Decade, the Third

Today is July 1st. My birthday month has come to an end. Yes, happy birthday to me.

I am now an entire THREE. DECADES. OLD. Yep, it was the big 3-0 for me. What an incredibly daunting yet mind-blowing sensation! People often ask "so, how does it feel?" Well, allow me to try to articulate all the ideas running through my head eloquently.

Our World's Expectations for a Thirty-Year-Old vs. Reality

1. HAVE A CAREER! You go to college, you find what you're good at, and then you make a man out of you by being successful in your field, so that when you go to your high school reunion thingy you can tell people "yeah, I work in finance" or "I work in education" or "I'm a doctor" and then when you are inducted to the hall of fame or given a life-time achievement award, they make a video montage where people say things like, "yes, ever since she was a little kid, she used to say she would be a neurosurgeon". Amazing! People cheer while simultaneously weeping because of your moving story of passion and drive.

Reality: at this point, I am lucky to have a job. You know what happened as I was writing my master degree dissertation? I said, "shit, I should have listened to my parents. Chemistry really was my thing". AFTER SIX BLOODY YEARS OF STUDYING LITERATURE YA'LL. I cannot emphasize this enough, kids: maybe your parents are right. I mean, maybe they are idiots, but if they are like mine, they are definitely right. Always. All the time. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!

2.  HAVE ECONOMIC STABILITY! By 30, everyone assumes that you have been working at least the past 5 years, so you should be able to afford expensive vacations, a nice car, pedi/manis, yoga classes, Salatta.

Reality: cheese quesadillas for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Look, STUDENT LOANS. Enough said. "But Cris, what about all those trips?" Yes, Carol, it's called Income Tax money and  "credit cards" that you will "eventually" pay off. If I sat here waiting to pay off all my debt, I would literally never do anything. Let's face it, Patrice, this blog ain't gonna pay por nada.

3.

This one is a no-brainer. The world says your twenties are the time when you get hitched. I mean, the prospects from when you're 26 to when you're 29 shrivel twice as fast as your eggs. Who wants to show up to their ten-year high school reunion looking to see if the creepy teen that used to follow you around in high school has turned into a version of Steve Carell? Nope, I didn't do that.

Reality:

"Cris, if you don't meet someone in college, it will be really hard to do it once you're out in the real world."
"Cris, you should join a young adult group where you can find a nice guy!"
"You are too picky!"
"You are too shallow!"
"You need to be more feminine!"
"Guys find you intimidating!"
"You're too much!"
"He will come when you least expect it!"
"He will come when you stop looking!"

Shush please! You are not helpful at all. Unless you are personally acquainted with Chris Evans and can somehow hypnotize him so he will marry me, you are useless to me.
Also

4. BE A MOTHER!

Once you have your career, your money, and your Jim Halpert husband, you are expected to multiply. It is part of the circle of life, young friends. "Oh, you're wrong, Cris, our modern-day gives women more options now". Ha. Ha. Ha. First, try telling that to a Mexican mother. Secondly, untrue.The reality is that in our world, everyone has to criticize the fact that you are not an omnipotent being ala Wonder Woman (the real Gal Gadot) who should have a career, money, an amazing figure, a doting husband, and perfectly behaved children that gently slipped out of your va-jay-jay because you do  underground Pilates or Aquayoga or something. The world is a lot more hypocritical now than it was when it expected women to only be wives and mothers.

Reality: "Well, I suppose you don't really have to get married... just get pregnant. I want grand-babies. Go to confession later."

5.  FOUND YOSELF!

More than anything else, you are supposed to have this unwavering, focused sense of purpose, belonging, and being. You need to have, plainly stated, your shit together. You need to know yourself, know what you want out of your life, have 5, 10, 20-year plans, and work hard to get there. Hell, you are supposed to be thinking of your retirement already. That is insane, and intense.

Reality: Look, I don't even know what I will be doing in six months... let alone five years. Every time I ask myself that I picture a huge cloud of nothing. Fog. I know myself enough to know that I have no clue of what I'm doing, and that I am taking one day at a time because that is all that my mind and soul can give at this moment.

