You spin me right round, baby

Have you ever heard the expression/advice, “do one thing per day that scares you”?

Why would I want to do that? Why would anyone want to do that? I hate being scared. I don’t watch horror films, even around Halloween. I try to avoid walking anywhere in the dark alone. Roller coasters and other amusement park rides are totally off the table for me. I am, for all intents and purposes, a true-blue, card-carrying wimp.

But, I also like trying new things, especially if there’s the chance I might really enjoy them. I recently decided that I am going to do one thing every week that I have never done before, for at least an hour, and see if any new hobbies or passions arise. At best, I’ll transform myself into a person with even more diverse interests. At worst, I’ll get some amusing fodder for my blog. 

This Monday, I went to a spin class. I am sure that I am not alone in my stereotyping of “spin” – that it takes place in a dance studio, full of soccer mom types in varying colors of spandex. It’s a fad exercise program, I believe, where people use expensive stationary bicycles to pedal very fast for 45 minutes. I pictured all of these classes taking place in the middle of the work day, making this fad inaccessible to anyone other than the stay-at-home-Mom set. 

Exercise classes in general make me very nervous- I have always thought that walking into one that already has an established clique of fitness must be the most intimidating thing that you can put yourself through at 6:15 on Monday morning. However, my friend Erin had convinced me that spin classes are fun, and she attends this one, so I assumed some of my anxiety would be calmed by having a friendly face there. 

Next thing I discovered is that spin class has a pre-registry, which must be done on the rec center’s website. Spoiler alert: small municipalities aren’t working with the latest and greatest mobile-friendly web tools. After a couple of frustrating hours at work, trying to find the link to sign myself up for the class while simultaneously serving beers to Denver Bronco fans, teachers on their day off, and four drunk hunters from Minnesota, I still hadn’t figured it out, so I gave up. I decided I would march into the gym at 6:15 (let’s be real: 6:05, because if you know me, you know I live by the motto “if you’re on time, you’re late”) and see if there were any spots available. 

Next spoiler: no way. 

Apparently the Monday class is always full, all eleven spots taken, and since Erin had managed to sign up the night before, my first attempt at spinning was not looking good. Except that by class time, 6:15 on the nose (RESPECT, Helen. Respect.), Erin had yet to show. Upside: I was going to get a spot in the class. Downside: I was going to have to do this Thing I’ve Never Done Before alone. (When Erin did show, it turned out that she had forgotten her shoes, and since apparently it’s not considered kosher to participate in a spin class while sporting Ugg boots, she let me keep her spot.)

This is where my presumed stereotypes about spin class (and workout classes in general) participants started to go off the rails. For starters, half of the class was male. Men getting up at 6 am to ride stationary bikes. Even more interesting is that they were all significantly older than myself, and mostly older than the very fit women in the class. (Now that I’m writing this down, perhaps this is not such a mystery after all...) I believe I was close to, if not actually, the youngest person on a bike that morning. I was also, as predicted, the only female not sporting some form of spandex pant. I cracked some self-deprecating jokes about how no one wants to deal with a newbie on a Monday morning (Garfield HATES Mondays, am I right?), they chuckled politely and assured me it was fine. Someone handed me some 4 lb weights (what?! I thought this was cycling), and we were off to the races. 

Without going into a play by play (spin by spin?) of how the class went, let me say that my ass was kicked. As someone who considers herself relatively fit (I run about 10-20 miles per week, hike sometimes, mountain bike, and have a labor-intensive day job), I assessed the room (and the instructor, a 5 foot tall woman who looks to be about my mother’s age) and thought I would be fine, I would make sure they knew I was a first-timer, and they would all be moderately impressed by my abilities and level of fitness. However, when I was sweating harder than a menopausal woman in Florida, I looked around the room to smiling, mostly dry faces. These people are animals. On top of biking continuously at varying levels of resistance, we also continued to pedal while doing bicep curls and shoulder presses.

To wrap it up, things hurt today (as I’m writing this, it is two days since I took the class). But I didn’t fail. And I didn’t die of embarrassment. And I’ve also signed up for a class tomorrow morning. 6:15 am. Spin classes will no longer be something I’ve never done before, but they are apparently something I’ll be doing again. Luckily, I have some colorful spandex in the closet, just waiting for my second go-around.

