Things that keep me awake at night

Throwback Thursday: No Parking On the Dance Floor

Important announcement: I have decided that 2015 will be the year I embrace the selfie.

No, not the bathroom mirror “Does my new outfit make me look fat?”’ selfie, but more of the “Look at my fat ass in the bathroom mirror, do you think it would look better with corn chips?” kind of selfie.

To understand why I hate taking photos of myself, or photos of me in general, you need to understand that I am hilariously unphotogenic. No, you think I’m saying that, but it’s true. Even as a very cute child, I took very bad photos. Everyone says so. Every once in a great while someone would get a good picture of me and I’d tack it up on the fridge and my pathologically Midwestern parents would say “Ouffff, now we need to quit fanning her vanity!” and it would come down and get buried in a box. As a kid, I always thought it was weird to go over to someone’s house and see that they willingly displayed framed photos of themselves, and I’ll admit, part of me still does. But today, in 2015, at the dawn of the selfie stick (HAVE YOU SEEN THESE THINGS?), I realize that attitude toward portraiture says more about me than it does about them.

Just the same, for old times sake, and because it’s Throwback Thursday, let’s review just one of the many hundreds of horrific moments in the photograph history that is Peaches.

Was that weird when I just referred to myself third person? Sorry.

Well folks. There it is. Now, I know what you are thinking, WHAT IS THAT?

That, my friends, is the best that 1989 pre-teen dancewear could offer. Hot look, right? I know. The dance routine was set to Midnight Star’s “No Parking on the Dance Floor” and the outfit was supposed to be some sort of hyped-up traffic cop slash meter maid slash cocktail waitress.

Thing was, being an unusually healthy (read: enormous) child, the costume didn’t really fit. They ordered me the largest size but dance instructor still had to use her manicure scissors to cut darts in the back so I could squeeze into the sequined, hot pink spandex sausage casing as the rest of the dance class looked on in horror.

But wait, it gets better…

Of course, that day I came in wearing zero makeup so one of the other girl’s mom took it upon herself to introduce me to Mary Kay’s finest gift: frosted purple eyeshadow. I’ll tell you something, nothing sets off a mild case of pre-teen lazy eye like a good streak of wild orchid. My smile consisted of two very large front teeth as the rest were missing or half-way grown in, giving me the look of young, snaggletooth meth addict. I attempted a smile with my mouth closed but the photographer refused to take my picture until I showed him, “them pearly whites.”

Well then. I sure showed him.

Now, as you can imagine, my face in the image was so horrible, so embarrassing, that when the photos came back from the photographer I hid them so nobody would be tempted hang one up or send it off to relations. They sat there in that box for 20 years until one day a while back, I ruptured this photographic treasure from its sunken tomb. As I studied the photo more closely, I recalled the too tight costume, the awful song, and the frightening choreography meant to mimic the hand gestures of crossing guard on Soul Train. I did not, however, recall the words on the costume. Clearly, they were designed to conjure images of traffic signs but the repeating pattern of inappropriate sexual messages is hard to miss;

SOFT SHOULDERS
BUMPS AHEAD
SLIPPERY WHEN WET
ENTER WITH CAUTION
…you get the picture.

So that was a fun. Also really gross, but it’s sorta fun to realize that all those years I spent feeling horrified and embarrassed of my appearance in those pictures was really nothing compared to the horror and embarrassment of the adult that ordered a baby stripper costume in the first place. But, I digress. I could use this opportunity to highlight the travesty of a culture that unknowlingly sexualizes children, or, I could use this as a chance to get mad at my dad for letting me walk around in public without noticing his kid was dressed like a hot pink hooker, or, I could use this as a reminder as to why I shouldn’t freak out over how my face looks in a picture today because 20 years later I might find something much worse.

…Or, I could just take it down to the store, get it enlarged, and let it dance.

Come over to my house to use the toilet, and rest assured, my friend, you will not dance alone.

Oh Dear

by PEACHES 9 Comments

Saw this ad and thought for a second that I would automatically find it offensive. Because, you know, as a gal, I just love it when a man bulks all us lady folk together and sets down suggested rules for behavior and then uses those helpful suggestions to sell us stuff.

But then…

But then I realized…1. Bill Blass and I have the same taste in women, and 2. Bill Blass was gay as a Sunday picnic. So why was he selling draconian man swagger by way of perfume? Why did any magazine editor ever allow this ad to grace their pages? And, also, why do I suddenly feel compelled to cruise the interwebs for Bill Blass perfume?

