Yahoo Comments Trial 1

There’s no realistic reason to read Yahoo! News. Yahoo! News is at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to news sites, and its writers (all offense intended) suck at not only WRITING–which is kinda’ important if you’re only going to come across through a written article–but also reporting which, um, hate to break it to them, IS THEIR JOB. And I’m purposely overgeneralizing because I haven’t seen one writer who was actually worth reading. I mean, honestly people; do your job like it’s supposed to be done. I’d rather read a random North Korean news article on something that’s happening in the US than Yahoo! News.

I came across an article a day or two ago about a new type of doll called Lammily whose creator has big dreams of supplanting Barbie as a household doll. Capitalizing on the body-positive movement of 2014-15, Nickolay Lamm has put out a girl’s toy doll that imitates the average American girl. It even has the stick-on options of stretch marks, birth marks, etc…and she is a fair representation of what an actual teenager/early 20s woman looks like in America. It’s an awesome thought and product, and I really do hope it becomes popular.

But that’s still not the point of this post. If you go to the article and scroll all the way down you’ll see the comments. Most of them are (women) bashing on the idea of this doll and the fact that we’re even going through a body-identity crisis, which I find as hilarious and stupid as people believing that global warming isn’t a threat and the Holocaust didn’t happen. There is a ton of bullying that’s been happening for decades and fat-shaming is one of them.

Now, let me just say that there IS a limit between healthy chubby and unhealthy fat. I’m speaking about unfair bullying/shaming for the first one. If you’re overweight and it’s unhealthy, freaking do something about it. You don’t deserve to be part of the body-positive movement. For example, me. I’m 5’6 and 200 lbs…for a 23 year old female, that’s technically “obese”. HOWEVER, I don’t have any health issues because of it and I actually don’t really “look fat”. I just might have to run the mile in ten minutes instead of four and buy size 14 instead of 10. And each doctor’s visit I make confirms my good health.

I am all about loving your body IF YOU’RE TAKING CARE OF IT. If it’s starting to shudder and stall and your blood pressure is too high or your heart is strained, then you need to stop “loving yourself the way you are” and lose some freaking weight before you die young. All of this is besides the point too. I’m just trying to show you, dear reader, where I’m coming from when I tell you what happened in the Yahoo! comments the other day.

It takes a lot to get me fired up enough to waste my precious time voicing my opinion on the Internet, even on this blog, which is why I don’t post often. People I don’t care about at all are going to voice their opinions right back at me and they’ll probably try to start a fight which I don’t have time for. No one is going to change social views via the comments section so why bothering arguing your point there?

So I’m just scrolling through the comments, ignoring Yahoo!’s article as usual, and I start to get fired up for some reason. To this day, I still don’t understand why I was affected enough to take the time to write the below comment. It’s still on there; my username is LoRen.

“Every woman on here who is bashing Lammily needs to stop. I LOVED my Barbies when I was a little girl and I actually got upset when my mother’s husband didn’t let my half-sister play with Bratz or Barbies when she got to the appropriate age, but now that I’m in my early twenties and I’m having to deal with my own body issues, I realized that if I had had Lammily to play with instead of Barbie, I wouldn’t have as bad of a problem with my body NOW. It’s true that as little girls we really don’t care, but when you get older and that ideal body has been ingrained in your mind for the last 10 years, it’s hard to suddenly love your ‘not-Barbie’ body.”

I was SO tempted to call all those bashers “insecure blonde morons who need to feel better about their own body so they immediately gang-rape anyone who dares to imply that maybe there are girls who are confident enough to stand up and demand a real doll.” But anyone who’s insecure, blonde, or an actual moron would be insulted, so I refrained. Plus, I didn’t want to sink to their level.

But back to my comment. Of course, Barbies can’t be blamed for everything and I’m not trying to do that. But I’d say around 20% of my issues came from them, and it would’ve been nice to have Lammily around as well as Barbies. The rest of my problems come from my own self, the media, and growing up around skinny girls all my life until I hit like, 20 or something. It also didn’t help that my mom had me on diets since I was nine.