Let's Touchdown a Home Run

I was at Target the other day (this fact should shock exactly zero of you, since I love that store and spend most of my hard-earned cash there, so much that several friends have even suggested an intervention), browsing for a new top to wear to a holiday party. I stumbled upon what we'll call the "not quite juniors, not quite adults" section of the women's wear department. There, I spotted some t-shirts, which from a distance looked cute and very much my style - crew neck, sporty, football-striped type cotton things. I walked over to them, anticipating something I might be able to wear while watching some playoff games this weekend.

Instead, what I found was this:

 

Oh, I discovered. They have cute little sayings on the front. Let's see what they've got.

"Rooting for the commercials" is sort of silly, and also a nod to all the people, men and women, who watch the Superbowl just to see the preposterous amount of money that corporations spend on a new ad, to be revealed to the largest television audience of the year. Sure, that's funny. However, they aren't selling this shirt in the men's section. They wouldn't dare. Men watch football to root for the football teams, after all (at least, that's what modern popular culture dictates). It's the women who can only be lured to the screen during a sporting event by the promise of amusing advertisements, right?

I sighed and continued to flip through the rack. 

Of course, a shirt designed in a football style, but only highlighting the half-time entertainment. Because that's why a female would watch the Superbowl- to see if Lady Gaga is going to show up in an outfit made entirely out of non-clothing materials, or if there's going to be a wardrobe malfunction or some obvious lip-syncing. Flashy lights and entertainment are all we women care about! Thank goodness there's a break in the boring sporting match to let us ladies have something to enjoy. Again, this is a product that would never be sold in the men's department. Real men don't care about the half-time show. They just use that time to refill their beer buckets and holler at their girlfriends to bring some more snacks, right?

You have got to be kidding me. Let me get this right, here - young women are supposed to dress in a cute, football-inspired jersey t-shirt for the big game. But there has to be a saying on the front, preferably one that puts us in our place and makes sure that everyone at the Superbowl party knows that despite the style of clothing, we are still just pretty little idiots. The only message that this shirt conveys is that women know nothing about professional sports, and that fact is something adorable that should be celebrated. "It's so silly and cute that I don't know the difference between football and baseball!" If you're wearing this shirt, you might as well have a sign on your back that says "I'm just here so you can slap my ass and send me back to the kitchen for more brewskis". 

I really thought we were past this, Target. There is no practical reason that women should pretend to be ignorant about professional sports, or that it should be considered charming and attractive to be dumb. We live in the United States of America. Everyone knows the difference between a touchdown and a home run. Everyone. We do a disservice to the demographic that these clothes are geared towards (I would say probably the 18-28 set) by continuing to promote the concept that cluelessness and femininity are one in the same. 

I'm certainly not saying that every woman should know professional sports inside and out. If you aren't a fan, that's a personal choice. I just can't believe this clothing was ever made. If a woman doesn't like football, then she doesn't have to dress for the game. And she certainly shouldn't find that her game-inspired choices include clothing that suggests any level of idiocy because of her disinterest. Nor should a woman who is a sports fan find that the only styles available to her at a large national chain are designed to depict her as silly and stupid. 

Here's an idea: let's treat women (and by extension, women's fashion) like they are intelligent, dynamic human beings who can be interested (or not) in any subject they like. Let's stop designing clothes for girls that suggest its cool, trendy, and attractive to be dumb. Maybe if we start there, society will eventually stop treating young women like they're uninformed, silly little girls who need to have even the most basic concepts explained. 

Girls, its ok to know about sports, and it's cute to be smart. Stop letting society take that away from you.

Stone Cold

It's possible that you're aware that I enjoy a cocktail from time to time. 

And when I say "from time to time", I actually mean that I'm likely to be the life of most parties, always ready for a Sunday brunch bloody mary bar, and I never miss a Wednesday Winesday with the girls at our favorite restaurant. Brewery tours and tastings are my favorite. I recently took a trip to Ireland, where I averaged 3-4 pints of Guinness each day, and it was every bit as delicious and magical as I had heard it would be. 

On the eve of my 32nd birthday, while drinking gallons of water and trying to prepare for the two-night celebration, I decided I would take a break from drinking, following the weekend. No wine, no bloodies, no complimentary drink after the lunch shift at my bartending job. I also decided that April 9th would be the perfect day to start, since my birthday was the day before and I was sure to be totally disinterested in alcohol. 