You might be thinking, "yikes, maybe I should send her a bouquet from Edible Arrangements... she really is not great..."

Well, do send it please. I've always wanted one. But listen, I know all of this sounds rather depressing... I mean, on paper, I am one big, hot mess. It seems like I've accomplished little, have worried lots, and have messed up constantly. But, you know what? This might come as a surprised to everyone, but...

BEING THIRTY IS AMAZEBALLS.

First, I am a full-fledged dysfunctional adult! I have crazy flaws, and anxiety, and worries, and what not, yet I manage to do all the things necessary for me to survive AND a bunch more. I have a balcony full of living plants. I book trips by myself and show myself around cities. I tell people what to do nicely enough that they actually listen! I pay a crap load of bills, always on time. I COOK AMAZING FOOD without any sort of training.

Second, I feel SO YOUNG. I feel strangely rejuvenated, especially as people I love get pregnant and have babies. I am a cool aunt! It is so surreal to know people younger than you who are soon-to-be mothers, but I guess the anticipation of a new life forming has the power to infuse energy and life in those who eagerly await to meet this tiny creature face-to-face. I suppose love, in its purest sense, does that.

Third, I know myself pretty good. Good enough to know that, despite my lack of direction, despite my anxiety, despite the obscure matter that envelops my heart at times, I am actually pretty bloody great. Like... genuinely awesome. Or at least I feel that way because I am loved and accepted just the way I am by such a diverse array of people. So many people cannot be wrong, amIrite? Moreover, I am loved infinitely by my dearest friend and Creator.  So BOOM!

Of course life gets really hard (like, all the time) and many times I want to figuratively grab the entire world (particularly the male species) and shake it by the shoulders and say "REALLY? I AM AWESOME, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" And sometimes it can get very discouraging. But if turning 30 has done anything for me, it is to show me how much greatness there has been in the last three decades, rather than depress me about the things that never happened, that broke, that washed away.

PLUS, I AM CONVINCED, ABSOLUTELY CONVINCED THAT THIS IS MY DECADE YA'LL. Shit's gonna get gooooooooooooooooooood. Like, real good (that is assuming, of course, that there will be no World War III. If WWIII happens, then no, I think it will be horrible).

So, for those of you who are afraid of aging--stop being dumb.
For those of you who are skeptical of this broke spinster/plant lady/ deranged teacher-- you'll see.
For those of you still reading this nonsense faithfully--thank you for loving me.

Happy thirtieth, ya'll. Actually, happy thirtieth, Cris, my love. Bring on the taquitos.

Fa-la-la-la-NO

I suppose you are expecting a Christmas blog (plus the blog I promised like five months ago about the rest of my summer vacation--which I honestly do not remember very well), but instead, you are getting an angry post!

I was at JCPenney Christmas shopping (that's my store--do not judge me) and I noticed a man who kept staring at me from the other side of the shoe aisle. I knew that he was going to talk to me because his gaze was fixed on me, so I tried my best to pretend like he wasn't there (naturally). Then, of course, because men are men, he can no longer contain himself:

"Hey, how are you?"

I look up. I can see a familiar face, but I am having a hard time thinking of who this is. High school? Yes. Friend? Definitely not. Name? No clue.

"Oh hi, I hadn't recognized you!"

He comes around to shake my hand. I see his eyes traveling up and down my body. Then he says, in an animated voice:

"Wow! You got fat!"

You wish.

No, I did not punch anyone. But I think my facial expression did enough for me, because the dude tried to correct himself by saying "well, you've got a fuller figure". He then proceeded to ask me if I had children, then if I had a husband. For both of those answers in the negative, he rebutted with an almost-reproachful "But why?"

So let's break it down:

1. Insult her body.
2. Question her womanhood by being outraged that she has no children.
3. Question her adequacy as a female by being outraged that she has no husband.

And people think I'm going to end up alone. Pshhhh. This guy is a winner in that category.

Or is he? Because, chances are, there is someone, out there, pining away for this asshole. Willing to surrender her heart, her intimacy, her blood, sweat, and tears, for a man like this.