Anyways, I was waiting for trolls to pop up and sure enough, they did. A user name “ladylove” decided to question my intelligence as well as my parent’s capability to raise children:

“funny, I had a barbie, and when I grew up, I knew Barbie was just a doll, and nothing, absolutely nothing else

I still have that doll, my parents were not rich, and I grew up knowing what it meant for them to buy it for me. that is what gives a person a good body image, not playing with a perfect doll, but having parents that did their best for you, and you growing up to appreciate it.

I have a great self esteem, and am proud of all I have accomplished.

the doll is not the problem, its people telling young girls what they should look like. ads, TV programs, magazines. and a whole lot of other things.”

She did get one thing right with blaming the media, but I can’t ignore the fact that she blamed my issues for basically being ignorant about how the world (and dolls) work and being part of a rich family. I have three issues with her post:

1. Barbies weren’t expensive; I remember one of mine being $10. You could also get a knock-off Barbie at the 99 Cent store, so if your parents had to work to buy one for you, the only reason I can think of is that they were trying to purchase a limited time or collection type Barbie. I’m glad you appreciate all that effort on your family’s part, but mine was on the lower-end of middle-class and had one income… pretty sure my body issues didn’t come from being rich. Literally has nothing do with the topic of body love.
2. She’s assuming that I’m not intelligent enough to separate my identity from the doll. I also understand that it was simply a toy that provided innocent enjoyment and prepared my young mind for social interactions as well as nurturing others via pretend scenarios. But when you’re prepped for life with pretend humans that all look the same, it’s a bit of a shock to find out you look nothing like them. And neither does the majority of the world, yet the few that do are held higher in value than those who don’t. While you had pretended everyone was equal, life was just, and individual worth was based off of valid merits, you grew up to find out physical features and painted paper play the largest roles in humanity.
3. It’s extremely hard to take anyone seriously when they don’t use proper grammar or spelling or punctuation. If you’re going to take time out of my day to comment on, and contradict, my personal opinion on a topic make sure you at least take the time to reread what you’ve written and confirm it makes sense, both logically and grammatically. Neither of which hers does. And that annoys me more than her opinion does; way too distracted picking apart her comment to pay attention to what she’s actually saying.

So after that delightful little comment, this user name “Valentino” decided to follow ladylove’s comment up with a one-two punch to both my self-control and lack of motivation.

“Body issues girl just hit the gym and don’t eat the donuts is not that hard Jesus people are becoming so weak.”

Apparently mentioning God’s son gives your statement credit, I was unaware of this…I would also like to point out that I work out three times a week AND hate donuts, so thank you Valentino for your (un)inspiring suggestion, but that’s not the problem. I also don’t believe that “hitting the gym” will magically solve body issues. Plenty of skinny young people are anorexic because they think they’re still too fat despite their bones poking through their taunt skin. 80% of a body issue is mental.

Basically my point is this: Lammily needs to get popular and stop getting bashed on because it’ll be healthy for non-skinny little girls, like me as a child. Did I absolutely love my Barbies and get obsessed with them and not give them up until I was 19? Yes. Did I learn to exercise my imagination and become an awesome fiction writer because of playing with them? Yes. I just wish they had been bigger. I learned from an early age that Barbie’s pretty things weren’t able to be worn by a thick woman like me because of my hips and thighs.

While I’m working on changing my attitude and trying to fall in love with my coke-bottle shape I wish I didn’t have to work so hard for it. Overcoming nurturing with nature’s gift is difficult, to say the least.

On Attempting To Be Ambidextrous

Besides the obvious fact that the word itself is ridiculous sounding, the Latin roots are also slightly absurd. (The information below is more or less correct; I’m not an Etymologist. By all means, feel free to correct the facts in the comments, but you’ve been warned.)

The first version of the word was ‘Ambidexter’ in Late Latin where Ambi=on both sides (okay, that makes sense) & Dexter=right-handed (some choose to translate it ‘favorable’, but regardless, this is just being handist to lefties)…basically it meant ‘right-handed on both sides. I’m sensing a feminist-like movement sprung up in defense of indirectly calling left-handed people “lesser-than” because Ambidexter was changed to mean a lawyer who took bribes from both sides and in the 17th century the English (as they so often do) added -ous to the end to liven things up a bit. Thereby inventing ‘Ambidextrous’.