For 27 days, I had not more than a sip (tasting a friend's new and interesting beer doesn't count, people - I was sober, not dead). On the suggestion of someone who had taken similar breaks before, I didn't put a time limit on my total sobriety - I was advised that setting a timeline of "a month" or "two weeks" would just leave me counting down the days until I could crack open my next microbrew, and would thus accomplish none of the perspective I hoped to gain. 

Here's what happened.

1) I needed way less sleep. As a person who highly values my shut-eye, I have always said I need 7 hours to function properly, 8 to feel great, and with 9, I'm a true rock star. After a few days of no alcohol at all, I found myself waking up without an alarm after 6-7 hours, feeing completely rested and ready for the day. Don't think I'm converted - I still really want that full 8. But with nothing coursing through my system to make me more exhausted, waking up with the sun feels very natural. My sleep quality got better, too - no 3:00 am wake ups to pour another glass of water.

2) I got dehydrated. I know this sounds ridiculous, since alcohol is actually what dehydrates you (we've all slogged into our favorite breakfast place on a Sunday morning, ready for the waitress to come to our table so we can plead "coffee and a water, please, lots of water"), but without the knowledge of damage done the night before, I almost completely forgot to drink water. Four days into my sober period, I woke up with a splitting headache, urine the color of marigolds, and soreness and exhaustion after 7 full hours of sleep. Whoops. 

3) I lost weight. A couple of days ago, right before I decided I wanted a margarita too much to be able to resist, I weighed myself and found there is 8 pounds less of me than on April 9th. While I wasn't drinking, I was not paying any special attention to my eating habits, and had slacked off a bit with my running schedule. It didn't matter, I lost weight anyway. My face also appeared slimmer and tighter. By this time, I had reconciled the dehydration issue, which surely helped with this result. 

4) I realized how much free time I really have. When you get out of work at 5:00 pm on a Friday and have no plans to drink, the amount of things you can accomplish seems endless. I did laundry on a weekend night. I grocery shopped on a Saturday at 8 pm. I helped a friend clean and organize his home. I sat on my couch with a coloring book and my Netflix subscription while the bars downtown filled up, and then popped out of bed ready to make the most of my Sunday - just 4 hours after those same bars were closing. I thrift shopped, scoured my apartment, and entertained my parents over a long weekend (in which most of our planned activities started before 8 am). 

5) I felt socially liberated. You know how some people will tell you the truth about a situation, but only after they've knocked back a few glasses of Cabernet? I just started opening my mouth (and my text messages) in an entirely sober state, consequences be damned. I analyzed my friend's dating lives openly and honestly. I flirted with abandon. I told people how I felt about them. Simply, I decided that anything I might feel comfortable saying when my BAC was heightened had better be something I would say sober, too. As far as I know, all of my relationships are still intact and no one has been offended, which brings me to my next point...

6) I realized that nobody cared. Perhaps that's the wrong way to phrase it, because my friends did care. They cared to be supportive, to let me know that they were proud of me for taking a break and working towards making healthier choices. When I say nobody cared, I mean that not one of my closest friends tried to convince me to stray from the plan. I attended all four Wednesday Winesdays that occurred this month, sipping iced tea or water while everyone else drank wine. Did you know that your average "soft" drink costs about $2.50? Oh, yeah...

7) I saved money. I have no idea how much, but I do know that going out for dinner is actually a pretty reasonably priced endeavor if all you're having is dinner. Between alcoholic beverages bought for myself and those I jovially purchased for my drinking partners, I estimated my average weekly spending on booze to be somewhere between $40 and $60. Whoah. Going home from an evening out with cash still in my wallet is a wonderful feeling (waking up on a Sunday morning knowing exactly how much is left in there is even better). 

I'm quite sure some of you will read this and be immediately concerned or convinced that I have a problem with alcohol. "Why would she feel the need to take a break, unless she was boozing hard every night and spiraling out of control?", you'll ask. The answer is: I have never felt out of control, but I came to a realization that alcohol doesn't need to be a social priority. When friends invite me to their home for a bbq, my first thought does not need to be about what type of beer I should bring. My second thought does not need to be a plan on how to get to and from the gathering without driving - automatically assuming that every social event will potentially result in being too intoxicated to drive is just ridiculous. 

