Monkey vs Ice Cream

  This is the situation with politics in my state.

So we got one party. For the sake of not really getting into the quagmire of real-life political issues, we'll call them the Monkey Party.

We have another party, and for the same reason, we'll call the Ice Cream Party.

Every election cycle, one party tries to offer the state a monkey. The other party tries to offer the state some ice cream.

During Primary Season, we usually get the following options.

1. A very angry monkey with a rusty knife that screams a lot and does a lot of rehearsed monkey dances.
2. Another monkey who is basically that first monkey, but does even more extreme monkey dances.
3. A monkey who is in a dress and has on a polite monkey diaper. This monkey screams, but often the screams are charming. But once you look deeper, you find out this monkey comes from a very destructive movement that wishes to infect everyone with monkeypox.
4. A monkey. Yes, still a monkey, but wearing a polite monkey diaper and a little hat. This monkey has a knife, but it's a pocket knife and kept in a cute little case.

If you don't get to vote in the Monkey Party Primary, you look at the monkey selection and just hope that those who do vote in it have the sense to choose Monkey 4 as their monkey.

They do not.

In the end, they'll select whatever of the other three monkeys screamed the loudest and did the best dance.

The Ice Cream Party offers up bowls of ice cream.

During the primary, you often get choices like the following.

1. A massive sundae with several different scoops of ice cream, toppings, cherries, whipped cream, and little cakes that are delightfully absorbing the ice cream as it melts to create an even better sweet treat.
2. An ice cream and candy blended treat with lots of large chunks of whatever it was blended with.
3. An old-fashioned ice cream float that may not have the level of toppings but still looks pretty great.
4. A scoop of vanilla in a paper cup.

This primary will go one of two ways.

There is about a 30% chance that 1-3 will win.
There is a 70% chance that 4 will win because everyone will decide that 4 is the safest option because toppings, blends, and being too old-fashioned might cost them votes.

When the Ice Cream Party loses (and they almost always do), if they chose 1-3, they will blame the loss on them selecting the ice cream that was too intense for everyone. If they selected 4, they'll blame it on vanilla being too bland to excite people enough to vote.

If it's a major election year, we might get half of our registered voters to actually vote. On an off year, that percentage greatly reduces.

If we had 10 people who could vote for either We Eat Ice Cream or We Get An Angry Monkey with a Knife, basically this is how it goes.

Five of those ten people do not select a monkey or ice cream.
They sit there.
Three people will vote for the monkey, in fact, scream with the monkey, do the dance with the monkey, and put flags of the monkey in the back of their truck.
One person will vote for ice cream.
The other person could vote for ice cream OR for the monkey, but it doesn't even matter because those five people who didn't vote for anything basically ensured that we got a monkey with a knife.

So yeah. Yay. Go democracy.

The Dolly of it All

 In the novel We Sold Our Souls, there is a moment where two characters with very strong opinions about music spend a long time trying to find anything they can both listen to without one of them seething. The only musician they can agree on is Dolly Parton. They put her music on, and both of them become happy. That was how it worked with Dolly.

Dolly wrote in a way that was true, open, vulnerable, and raw. All of it was delivered with a remarkable emotional clarity. She wrote about love with a self-reflective honesty that examined flawed patterns without judgment and invited listeners to choose better for themselves. She wrote about poverty in a way that was frank and real without ever being exploitative. She did not romanticize hardship. She dignified the struggle, the resourcefulness, and the strength of those who lived through it.

At the same time, Dolly used what she had to create pathways for people who were struggling. Millions of children own their favorite book because of her Imagination Library. She believed that fortune meant making a difference in as many lives as possible.

Dolly had a body shaped in a way that was automatically sexualized by the culture around her. I cannot say how this affected her private thoughts. What I do know is that she transcended that labeling so completely that she reclaimed any image or branding that might have been used to diminish her. Whenever someone tried to reduce her to her very obvious bust size, her response was essentially, “Oh yeah, hon. Sure. Now that we have that out of the way, look at all this other amazing stuff I can do.”

And that amazing stuff included a voice that sounded like sunlight reflecting golden on a flowing stream. It included writing iconic songs. It included playing multiple instruments. It included collaborations with other musicians. It included acting in several beloved and culturally significant roles. It included writing a Tony-nominated musical. It included a wig line and various lifestyle brands. It included business ventures, including Dollywood, a theme park that people adore.

Dolly was not naturally blonde. In her private life, she did not dress like a music star. The big blonde hair and the elaborate costumes were for her public appearances. She did this so she could keep her private life private and her loved ones safer. This says a great deal about her thoughtfulness and her sense of personal responsibility.

And that public persona carried a very specific energy. Dolly exuded joy. Dolly exuded acceptance. Dolly exuded a sense that you were welcome and that she saw the good in you.