Well, I suppose I am not just writing this to let you know how my day went today. So here's my two cents. Absolutely not suitable for work. Pardon my french. Sorry, mom.


To you, oh high school guy who's name I can't even recall,

First off, go **** yourself.

Secondly, I feel truly sorry for you. I feel sorry that you didn't have anyone to teach you better. I feel sorry that women are to you just a body to produce children and be bound to a man. I feel sorry that you even considered that you had a shot at speaking to me (because, let's face it, a random man does not ask a random woman if she is married and has children for no reason) and that something was going to come out of it. I feel sorry for you as I recall your panicked face in my mind when you realized that you had screwed up your chance with me (as if you ever had one-- 15 years ago or now).

But above all, I feel sorry that you are so wrapped up in your assumptions of what a woman is that you will never be able to love one properly or make her happy. Because, whichever woman falls for you (if there is ever one) will only be an attractive body, or the bearer of a child, or a wife to satisfy your needs. She won't be worth to you anything else. You won't see her for who she is, beyond motherhood and marriage. You will not understand her. You will not support her. You will take, and take, and take.

Perhaps I'm wrong for assuming these things. But it is just so mind-boggling to me that you had the nerve to speak to a strange woman you barely know the way you did. So I can only assume that once you get to know a woman, it only gets worse. Could I safely assume that you suddenly become a vindicator of the rights of women the moment one of us earns your respect or affection?

Well, if that is the case, I still feel sorry for you. Because you shouldn't need to love a woman in order to respect her. You should just... well, shit, respect her! But what do you know? You were brought up in ignorance, in violence, in lewdness. You've grown up in a culture that teaches you not to feel, that tells you it's okay to use people, that throws pornographic images at you and orders you to knock yourself out. You were bred in the dark, pestilent bosom of sexism. Even worse, you were knit in the fiber of selfishness.

So I feel sorry for you. You are pathetic in your blindness. You are a laughingstock in your lack of respect. You are a caricature of what a man ought to be. But don't feel bad. You are most definitely not alone.

I mean, I am acutely single for a reason. The bad ones literally make me want to become a hermit. The "good" ones are riddled with insecurities, self-doubt, and the self-righteous pretentiousness of thinking that they are the best thing that could happen to you.

Which brings me to  my next point...

Dear men,

Yes, it's me again. I'm aware that we do not get along very well, mostly because you all insist on being assholes, but hear me out...

STOP BEING ASSHOLES!

It's the future already-- why am I having to tell you this??? Like, we are past the Back to the Future year. What are ya'll doing, seriously? I'm going to give you the advice (lecture) I give my male students, who are riddled by hormones and sex-crazed:

"If you wouldn't say it to your mom/sister, don't say it to her."

or

"If you wouldn't like it said to your future daughter, don't say it."

It's really bloody simple.

The moment you treat a woman like she's a) an object, b) a baby maker (also an object), or c) your own personal source of marital pleasure, you blew it. She's officially too good for you. She's out of your league.

To the good guys who feel constantly victimized by women who only "want the bad guys": grow an actual pair. Love yourselves enough to be brave to fight for the women you love and brave to retreat when said women do not want anything to do with you. Your "goody-goodyness" doesn't entitle you to anything. Again, we are not a trophy. The moment you feel like you deserve a woman, she's already too good for you. She;s out of your league.

To the few men doing what they're supposed to: I'm not going to congratulate you because it's your job. But well done. Don't get cocky.

Dear women,

Stop. Enabling. These. Assholes.

You are worth so much more than objectification. You deserve to be an absolutely adored wife. You deserve to be a proud mother. You deserve someone who practically has a meltdown over the fact that you've given them the greatest gift there is: unconditional love, a family, and offspring. Anything less than that is settling.

Of course no one is perfect. But they have to at least try. For you. Because they love you. Because you are so damn beautiful, and smart, and sweet, and fierce, and amazing. Do not settle. Even if it means renouncing to your dreams of being a wife and a mother. Do not settle.

And that is perfectly okay. 

Dear world,

I am a fat woman. I have a back roll. I have stretchmarks not caused by pregnancy. I have arms that flop like wings. I have thighs that rub until they bleed. I have a triple chin. Sometimes I have to unbutton my pants after a big meal.