Drinking had also come to be seen as a reward for me (this is something I partially blame on pop culture, which is inundated with portrayals of hard working men and women kicking back and letting loose with beer, wine, or margaritas on a Friday after a "hard week"). Saying "I deserve these beers, I just worked six days in a row", or "I pulled a double on Friday, so Saturday night I'm going out" makes little sense. If I am working this hard to earn a little free time, shouldn't I be spending that time feeling my best - waking up with a clear head and enough energy to really enjoy a day of freedom?

If this blog post has been an inspiration to you, then I am sorry to disappoint: I had margaritas on Friday, and woke up yesterday feeling less than stellar. I also had a bloody mary at brunch this morning. Laying off the booze for nearly a month didn't make me want to stay sober forever. However, it did help me gain some important perspective about how I view and value my social relationships, my free time, and my health. Moderation, something I have never been great with (ask me about my sugar addiction!), is my new goal. 

Maybe next month, dessert. Maybe. 

Advocacy

Yesterday, I had the day off. I got up when I felt like it, drove to the bank where I was greeted kindly by the staff and confidently deposited some tips and pay checks into my account. I pumped gas and was pleasantly disregarded by the others at the gas station. I went on a hike through some beautiful National Forest land with some friends, and finished the day with dinner at a restaurant, where we all sat at the bar (smelling like woods, sweaty wet feet and campfire) and were treated with kindness, respect, and no suspicion despite our appearance. After we ate, I dipped into the ladies room before we departed. I dropped off my friends and came home to my apartment that was rented to me on the spot 15 months ago, the same day that I met the landlord. 

The political climate did not affect me yesterday. As a privileged white person, I was able to complete all of my tasks and recreation activities without incident. I am not a minority in my skin color, nation of origin, sexual preference or gender identity. Someone in my position could find it very easy to believe that what is happening in our country has nothing to do with me, and therefore ignore it. 

I'm just here to say, I really wish you wouldn't. 

I was skimming some information about the Republican Party's desire to dismantle and "replace" the Affordable Care Act, and I read some comments that struck me as quite selfish. It seems that many Americans who have access to health insurance through their job, or their spouses job, believe that they should not have to pay taxes into a system that pays to subsidize insurance for others. We don't live in a socialist society, they argued. It's not our responsibility to pay for other people! But then I saw an excellent point that needs to be expanded on. 

If you live a mile from work and drive the same road everyday, do you not pay municipal taxes that cover the cost of maintaining roads for others to use? Just because you never cross a bridge in your town doesn't mean that you obtain no benefit from the bridge being there and being used by others. Property owners who have no children still pay school taxes to their district. They do this willingly, because even though they have no children that will be educated in those schools, the understanding is universal that the education of America's youth is important. Is the right to healthcare not also important? 

What is important is Americans getting behind the Affordable Care Act and making their voices heard, especially those who do not use it for their health insurance. It is incredibly important to advocate for programs we believe in, even if they are not personally affecting us. Indifference from those seemingly unaffected by their policies is what the GOP is counting on in our current political climate- that those who do not get hurt by their policies will turn a blind eye. 

Being passive in situations of injustice simply because the injustice is not directed at you is the same as saying you don't care that it is happening. I think of this often these days, particularly every time I use a public restroom. I am a female. This happens to be the physical gender I was born with and also what I identify as. I also choose to identify as a "tomboy", and up until about the age of twelve, I was often directed to the men's room when I asked a server or a store employee where the restrooms were located. It was embarrassing and awkward, and on more than one occasion I had to search for the women's room after finding that their directions landed me in front of a bathroom designated for males. Nevertheless, time marched on and I grew breasts, as one does, and this no longer occurs. But I can easily recall the painfully awkward feeling of having to decide, as a preteen, if I should explain to a restaurant employee that they got my gender wrong or simply hunt for the bathroom with the picture of the skirt-wearing person on the door.

I think of this lately because I imagine it would be much, much more uncomfortable for a transgendered person have to explain to an employee, or worse, another patron using the restroom, what their gender is, simply to justify why they are in a particular place to use the toilet. Public bathrooms are uncomfortable enough without having to constantly stress that someone may openly question you about what anatomy you're hiding beneath your clothes. 