Now we live in a world without her. That reality is profoundly sad. She leaves behind a legacy of actions that made the world better. That is amazing and rare. It is especially remarkable considering she was once an eighteen-year-old poor kid stepping off a Greyhound bus in Nashville with no idea how things would turn out but with a great deal of faith in her own abilities. We are all fortunate that the young woman who arrived in Nashville believed in herself.

Goodbye, Dolly. You will be missed. I will always love you.

Breaking the Cycle

 In my private women’s group on Facebook, someone posted about how proud they were that the younger generation of women are no longer tolerating the things that used to be considered normal. They are not tolerating violence, neglect, uselessness, or the lack of connection. It is genuinely wonderful to see. But in the comments, many women my age and older began blaming themselves for staying in bad situations as long as they did.

Since seeing that thread, I have thought a lot about the conversation. Not just about the original post, but about the comments from women asking themselves why they allowed certain things, why they stayed, and why they did not leave earlier. The truth is that leaving damage is incredibly difficult because most of us have a strong sense of hope and faith in people’s ability to change. And when it comes to men, the bar for what needs to change has historically been very low.

This is not a flaw in who we are. It is a flaw built into the system. It is the culture we were raised in, the examples we were given, and the messages sent to us both out loud and silently. Many of us are mothers and grandmothers who actively tell younger women not to repeat the patterns we lived through. We explain why. We talk about the actual damage done. But how many of us had mothers who did that for us. Some. How many had grandmothers who did that. Again, some, but not many.

In my own situation, my mother was essentially a cautionary tale. She moved from one disastrous relationship to another with such consistency that it almost became impressive. It takes effort to find men who do not just slip below the bar of tolerable but sink so far beneath it that they are practically buried in the dirt. I do not blame her for this. I know her history and the abuse she suffered. From my own experiences with mental illness, I understand hers. I know why she self soothed with substances and why she believed she was not worthy of decent partners. I know why she thought that if she could prove she was worth changing for, even to a terrible partner, then maybe she was worthy of love at all.

I have studied pictures of her at nineteen and realized that this is where I began. In this broken, damaged child. Understanding that does not erase or excuse the pain her children suffered, but it does allow me to heal through the situation.

My mother was part of a cycle. A cycle of untreated mental illness passed down through generations. A cycle of manipulation. Her father was, by all accounts, considered a good man. And in many ways he was. He met the basic bar for men and even went beyond it. He worked a steady job, provided for his family, was calm, did not drink or use drugs, and although he smoked, that was not considered an issue at the time. He was soft spoken, steady, and did not create a home full of nervous energy. He was a good Christian, a deacon of his church, helpful, humble, kind, caring, and would never have considered raising a violent hand to anyone. All of these things were true. None of it was fake.

But people are complicated, and another truth existed alongside all of that. He valued his birth family more than the family he created. He bought his parents a home before he built his own. When he finally built his own home, he placed it within a two minute walk of his parents so he could be there at any time. He paid their bills. As advancements happened, his parents received them first. They had indoor plumbing and electricity before his wife and children did. Only when he had additional funds did his own household receive those things. It is strange to think about now, but in rural areas during the 1950s and 60s, this was still common.

He bought cars for his parents and his sister whenever they needed one. Always. Without fail. And while that may still sound generous, it came at a cost. His wife and children were always last on the list, and it was not only that they were last. My grandmother had to cook for his parents, clean for them, run their errands, and take them places. She essentially ran two households and was not compensated for any of it.

When my uncle was eight or nine, he was sent to work at the general store his grandfather owned. The store was across the street, so he walked over after school and worked until eight every night, then worked full shifts on weekends. He was not paid. This continued for roughly eight years.

When my grandfather’s father died in the early 1960s, his mother asked for companionship. In response, my grandfather sent my mother to live with her. For some people, living with a grandmother would have been ideal. I wish it could have been that for my mother. It was not. It was servitude. My grandmother still did most of the domestic labor in her mother in law’s home, but my mother did the rest. Until she was around twelve, she was not required to cook, but she had to serve meals and wash everything afterward. She had to keep the house spotless. She once told me that her grandmother would walk through the house several times each evening, and if anything was out of order, my mother would be hit.

Her grandmother was verbally and physically violent. Often. Viciously. And my grandfather knew this. He allowed it. He created the situation that made it possible.

So was he a good man. Yes. No. It is true that his parents raised him to value them first, but at some point, when you see bruises on your child’s legs, something inside you should recognize that the situation must stop.

My point in telling this story is that my grandmother saw the patterns. She spoke up about how wrong the situation was. She did so often and loudly. For her efforts, she was labeled a nagging woman. And nothing changed.