Oh dear.

This would never happen if women were in charge.

by PEACHES 34 Comments

The United States Government just shut down.

I know a lot of us don’t give a crap about this, and that’s cool, but there are some basic facts that we should all know. Not because it’s important but because this is like a weather forecast as to how Shutdown 2013 is going to mess up something for all of us.

All. Of. Us.

In a nutshell:

1. Stop me if you heard this – dozens of important government services will not be available until this thing gets sorted out. Learn more about that here. And, here is a fun fact to tell someone flying this week: Air traffic controllers are required to work without getting paid. Enjoy your flight!

2. The trickle-down damage of this decision will cost the American economy a billion dollars a week. People not earning = People not spending. Learn more about that here.

3. If you are a working American, roughly 30 cents on every dollar you earn today will filter through an entity run mostly by white men who couldn’t find their ass with both hands.
*Note, I said mostly – that makes it bipartisan.

4. The last time this happened, seventeen years ago, the essential administration of many government offices was left to volunteers. For example, the White House was run by a fleet of interns who were given unprecedented access to important documents and elected officials, including one intern named Monica Lewinsky. We all know how that went down (pun intended). Now, I’m not saying Barry would ever step out on M-Dawg, I’m saying we need to be concerned about who will be running the show if this thing goes on for several weeks, which, let’s face it, it probably will.

Please note: The title of this post should probably be “This would never happen if *more* women were in charge. “
Gender is not the problem here. Letting a women’s program like this go under as “non-essential” IS a problem, and one that I am relying other women to fix. Pssst: That means you.

I know what you are thinking; But Peaches, I don’t follow politics. I rarely vote. I’m tired of hearing about this crap. I don’t care. I’m busy raising my kids/working a job/trying to make ends meet. Can’t somebody else give a crap for me?

Yes. I will give a crap for both of us. And then some.

BUT. There is one program in jeopardy, immediate jeopardy, that I am especially concerned with that I think you will care about too. Yes, you. And if you don’t want to track the overall Shutdown
Storm 2013, that’s 100% fine, I don’t blame you a bit, but maybe you could help some folks who need it – namely, mothers trying to feed their kids. Are you a Mom? Have you ever watched your kid go to school hungry? Yeah, let’s talk about this one…

Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants and Children (WIC) is a federal program that helps families across the country obtain healthy foods – pregnant women, new mothers and their children, to be specific. No, we are not talking about food stamps. That’s different.

For women living at the federal poverty level or below, whose alternative income goes to basic needs like rent and heat, and/or may not live in an area where basic grocery stores are accessible or affordable, WIC services make up the difference. In my home state of Illinois, WIC provides essentials to over 50,000 households each year. That’s 50,000 moms who will not have the food they need if this goes on for more than a week.

As of October 1 – that’s toady y’all— WIC will not be funded. From the US Department of Agriculture;

“No additional federal funds would be available to support [WIC’s] clinical services, food benefits and administrative costs. States may have some funds available from infant formula rebates or other sources, including spendforward authority, to continue operations for a week or so, but States would likely be unable to sustain operations for a longer period. Contingency funds will be available to help States – but even this funding would not fully mitigate a shortfall for the entire month of October.”

In other words, the USA just told hundreds of thousands of mothers in need; “Tough luck, ladies.”

So I emailed my friend Rachael who used to work a non-profit geared toward helping WIC participants (among other things). I asked her what I could do to help. This is what she told me;

“Every state has different policies and will handle the disaster differently. The hope is that administrators have already collated a list of alternative resources to give to people, mostly private food banks and churches. Unfortunately, even if less than half of participants can access a local resource, it is unlikely that those places will be able to keep up with demand to cover the margins. Rural areas will be hurt the most as it will be difficult for moms to physically access the resources needed. Spending $10 on gas to go to a food pantry across the county just to pick up $12 in food staples doesn’t make sense. The honest truth is that they will most likely do without.”

As I read Rachael’s email this morning, I was on the couch watching a popular morning news show interview a guy. This guy was upset with the shutdown because he would not be able to make his annual trek to a national park to witness the mating calls of elks. Elks y’all. This is what the media wants to talk about. Skewed priorities like this are why politicians think we are not paying attention (which, we aren’t) and why they can pull crap like shutting down the government (which, they did). I digress.