I am a female, and I use the women's bathroom. But I will never stop advocating for those who identify as a different physical gender than they were born with to be able to use any damn toilet they want. If you break it down simply, those who oppose transgendered bathroom rights are arguing that their right to feel comfortable in a public restroom is more important than the rights of a transgendered individual. We live in America, right? Aren't we supposed to be striving for equality? My comfort (or semblance of comfort because, let's face it, all public bathrooms are gross) does not matter more than anyone else's, regardless of their gender identity. 

I might be a white, middle class person, but I am also a single woman with no desire to procreate. Legislation aimed at making it harder for a woman to have control over her own body and reproduction has been popping up in state after state since Donald Trump was elected (and before). If you are a man, a married woman with children (or plans to have them), or a person who knows they want to have kids someday, this might seem like an issue that doesn't matter to your life. The "I would never have an abortion, so I don't care what laws are made about it" stance is a dangerous one. If a woman's right to choose if her body creates another human is taken away, it is the same as our government declaring that women are unfit to make their own life choices. Regardless of how you feel about abortion, you should at least care how our political leaders feel about women's power over their own lives. You may have chosen to have a family, but you got to make that choice. Others should have the same ability. 

If you believe that you can be passive when it comes to the current government, that your life will remain unaffected by their policies, you might be right. If you're lucky, you will be right. However, as legislation is proposed and enacted that specifically targets the rights of certain races, religions, and genders, it is up to the rest of us to amplify their voices. The social construct of our nation runs on the premise that we are an open and accepting "melting pot" of races, religions, and lifestyles. When the governing power in our nation is the group perpetuating racism, injustice and bigotry against minority groups, the advocates have to take a stand. 

You might be a straight white person with easy access to health insurance, who has never experienced discrimination or hatred. This is why it is your responsibility to not put your head in the sand. Advocacy is about using your privileged position and your voice to declare that you care about those who are being targeted. 

I might get to walk through life without my rights being called into question on a regular basis, but you can count on me working to make sure yours aren't, either. 

Singles Awareness Day

We are a little over a week from Valentine's Day, that most ridiculous of holidays when people who are content to just love eachother the other 364 days of the year feel the pressure to make grand gestures, when it is impossible to find a place to eat dinner, when some single women band together to celebrate "singles awareness day" (acronym SAD) and drown their sorrows in troughs of merlot like adult members of some cackling she-woman man-haters club. 

It's probably important to start by saying that I'm not one of those women. Of course, my friends and family know that I always love a good holiday excuse to drink booze and eat candy, but I certainly do not dwell on my singlehood any more or less on February 14. However, some of those around me do, and in February especially I find I am subjected to "there's someone out there for everybody", and "you'll find somebody someday" or, more likely, "but WHY are you still single?" The last, I should add, is usually in the form of a compliment, which I am more than happy to accept. It's also the inspiration for this blog post.

I could get up on my soapbox and rant about how our culture treats being single as something to get past, a mere phase that for most of us lasts the first 17/18 years of life and only rears its head intermittently after our teens. Or how those of us who choose to remain single are either treated as damaged goods or as someone to be pitied, implying that while we pretend to be happy solo, we are actually miserable inside (also implying that we don't know the true depth of our own emotions, which I have always found more than a little insulting). I could get on my soapbox and... Oh, excuse me, can you give me a hand stepping down from way up here? 

This post is not about how single people are treated, but rather about the many reasons why I choose to remain in this state of non-relationship status. Don't worry, this isn't about to be several pages about my past heartbreaks (there aren't many) or a tale about how my parents ruined the idea of relationships for me (although I could probably use that excuse handily), because those are not why I choose singlehood.

