t feel safe wearing whatever she wants.But she can’t. She’ll be judged by some other women and labeled a slut. And men, not all but many, will look at her as an object and not as a person. And if she speaks out against it, she’ll have this conversation. Over. And over. And over.

(I take no credit for this. It was, however, brought to my attention by my friend Kristen Lynne Blossom)

But this is what happens. Women can’t dress how they want because of rape culture. They feel unsafe in a short dress or a low-cut shirt, but you know when else we feel uncomfortable, unsafe? In jeans and a t-shirt. In sweats. Running after 6 outside of suburbia. After 8 in suburbia. It’s scary out there, and staying silent isn’t helping.

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Adventure in Résumé building

I’ve been trying to build my résumé to make me a moderately appealing job candidate. As it turns out I have no marketable skills. What I DO have is a bunch of worthless skills. Here are a bunch of ’em.

Skills:
Mixing paint to match existing colors.
Painting wood to look like bricks.
Painting wood to look more like wood.
Treading water.
Breast stroke.
Pooping.
Typing obscenely fast.
Sassing.
Snarking.
Filling out a v-neck.
Making a costume at the last minute.
Painting nails while driving.
Distracted driving.
Destroying relationships.
Making messes.
Folding, but not putting away laundry.
Applying make up.
Old age make up.
Mermaid make up.
Bird make up.
Drinking whole bottles of wine.
Crying.
Sweating.
Shaving.
Drinking soda.
Eating donuts.
Eating ice cream.
Spilling staining foods on clothes.
Taking pictures of myself at least attractive moments.
Filling up backseat of car with trash.
Moping.
Watching endless hours of television, better with shows I’ve seen more than once.
Painting portraits of Muppets.
Buying, but never reading books.
Writing letters.
Baking chocolate chip cookies for small groups of people.
Walking long distances and complaining about it.
General complaining.
Being burdensome.
Reading bedtime stories to 20-somethings.
Vaguely planning weekend trips.
Speaking in loud tones.
Humming, but not singing showtunes.
Playing Jurassic Park theme on clarinet.
Making pancakes on open fire.
Taking baths.
Swinging.
Buying and giving gifts.
Retaining useless information.
Quoting movies.
Seamlessly incorporating movie quotes into conversation.
Wasting countless hours on internet.
Sunburning.
Giving crappy, free haircuts.
Giving and receiving back massages.
Bargain hunting.
Painting stormtroopers.

Scenic painting.

Wise cracking.
Wearing neon.
Consuming large quantities of carbs.
Farting.
Maintaining composure in hospital.
Alphabetizing.
Judging.
Pop culture knowledge.
Making jokes.
Oversharing personal information.
Irish accent.
Russian accent.
Southern accent.
Deliberately crappy Russian accent.
Minnesotan accent.
Boston accent.
English accent.
Cockney accent.
Australian accent.
Walking silently.
Walking like a duck.
Cartwheel into splits.
Splits.

*Holds valid driver’s license.

If I come up with a real skill I possess, I’ll let you know.

Adventure in the Shortness

Friday was not my easiest day ever. I was at work for a few short hours before I was fired from my job. My boss got choked up, and I had to assure him I was fine, which isn’t necessarily untrue. I told my mom moments later who instantly began crying. I’d not had my own opportunity to cry yet, so I was frustrated. i was weary of comforting other people in a situation that was making *my* life harder. I could feel the selfishness welling up inside me.

I came home and crawled into bed. And cried. I cried for about a solid hour. I sobbed for about a solid hour. Maybe more. I thought about never leaving my bed. Then it started happening. People started telling me that the day was already too hard. I didn’t have to get my hair cut. People that weren’t my friend Hannah. My friend Hannah told me I had to, and since I didn’t want her to cut when she comes at the end of the month, nor did I want her slapping upside the head with a fish.

Friday evening I had my hair cut off. All of it. I don’t hate it. I do however not love it. It’s still taking me some work to love it. I did quickly adapt to how to make it not look like I’m an idiot.

I went to a wedding and felt a little overwhelmed, not by the wedding, but by an interaction or two. Or lack of interaction as it turns out. It didn’t matter though. Friday changed me. Physically for sure, but I think in other ways too. It took a lot out of me to take the blow of getting fired and to still say, “No, God. You’re right. I’ll do it.” Honestly, I was able to sleep in this morning, and I could go back to bed right now. I could probably sleep until Wednesday if I really wanted to.

It’s all very horrifying. But in case you’re wondering it’s all really exciting. My life is open to me again. It’s the damnedest thing. So now all those questions start flooding my head again. What do I want to do with my life? What am I good at? What are my skills? If I could do anything in the world and had picked a relevant major what would I do? Where is God taking me? How many hours a day am I allowed to sleep? How many hours a day am I allowed to cry? How do I pay my bills? What was I thinking?

Is Sesame Street hiring? (I have no marketable skills) Is Jimmy Fallon looking for a friend he can pay to just be fun to be around? (I’m moderately fun to be around) Is there are market for home-grown children’s television in Fort Wayne? (I’ve got an H.R. Pufnstuf sort of brain) Can I call radio stations with wheezy or uninteresting DJs and ask to replace them? (I promise to sound like an annoying cartoon character) Do companies need people on their marketing teams that are just there to be sassy and snarky? (This is my greatest skill)

Meanwhile, my hair looks like this now.

This came off my head

Post haircut giggles

Adventure in the Holland Daze

Melissa has posted some of her photos, which I will share with you, as I continue to share some of my thoughts from the trip.I’ve been mulling it all over the last couple of days, and honestly any time I think about the weekend I cry. I think because I just get so overwhelmed by the idea of grace and what it looks like to come along side one another.

My hair is being cut to an extremely short length on Friday, by someone who ordinarily doesn’t do it. I picked someone else because I didn’t want to blame the girl who usually does it, because I do see her more. Not that I’ll blame the one who is doing it, but I’m less likely to see her frequently so I’m less likely to think, “haircut” every time I see her, and because she’s been asking for months to get a chance to do it. But I’m cutting it off. I had told myself it was because it’s hot, because I’m bored, I need a change, but the truth is I know I’m supposed to. I like my hair. A lot. More than I should. It’s a source of pride in my life and it’s time for it to go. Maybe not forever, but for now. And if I’m honest about it, I’m horrified, which just confirms for me how much I need to do it. So it’s going away Friday and will stay that way until it stops being a distraction.

It’s had me thinking about Abraham a lot today, and how I’m nothing like him. God sent him out and basically just said “go on now.” And Abraham was just like, “Yeah. Okay.” And he loaded up his family and off he went. All I have to do is lose maybe 7 inches of hair. 7 inches against miles upon miles. Suck it up, Hayley. You aren’t Samson. No one told you to keep it. So let’s get it gone. I’ve had this real issue where when God asks me to do things I just turn into Jonah and am like “shoot no.” And God looks at me like Stuart’s mom on MadTV and says “Now Hayley…what does Abba say about the haircut?” And I grumble and talk about how it isn’t fair that God wants to take away the one thing about my physical appearance I actually like. And I won’t do it. And I make a big, whiny fuss. And the next thing I know I’m in the belly of a fish. It’s not long after that I’m puked up on the shore of Ninevah doing what I’m supposed to, and I’m so pissed about it the whole time. So now it’s a matter of praying for my attitude. And remembering that it’s just stupid hair, and God is way more important than having my face perfectly framed.

In the meantime, here are some of Melissa’s pictures from the weekend. Also knocking my pride back a few.

Breakfast