So what can we do?

Well, people are hungry…let’s feed them. A lot of us make donations to local food pantries around Thanksgiving – let’s bump it up and do it now.

Better yet, let’s find a local food bank, call them, ask them what they need most, then let’s buy it or figure out a way to get it for them.

Let’s volunteer to spend a Saturday at a food bank warehouse, sorting and assembling boxes to be distributed to smaller food pantries and/or delivery routes in rural areas. Let’s bring our kids and our co-workers too, while we are at it.

Let’s go on Twitter and Facebook and tell people what and where help is needed. Be specific about it. “The church on Second Street is low on infant formula and peanut butter – can you help?”

Let’s skip takeout this week and donate the difference to an anti-hunger organization. Look here – there are hundreds of them. In general, food pantries can buy much more food with money than goods (Feeding America reports $1 = 8 meals)…but any help would be appreciated.

Let’s remember that we are all frustrated by this shutdown, but there are, really, only a few dozen people who have the ability to do anything about it. While they are busy being hostile and ineffective, let’s start cleaning up their mess and look out for each other. We are American. We are women. This is what we do best.

Don’t think this is really happening?

It’s happening.

On Fear, Foresight, and Fat Puppies

by PEACHES 31 Comments

So, I was talking with a friend last week about chipper stuff—mortality, death, and whatnot.

We were discussing how the scariest moment in anyone’s life is the minute one recognizes a parent as a person. Not Mom or Dad. Just regular everyday people.

What if you met one of your parents in the grocery store like a regular stranger— would you like them? Would you respect them? Would you want to know them better? If you had grown up together as peers, would you have been friends with your Mom? Had a crush on your dad?

Try to wrap your head around it for minute—it’s not easy. It’s probably uncomfortable. It is for me.

It’s weird when you remove familiarity and force yourself to see people for what they are and not what they have become. If you ask any person to name three people they admire most, there is a decent chance one of their parents is going to be on that list. And yet, those same people might not even take the time to be friends with that same person if they were not related.

They say familiarity breeds contempt. I don’t think that’s always true.

Look at this picture:

I mean, HOLY CRAP is that a handsome man or what?

Get past the fact that he looks like the fifth member of Mumford and Sons and see him for something more. That face. That smoldering gaze. Now get ready for a downer…

It’s Joseph Stalin.

Or as he was known back then, Iosif Dzhugashvili, the twenty-something year-old son of a humble cobbler from a small town, who had only recently been kicked out of a seminary for lack of tuition payments. He wanted to devote his life to helping the poor through God but they kicked him out for being too poor. Irony much? From most accounts back then, Iosf was well-liked and respected in his community. He stood 5’4” and had a withered left arm and everyone thought he was handsome. This photo, a mugshot, was taken in 1906, just as he was becoming what we would probably call a “community activist.” By 1934 he would kill fifty million people. Let me repeat that: Fifty. Million. People. Some of them are probably relatives of people who are reading this blog, yet here I am wondering why nobody put this man on the cover of Tiger Beat.

Now raise your hand if you feel like an asshole.

Forsythia flowers get their name for their foresight — They are the first spring blooms to trumpet the arrival of a new season and the beauty that waits in the months ahead.

Where am I going with this?

I don’t know.

Last week, when everything was going on in Boston, I kept thinking about that photo of Stalin – not because there was some sort of Russian/Jerkoff/Delusions of Grandeur connection, but because I wondered if those brothers ever thought about the impact of their actions. Did they know what would become of their lives? Just like I wonder if the man in that photo ever thought about what would become of him, his life, his legacy. Did these men, all of them, know, truly know, they were choosing a path of hate and harm?

Did they think their actions would be worth the consequences? Or did they think, deep down, that they were operating for some higher purpose?

Look, it’s not that hard to understand how one person can act out in blind rage alone – mental illness takes to reasoning like a truck takes to a turtle – but, how do multiple people buy into the same delusions? How do people who start out good and normal and well-adjusted turn into murderous zealots? How did Iosif Dzhugashvili turn into Joseph Stalin?

And here is what’s really scary; What is to stop you or me or you or anyone else from heading down that road?