1) I'm very comfortable being alone. Right or wrong, I have grown very used to being single. I haven't been in a meaningful (read: potential for actual comfort and happiness) relationship in nearly 10 years (apologies if this is insulting to...anyone). Even in my last (9-month) stint of coupledom, which was rife with manipulation, disagreements, and degradation (sounds fun, right?), I never truly saw it as a permanent situation. I've become accustomed, possibly even addicted, to my time being all my own. I go to work, pay my bills, exercise, run errands, and do all the other entirely unpleasant things required to be a functioning adult, but the rest of my waking and sleeping hours are mine. I do not feel pressure to throw myself into a false interest of another persons activities (what do you MEAN you don't want to watch another human play video games for 5 hours? What kind of monster are you?) or plan my own activities to include someone who may or may not actually be interested in them. I know relationships are all about compromise, but as time flies by, I have started to realize that life is short, and doing things you aren't sure you want to do simply to maintain the adoration and respect of another person is, for me, a waste of that precious time. If I want to spend a Sunday morning watching Gilmore Girls re-runs and cuddling on my couch with a pizza-shaped fleece pillow (something I consider to be a perfectly delightful piece of home decor), I can do it, without another person trying to convince me that watching a documentary on the evolution of computers would actually be more fun. Which brings me to my next point...

2) Sharing your living space sucks. I actually don't know one solitary human who doesn't agree with me on this. I truly believe that couples move in together at the stage in which they discover they can tolerate eachother for long periods of time, are already spending every night stealing covers from one another, shifting through 253 different uncomfortable sleeping positions together, and also realize exactly how much money they can save by cohabitating. Even my mother, who has not been single since her teens, would probably tell you that she has fantasies of having her own space where no one else is around to move things, dirty her dishes and linens, eat her food, or walk through the house in their muddy boots. When I leave my apartment, be it for two hours or seven days, I return to find it in exactly the same condition that I left it. Which is to say, my hideous pizza-shaped fleece pillow is always prominently displayed on my couch, the collection of sports paraphernalia from my favorite teams is still on the shelves and wall, and my clean laundry is still safely piled, unfolded, in the basket (because folding laundry is the most tedious chore in the world, so if you live by yourself, why do it?). If I want to buy pink floral curtains for my house (or, more accurately, the Han Solo frozen in carbonate shower curtain I have been coveting), there is nobody else who gets to add their two cents. No compromise here. Speaking of compromise...

3) Currently, the social and political opinions of others piss me off. If one more middle class, middle aged, white male tells me to "relax", "calm down", or (the worst one yet) "stop" when it comes to getting worked up about my concerns regarding our current poilitical climate, I swear they might get punched. I know that the man who has been elected president of the United States doesn't represent the opinions of all people who fall into the aforementioned category, but there seem to be a heck of a lot of them who are largely apathetic to his actions. So many have taken the "but it won't affect my life" stance to what is happening, and to me that is unacceptable. The president is beginning to wage a war on minority groups and women in this country, and a person who doesn't care about how this will affect those around them, myself included, has no place in my personal life. I am better able to resist on my own. Also, the magnitude of what is being done to America is so great, that it would seem almost selfish or wrong for me to prioritize dating or romance in times like these. 

4) I don't like to feel uncomfortable. Relationships end. I realize many of you will call me pessimistic for this statement, but the average person has 5/6 relationships in their life (five for women, six for men, which is interesting in itself, but that's a topic for another time). Which means even if every one of those people only married once and stayed married till death, there are still four or five failed relationships for every human being. Five awkward breakups, five people you now have to avoid in your small town. Five people you once cared about deeply who are no longer a part of your life. Five rounds of town gossip. Up to five living situations that are uprooted or altered. Maybe even five pets that you bought together that one of you will never see again. Five rebounds (okay, we all know that's the fun part). Five different families that are disappointed because they really believed their son had found "the one" when he met you, and you even helped his mother with the dishes. Five bouts of crying, getting used to sleeping alone again, figuring out how to pay bills solo when you had become accustomed to having help. No, thank you. I prefer to keep my life happy, simple, and as low stress as possible. As I mentioned above, life is pretty short. I can't justify wasting precious hours, weeks, or days trying to emotionally recover from another dating roller coaster- not when I could have never boarded it in the first place and could instead be happily lying on my couch with my pizza pillow and the Gilmore Girls. 

If you, too, feel these things about being single, know you aren't alone. It may not be what our culture teaches us, but it's fine to chug your merlot next week and eat your heart shaped candy gleefully instead of with tears and regret. As for Singles Awareness Day, why not celebrate it 365 days a year, loud and proud? While you're at it, treat yourself to Chinese takeout and some Netflix reruns next Tuesday- you won't be able to get a table at a restaurant, anyway. 