I am so FUCKING beautiful.

My legs are so mightily strong.
My arms are a fortress.
My face is the sun.
My eyes sparkle like redwood in the flames.
My hair rages like a sea of waves.
My mouth's small but my voice roars.
My hands are regal and rough.
My shape is heavenly, forged in bronze.

Add to that is the fact, as all of you know, that I am incredibly funny: I make my supervisor spit her drink. I make my principal break character and go from dead-pan face to a meltdown of laughter. I make my best friend snort. Most importantly, I make myself laugh, and even laugh again when I remember what I did later on.

I am literally brilliant, the love child of two people with crazy high IQs. I, thankfully, inherited the emotional intelligence of my mother. And her charm. I suppose that also comes with the comical awkwardness courtesy of me dad. *Eye roll*

I am a force to be reckoned with. Stubborn to no end. Determined to death. Dedicated to the core. Passionate in every fiber of my being. I might be shot down (now more than ever, it feels), but I carry on, running, walking, or crawling (this last one seems like the means of moving around, so to speak, in the last couple years). Who knows, I might secretly be a gorilla or something.

I am kind. I mean, maybe not to jerk-faces who call me fat in public. But I try to give of myself. I try to remind myself to love others. I put my heart on the line for people I consider my friends. Once someone accepts me in their life, and I them, I take them up in the figurative arms of my soul, and cradle them, and then put them to sleep, "sh-sh, there, there, baby love", and then keep them in my heart forever. I swear I am not drunk. This is the best metaphor I could come up with. Creepy and stalker-ish. Hilar!

I am honest. I am a hard-worker. I am sincere. I am a nurturer. I am a fighter. I crave justice. I am brave. I am independent. I am self-sufficient. I am compassionate. I am empathetic. I am hella loyal. I'm an awesome cook. I'm a pretty decent dancer. I am creative. I am crafty. I am musical. I am a fairly good writer. I try to live up to a moral code. I am horribly flawed. I fall short all the time. I am riddled with fear and anxiety most of the time.

But I love myself.

It is so hard to love one's self.

It's easy to do it when a petty asshole calls you names in a department store because you don't give a shit about him and he is nothing to you and will always be nothing. It's easy to love yourself when you are fighting trolls on the internet because you know there's something terribly wrong with their own self-esteem.

But it's hard to love yourself when that one person you look up to tells you you'd be so pretty if you lost weight; or when the people you care about say that you're a little bigger than last year; or when the man you love with all of your heart, who says he loves you just the way you are, who swears he adores you with all your imperfections, suddenly decides that you're not what he wants and walks away, or stops fighting for you.

Yet, you have to love yourself. Because it's what God wants. Because it is your duty.  Because you have to lead by example. Because, sometimes,  you have no choice because if you don't then you'll sink in a sea of despair. You have to love yourself, even when you look shattered, when you have to donate your beautiful clothes away because they no longer fit, or when you look at high school pictures and realized you've let yourself go. You've got to do it despite the nights of utter sadness, the comfort eating, the anxiety attacks, the thinning hair due to stress. You've got to do it because you're worth it. If God thought you were worth creating, then you are most definitely worth loving. Especially being loved by yourself.

And by God, you are so phenomenal and out of this world, that if someone could comprehend what you are, the thing that you embody, they would hold onto you and never let go of you, a beautiful, bright, mighty supernova.

So  you're going to say that if no one sees that greatness in you, why should you believe me? Well, if they can't see it in themselves, if they don't see God's likeness and image in their own face, how will they see it in yours? Moreover... if you don't see it in yourself, how can they see the blinding shine if you cover it up with self-loathing?

Well, I'll tell you this: even if no one ever does see it, it doesn't mean it's not there. Sometimes the sun shines so bright that people shield away from it. That doesn't make the sun less powerful. It just shows how weak people are.

So dear former classmate,

1. Insult her body.     Love God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. 
2. Question her womanhood by being outraged that she has no children.   Love Thy Neighbor
3. Question her adequacy as a female by being outraged that she has no husband.   As Yourself.