We think we know ourselves inside and out. Mothers always think they know their children better than anyone else, and yet, whenever there is some horrible and violent story on the news, who is always the first person they trot out in front of the camera, crying and blathering about how He could never do this and I have known him all his life – he wouldn’t hurt a fly and all those other things we have all heard 100 times? It’s the mother. It’s always the mother. The person who knows them best is never the one to see it first. Likewise, the child who thinks they know everything about their parent might not have even scratched the surface to viewing them as people, objectively, and not just good ol’ Mom or Dad.

Stuff like this bothers me. It keeps me up at night. I spend hours thinking about what sort of crazy breeds within me and my loved ones and then I have to watch videos of fat puppies in salad bowls just to calm down. It’s pretty disturbing. I digress…

What I’m saying is that basically, we’ve all been there – and if we haven’t, we should. We should let ourselves think about this stuff and not brush it off as a freak incident or someone else’s problem. I’m not advocating for paranoia, I’m advocating for thoughtfulness.

I firmly believe that second-guessing the familiar brings me a step closer to foresight and preparedness, and more importantly, it makes me appreciate all those things and people I might otherwise take for granted. At least that is what I tell myself. I tell myself lots of things… like, that it’s good to acknowledge the unpredictable because that means we might have a skootch of a chance at spotting it sooner.

It’s good to recognize that each of us has it within us to create magnificent acts of kindness, as well as frightening acts of terror.

It’s good to recognize we do not know ourselves, or our loved ones, as well as we might think.

…and then it’s time for more fat puppies.

Rainbows Wanted

by PEACHES 40 Comments

Know what I love? Rainbows.

Know what I love more than rainbows? Combative rainbows.

Ballsy, confrontational, resourceful and creative rainbows designed to balance hate with love and peace.

This house has it all. This house made my day. This house needs our help.

Six months ago, Planting Peace purchased this house in the suburbs of Topeka Kansas directly across the street from the Westboro Baptist Church compound. Note: from here on in I’m just saying Westboro because I think they give Baptists and Churches a bad name.

Westboro, a group best known for protesting the funerals of veterans and celebrities with hateful and homophobic signs while chanting promises of Hell, Damnation, and all the good stuff that comes with being rational and well-intended human beings (first amendment y’all!), woke up Monday morning to find a big surprise in the form of a new neighbor.

Planting Peace, a multi-pronged progressive group devoted to promoting compassion and sustainability, purchased the property with the intent of turning it into The Equality House, a drop-in center that will support a variety of LGBT and anti-bullying efforts.

Piggybacking on Westboro’s own twisted-yet-highly-successful media strategy, Aron Jackson, one of the founders of Planting Peace explains, “We’re going to take the negative attention and try to spin it into something positive.” Jackson says, “Instead of millions of children around the world getting this hate message, they’re going to see this message of compassion and love.”

Like any non-profit seeking to spread their message, they need to raise some starter money. This is where we come in. For starters, all of this week’s ad revenue from www.auntpeaches.com will be donated to Equality House in hopes of fostering new rainbows. In addition, I am making a personal donation and I want to double it. I will match $10 for the first ten people who make a donation to Equality House’s Crowd Rise fund. All you have to do is make a donation and leave a comment below that says “I donated!” You don’t have to tell me your name or amount, just tell me you donated and I’ll take you at your word.
So come on y’all, when was the last time you got to fund a rainbow and combat bigotry in one foul swoop?

Let’s do this.

Click here to help fund Equality House.

Update: More than ten people already donated (woot!), so Ann Hendricks was kind enough to pledge another round if another ten people donated (double woot!)…Can we count you in?

How the Sausage is Made

by PEACHES 28 Comments

Raise your hand if you get annoyed by craft bloggers who suddenly turn into political commentators every other November.

I see a lot of hands.

What the…Hey, mine is up there too!

Imma vent. There are two big things that tick me off every election season and if I can’t talk about them on my own blog, I am not doing it right.

1. Why do people assume we think the same?

Want to see a toddler go into a full out melt-down? Tell him he is tired.

Want to see me go seven kinds of crazy? Tell me how I should vote.

If a politician wants to ask me for my vote that’s fine. It’s their job and someone has to do it. And telling me how and why you are voting is great too. Assuming you can keep it brief, I like hearing how you came to that conclusion. Even if I don’t agree with it, my perspective is broadened by hearing it.

But assuming I share your opinion without asking me for mine? Oh Hell No.

and for another thing…

2. Why don’t people vote?

Even in a presidential election year, less than 60% of Americans vote. Do you know how crazy that is?