One time is one time too many

Tomorrow, one of my closest friends is moving several states away to be with her new fiancé.

I should be happy for her, but I can't do it. She is an adult and more than capable of making her own life decisions. The problem I see is that she is relocating to be with a man who has been verbally, emotionally, and physically abusive towards her in the 10 months since they met each other. 

Without going into personal details, I will say that this relationship had been on-again, off-again, until he got physical with her and, for lack of a better term, smashed up her face. She had him arrested. After several months of trying to be without him, they got back together in a long distance capacity, and that brings us to tomorrow's move. 

I feel the way everyone (in my opinion) SHOULD feel about domestic abuse: it is unnecessary, inexcusable and unforgivable under any circumstances. And yet, as I slowly creep towards my mid-thirties, I have begun to notice a disturbing trend of tolerance among my peers. Some of the most strong-willed, independent, bad-ass women I know have begun to recently find themselves victims of domestic abuse in some form (or all forms, in the worst cases). 

When we ("we" refers to my peers here, the same men and women who are involved in the aforementioned abusive relationships) were growing up, domestic abuse was talked about. I am 31. I did not come of age in an era where abuse was an elephant in the room, kept behind society's closed doors and not mentioned for fear of violating personal privacy.  We were taught to SPEAK UP! if something harmful was done to you - to advocate for ourselves and for others who could be victims of domestic abuse or violence. As girls, we learned that there are resources and safe places where we could flee to if we felt threatened. Boys were taught that under no circumstances is it necessary, excusable, or forgivable to abuse anyone. 

I am sure that our parents and grandparents were thrilled that the public education system, as well as media and pop culture, were teaching us girls that we did not have to live in a world where it was permissible for a man to physically or emotionally harm us. A generation of respectful men and strong, independent women was being carved. 

So what happened to us? Why is it that everywhere I look, I seem to see men my own age turning their words, emotions, and hands on women? How are we still here? And why is our society still standing for it? 

On the surface, we aren't. Campaigns to stop domestic abuse are everywhere, and we KNOW that it's wrong. We run 5k road races and march in parades to make sure that the entire world knows that our culture WILL NOT TOLERATE abuse! We now educate little girls to understand that no one (and we mean NO ONE!) has a right to lay a hand on them without their permission. 

And yet, when I was lamenting the case of my friend (whom I mentioned at the start of this blog) to a male friend last night, he sighed and tried to comfort me by saying that we couldn't make her decisions for her and that she might just have to learn for herself. When I responded that I was concerned about how much more "learning" might occur, he said:

"Well, he has only hit her once, right?" 

I was stunned. I still am. This male friend is not a jerk or a misogynist. He is the kind of man who would stand in front of a woman to keep her from being harmed. 

And yet this is where we are. I see this type of attitude not only from men, but from women as well. The idea that it's NOT THAT BAD because he only hit her once. Or that there's a chance it was all a "mistake" and that he will never do it again. Or, the ever popular statement: "well, when he's good he's SO good to me, but when he's bad, it's really bad."

Please don't misunderstand me. I would never blame a victim of abuse for their circumstances. Manipulation is a tricky thing. It's all in the above paragraph - when they're "good", abusers make their victims feel like they are the most loved people in the world. Of course they do- if someone was horrible all the time, you would never stay. It is not a victim's fault that they remain a victim. Our society still does not do enough to facilitate escape and, perhaps more importantly, emotional recovery. I myself can not speak on the subject of a victim's state of mind.

Donald Trump was elected president in November and women across the country collectively tensed. What will he do to our rights, we wondered. How will his negative opinions of women affect his policies? I will be the first person to tell you that I have nightmares of what Donald Trump and his administration may do to us in the next 4 years. But we also need to think about what we are allowing to be done to us already- what our society has allowed to go on for as long as history can recall, regardless of political administration. 

We may think that we are progressive and enlightened as a culture when it comes to our stance on abuse, but we haven't even come close. The fact that some of my most talented, intellectual, beautiful friends believe that it is still better to be with a man who is abusive than to be alone means our culture needs to step it up. A lot. We need to stop shaming, pressuring and openly pitying women who haven't found someone to marry by the time they turn 30. We need to teach women to recognize specific early warning signs of abusive relationships (ladies, if he's jealous all the time, it's not because he loves you too much- it's because he wants to control you) before it's too late. We women need to actually start to believe that we deserve someone who is good to us ALL the time. 