Now that we’ve gotten that history lesson out of the way, the REAL reason for this post is my attempt to strengthen my left hand. Everyone in my family is right-handed except for my great-grandfather on my mother’s side and my brother, who apparently picked up that recessive gene from him. Last year I got kinda’ obsessed with Lumosity, one of the best brain-training sites out there that I’ve experienced first hand. As it was helping me with my memory, I started seeing hints that advised the learner to switch hands when they got good in one particular area. (Many games require the use of a mouse.)

When I tried it out with my left hand, I sucked. Not because I couldn’t reason out the answer quick enough, or memorize how many numbers were on the screen, but because my hand wasn’t coordinated enough/fast enough. It was quite frustrating, and I quickly switched back. (I couldn’t stand losing all those points; I’m very competitive.) But that tiny experience was enough to make me realize that I didn’t like not being able to use my left hand. I mean, I’ve always felt an imbalance between the appendages, and that night I actually felt it. Something had to be done.

So began my journey. I’ve now been using my mouse with my left hand for 3 months, and the improvement has been tremendous. I’m agile and quick enough to do tasks at work without slowing down my productivity level now, as long as detail work isn’t involved. I.e. pushing tiny buttons…

I’m also able to unconsciously grab things with my left hand that I’d normally carry with my dominant one. Next, I want to work on writing with my left hand. One of my friends started using her left hand when she was a teen, and now she writes beautiful script with both hands, although it’s still obvious which hand is dominant. As I continue my random handed journey, I still have to accept the fact that my 10 year old sister will always have better handwriting then I do as a wannabe leftie.

Here’s a random link about being ambidextrous. I’m not sure if I believe all those ‘facts’, but they were fun to read and procrastinate with 😀

If You Were Paid $1,000,000…

…would you spend a year on a deserted island with your archenemy?

Answer: No

Reason: I’d kill ’em. Plain and simple. Or I’d kill myself. Either way, getting paid a million bucks wouldn’t balance out the act of murder. And if I survived a year alone with my archenemy, I’d have to go to so many therapists, I’d spend it all on recovery. It would be a disaster and a half, and I’d rather not deal with it at all and stay poor.

What do you think?

(Pretty sure this is my shortest post ever!)

If You Were Paid $1,000,000…

…would you unwrap a fortune cookie that contains the exact date and time of your death?

Answer: Yes

Reason: Assuming the date isn’t the next day, week, or month, I would gladly find out my time of death. Think about it: I’d be able to get certain things done by the time I died, stuff usually left until the last minute because of not knowing/realizing they need to be done, and I’d be able to actually make the most of my life before my time was up. I would have peace of mind in the knowledge, not having to worry about things left undone/unsaid, and I’d have focus, direction, in my life as to what I’d try to accomplish and what I’d leave behind.

Also, the biggest reason I’d want to open that cookie and be paid a million dollars (besides the fact that HELLO! It’s a million dollars!) is that I’d know exactly how much suffering I have left and when I can look forward to leaving this world.

Plus, A MILLION DOLLARS.

Comment your choice and reason(s) below…please 🙂

(I heard this question asked on morning radio, and was interested in what you guys would choose)

On Time

What is it about small increments of time that makes it easier for us to bear? (Btw, just for everyone who’s picking a fight w/ me right now in their heads about using “bear”, go to thefreedictionary and you’ll see that it’s the correct form.)

Seriously though; the AAA front desk lady says it’ll only be 10-15 mins before you’re seen next…half an hour passes by. The Applebee’s waiter apologizes for the wait and tells you that your wings will be there in 5 mins…25 go past. And yet, just because your mind accepted the 5-15 min excuse, you’re perfectly content sitting there, waiting to be called or eat.