Do you want to know why I vote? Because of money. Namely, my money. Not because it’s a sacred act of freedom, but because over the course of my lifetime the government will take 1/3* of every dollar I earn and I’ll be damned if they piss it away on beer money. If I have to spend more money on the government than I do on my own retirement, you had better believe I will be paying attention. Furthermore, I deserve a say in how they spend it.

How do I get a say? I do my part to keep assholes out of elected office. I vote.

*Tangent: Yes, roughly 1/3 of my income goes to the government. No, I am not rich. Last time I calculated in 2008 it was 38% to be precise. This includes typical paycheck deductions, plus the dollars spent on the taxes of other living expenses like utilities, insurance, real estate, groceries, retail items, etc. Literally, 25% of my cell phone bill is taxes. What is wrong with this picture? Granted, I live in Illinois where taxes run a little higher, but I can say with confidence that most of middle America falls in the general ‘one third’ window. Sit down some month and figure it out for yourself. It’s an eye opener. And here is the thing; anyone who tells you they can lower your taxes and put more money in your pocket is either, a. lying, b. really bad at math, or c. taking that money from somewhere else (in essence “borrowing from Peter to pay Paul”). Neither political party has much swing in how these things shake out, at least not in Washington, and certainly not in the White House. The sad truth is that’s just not how laws are made. How are laws made? Click here for a sing-a-long refresher.

Tangent on a Tangent: Yes, I know everybody likes talking about the presidential races, and that’s exciting, but we need to remember that’s not how the sausage is made. Presidents have tremendous influence but the actual guts of legislation get decided on Capital Hill. If you can’t name your congressional representatives there is a distinct possibility your money is being represented by someone who isn’t doing a very good job. Someone who doesn’t have your interest at heart. But honestly, why should he? Why should he have your interest at heart if you don’t even know his name? Man, what an asshole, right? Actually, today would be a great day to pay attention and find out what particular breed of asshole he is. Or she is. There is no gender gap when it comes to acting like a jerk with other people’s money.

Speaking of gender gap, here are three interesting facts that have come to my attention in the last two weeks:

Women have voted in higher numbers than men in every election since 1964.
Women make up a higher number (55%) of undecided and swing voters than men.
Women are the most sought after voters in this election cycle. Not Soccer Moms or NASCAR Dads. Regular women like me are going to determine who is going to Washington next January. And I like it that way.

If you are one of the many folks who are still deciding, take a few minutes to check out THIS WEBSITE and decide for yourself. Project Vote Smart a legitimately non-partisan organization that provides information about every candidate running for federal and state races.

Whew, vent over! That was fun, huh guys?

And just remember, if all else fails, raid the polling station Wednesday morning and grab all the corrugated signs you can carry. They make for excellent crafting.

Happy Election Day 🙂

Things That Keep Me Awake At Night: Jelly Beans

by PEACHES 17 Comments

President Obama was on the television last night talking about the crisis surrounding America’s debt ceiling and how the whole country could very easily go to Hell in a hand-basket in the next two weeks.

Good times y’all.

But somewhere between his firm-yet-persuasive hand gestures, he made not one, but three separate references to Ronald Reagan, which is kind of weird, because, you know, as presidents go, they aren’t exactly birds of a feather. I’m sure it was something that his handlers told him to say in effort to appeal to Middle America, and I think that’s even more weird, because, you know, Middle America wanted him to stop talking so we could go back to watching The Bachelorette.

I’m not sure why Ronald Regan is suddenly the apple of President Obama’s eye, but I must confess a soft spot for him ever since someone told me the Reagans kept loaded candy dishes in nearly every room of their house at all times, including a famous bowl of jelly beans on his desk in the oval office. He said, You can tell a lot about a person’s character by whether he picks out all of one color or just grabs a handful.

And while it would not be politically correct to say aloud, I’ll bet he could also tell a lot about a person by their choice color of beans. For the record, I’m the type to choose yellow or green or pale orange….cheerful and acidic. That’s me in a nutshell. But what about the person who chooses the purple beans? Or Heavens To Murgatroid, the black jelly beans? Would Ronald Reagan have entered into Iranian hostage negations with the guy who plucked out the black jellybeans?

These are the things that keep me awake at night.

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Things that keep me awake at night