We need to stop thinking that there are levels of abuse that are worse than others. Verbal and emotional abuse can leave scars that are even deeper than damage done by physical violence. Being abused by a person you love and trust is not an accident, something that can be overlooked as a one-time incident. NONE of it is ok, NONE of it is excusable, not even once. 

Because one time is already too much. 

No offense meant, but...wait a minute, no. Screw you.

Today I woke up, in my bed in the apartment that I rent for myself, in America. But it doesn't feel like the America that I have known for the last 31 years. It feels sad, angry, hateful. 

Like the fool that I am, I logged onto my Facebook page. There, I found Americans taunting each other, gloating and bragging about Donald Trump's presidential election win. The same people who have been posting for weeks and months about how they "just can't wait for it to all be over" are initiating posts that slam their friends for voting against the president elect. 

I spent most of last night and this morning crying, intermittently (I even burst into spontaneous tears while on a hiking trail), but I have now managed to corral some of my feelings into something semi-articulate (I think).  

If you voted for Donald Trump because you believed the "anyone but Hillary" mantra put forth by the extreme right, I can forgive you. You probably didn't do all your research, and if you did, I'm sure you were met with confusing media-produced contradictions about why, exactly, you are supposed to hate her- you just knew you should. It's ok. People make mistakes. Not everyone in this country cares enough about politics to read every scrap of info (sometimes, I fall into this category).

If you voted for Donald Trump because you are a lifelong republican, always vote along party lines, and either saw firsthand or were told the republican "horror stories" about Bill Clinton's presidency, I can forgive you. I'm a democrat, but I am not so close-minded that I refuse to accept that we are a two-party system. There wouldn't be democrats and republicans without people holding opposing views. If you felt that it was important to hold true to your republican heritage, I understand. 

If you voted for Donald Trump in spite of his inability to stop his mouth from spewing ridiculous, hateful things, I am coming close to forgiving you. If you have faith that he truly can figure out how to fix some of our nation's problems, and you believe in his abilities so much that you are willing to overlook his penchant for word-vomit, I will probably get past it. Probably. 

If you voted for Donald Trump because you watched his campaign, live streamed his speeches on YouTube, and caught all the instances in which he publicly expressed his views on Latino immigrants, Muslim immigrants, refugees, women, African Americans, homosexuals, developmentally disabled people and, (most recently) Jewish people, and you thought to yourself "man, I like this guy. He's a straight shooter and his views are really in-line with mine. I can get behind him as our president", then I do not forgive you. Now or ever. 

There is an important distinction between having a difference of opinion and being a good vs. bad person. People who choose to hate and oppress others based on their skin color, sexual preference, gender, or religion are, at least by my definition, bad people. There was a time in my life when I was willing to overlook what I deemed to be "character flaws" in people that I otherwise liked. I had friends and acquaintances who would occasionally let a racial slur slip from their mouths, or tell one too many racist jokes. I let it all slide, because at the time, as naive as I was, it seemed docile and relatively harmless. 

I believed it to be harmless for two reasons: one, I didn't actually think that these people were true racists, just guys cracking some jokes. Two, there was no immediate reason at the time to consider this type of speech dangerous. 

Until Donald Trump became the republican presidential nominee. 

Donald Trump, who is now the president elect of our country, has given a voice to racism, sexism, antisemitism, and many other forms of hate speech. In my (slightly) mature adult life, I have realized that any negative reference to someone's skin color, nation of origin, gender, religion, or sexual preference is hate speech. And this man lets it pour from his mouth openly, publicly refusing to apologize for many of the statements he has made. 

So if you, dear voter, chose Donald Trump because he "says what's on his mind", or because he is "honest about his opinions", then you picked him because he's a hateful, racist, sexist person, and so are you. And there are enough of you in our beloved country that, along with the other three aforementioned categories of Trump voters, this man has been elected. 

I'm all for unity, but I don't want a union with bigots. I don't want a thing to do with anyone in this country (or any country, for that matter) who believes they are superior to someone else because of their skin, birthplace, gender, religion, or sexual identity. 

Because you are bad human beings. And I will never forgive you for that.