But may the heavens tremble if the waiter actually said 25 mins will pass before you can eat your appetizer that you’ll fill up on too quickly and make you push away half your actual dinner. I fear for the safety of the AAA lady who honestly tells you your wait will take half an hour because no matter how fast things go in that type of building, the people in front of you will inevitably take way longer than they should.

What in our brains makes us remain calm when we’re told something is only going to take under 20 minutes? Are we hardwired to live for speed and efficiency and so when told the wait is 45 mins we absolutely must consider the option of another restaurant? Or is it just a product of living/being raised in a continuously moving society/city and constantly being told to get as much done in one day as you can? Is it different in China or Russia or Mexico or even Hawaii?

Personally, I try to stuff as much as I can into one day/night anywhere I go, even Paradise. So do I blame that on a busy life, training/upbringing, or my personality? Would living for 5 years in the slow, quiet backwoods change me at all? Interesting contemplation for tonight…

On Bullying

Bullying is the use of force or coercion to abuse or intimidate others. The behavior can be habitual and involve an imbalance of social or physical power.

So says the official definition…but what about snarky comments behind someone’s back? Jokingly said statements that hold no truth? What then shall we call them? How are they defined? Do we move down a couple steps to “rude”, “mean”, or “uncalled for”? When does bullying cross over from face-to-face confrontation into sly remarks when the person isn’t around? Just because I’m not around when you call me a whore doesn’t mean I’m not being bullied.

On Instagram=Fauxtographers

http://alexnyup.wordpress.com/2013/03/08/instagram-creating-a-generation-of-fauxtographers/comment-page-1/#comment-35

The above link is to another blogger on WordPress who got Fresh Pressed recently. If you’re like me and only visit the Freshly Pressed page on here only once in a while when you’re bored or curious, then you might have missed this page.

I liked and agreed with the point of this post, which basically was that even though Instagram is a wonderful place to show your spiced-up pictures of life, true photography is NOT about applying quick filters that make a normal pancake breakfast into “an EVENT”. It’s so much more.

And I agree with that 🙂

On Gazing Out The Window

Earlier today I took a lazy moment; the house was empty, it was a beautiful day, and the neighborhood was peaceful. I quietly ate my bagel and contemplated the more important things in life–what was for lunch later, if I should take a shower now or after I made the bed, finally the house is quiet, aww, there’s a bird chirping–as I enjoyed the time alone. And then, of course, my silent reverie was rudely interrupted by my fellow ghetto neighbors.

The still-clinging-to-his-teenage years, 22-yr-old Mexican guy across the street rolls up in his beat up and battered, faded red Honda that’s traditionally missing the right front hubcap with a customary rap song blaring out of all four of his rolled down windows. Since I’m already jostled out of my peace and quiet, I attempt to identify the song, but to his credit, he turns it down as he parks. I get bored a couple seconds later and stop watching him through the window nosily and fade back into oblivion.

Well that doesn’t last long either because some old white dude on his souped-up, mid-life-crisis motorcycle decides to come tearing up the road for no apparent reason like he’s outrunning the Apocalypse, effectively ripping me out of my thoughts AGAIN, and I turn into the nosy neighbor for the second time this morning and watch him slow down to turn the corner. (We’re the second to the last on our block.) As with the first guy, this one is listening to music on a volume high enough to be heard all the way on the other side of town.

Only his choice isn’t rap; this guy punctuated his Hell’s Angels impersonation with a heavy metal/screamo theme. As he rips around the corner and resumes his original speed, I mentally roll my eyes and decide it’s time to take my meds and get in the shower. I turn to look out the window one last time and spy a mid-20s black guy shuffling down the sidewalk in front of the red Honda dude’s house looking as if the world sits upon his shoulders and bobbing his head gently to the music coming out of his DJ-sized white headphones is the only thing keeping the demons at bay.

Smiling as the shower water warms my freezing hands, I realize that I learned something after all, though it didn’t come from any pondering or relishing my quiet time on my part: no matter who you are or what you’re doing at the time, music helps all of us get through the day. Whether you’re back from an errand, running away, or figuring out how to pay those bills, music has power that we all need to use sometimes.