When I was born, and the abusive grandmother died in the same year, my grandmother made decisions. She spoke to me about how things worked. She did not simply suggest that I choose differently. She insisted on it. I was fortunate to have someone who told me directly that the patterns could and should be broken. Not everyone gets that.

Modern girls walk away now. They do not allow certain behaviors to begin in the first place. They do not fear being alone because they understand that alone, for women, is often another word for peaceful and quiet. They understand that alone is misleading anyway, because people can have friends, family, roommates, and even their own children without involving a walking red flag in the matter.

They understand these things because they grew up with the message, spoken and unspoken, that they have personal value that does not depend on others. They learned that they have the right to safety, comfort, and peace. They learned that they are enough on their own.

You who raised the next generations deserve credit for telling them that the cycles should be broken. You showed them the beauty and value of independence and freedom. You worked hard to find your own healing, footing, and sense of self. I commend all of you for that.

TL;DR: We were shaped by the generations before us, but we are the ones who shape the future.

Sacrifice and Also Pie

 When I was a kid, I was taken to church every Sunday.

It was a very small church, so for a long time we only had services on Sunday morning.

I liked our preacher. In many ways, he was one of the better masc role models I had. But there were some places where he and I fundamentally did not agree.

He used to tell this story about pie. He actually told it pretty often.

In this story, the family is poor. The father does paid labor. The mother does all of the unpaid labor.

The preacher didn’t put it in those terms, of course. He said, “The dad works. The mother stays at home.”

But we all know that isn’t the reality of what was going on. He did labor that paid him. She did labor as well and received no compensation for it.

Anyway, in this story, the family has a pie for an after‑dinner treat. And the preacher would always say, “There were six people in the family. There were only five slices of pie. But… the mother said she really wasn’t that hungry anyway.”

This story was used to demonstrate the value of domestic sacrifice. It was used to praise the kind of woman he felt women should be. In his mind, her declining the pie was noble.

In my mind? Her declining the pie was bullshit.

First of all, she baked this pie. Meaning she knew how many people were in the family and what level of pie distribution needed to be happening. She would have also been the one to cut the pie. And you know what? It’s a lot easier to slice a pie into six pieces evenly than it is to slice it into five.

I guess it’s possible she did slice it into six pieces and someone else ate one of the slices already, but that still does not justify her not eating any pie. Logically, the person who ate the slice beforehand should have been the person denied pie. And if said person was her husband, who thinks that because he is a man he should get two slices of pie when everyone else gets one, then the moral of the story is “wow, so that guy’s a jerk,” not “ohhh mama’s sacrifice.”

Maybe she already ate the slice of pie, and now she’s acting like she’s sacrificing something to be dramatic and make everyone feel weird. Odd, but honestly kind of iconic in a way. Though I certainly doubt that’s what he meant.

Clearly, his point was that it’s noble when women sacrifice for their children. And I’m saying women because I don’t remember him ever telling a story where there were five bites of steak left and Daddy said he wasn’t that hungry. Some level of equity would have been nice.

Do people who opt to give birth and keep those children have an obligation to them? Yes. Those kids didn’t ask to be alive, and you’re the one who tossed them into that situation. So until they’re grown, you have a responsibility to them.

HOWEVER, that responsibility does not include erasing yourself. It does not include denying yourself. It does not include losing every moment of pleasure you might experience at the expense of others.

Do these responsibilities include resource delegation? Yes. Are there times when that is a very, very dire thing? Having read many a book about people in dire circumstances, I know it certainly can be.

Does that apply to pie? Given that if we can have pie, we’re probably not quite at the level of dire yet?

Nope. No it does not.

Eat your damned slice of pie. Everyone deserves moments of pure happiness.

Scent of the Day

 I do not wear scent in a neutral way.

There is nothing wrong with doing so, of course, but for me, scent should be another level of communication. Scent is a statement, an introduction, perhaps a couple of questions.

For this reason, I rarely wear just one scent at a time. I prefer to stack scents to create something new, something else.

This is my basic formula:

Mysterious: I want something that wakes up the imagination, something that opens a memory or perhaps makes you consider something that you cannot quite put your finger on.

Genderless: I want something neutral, almost masc leaning, something rich and textured with liquors and the scent of rain on stones, pepper or cedar or fun spices.

Femme: My flower layer, my sweeter citrus layer. Traditional, yes, but given everything else, it is tradition with a massive bend to it.

Provocative: This is the layer for all the scents that are there to excite. The scents that make you smirk for just a second. The scents that intrigue.

So what does that mean for today?

Mysterious: Korres Kyma spray

Top Notes: Lime, mandarin, and orange Heart Notes: Marine notes, watery accords, and pepper Base Notes: Cedar, vetiver, and nutmeg

Kyma has been my find of the summer. It is honestly my favorite scent at the moment. Somehow the citrus top notes and those watery middles combine to become something that evokes watermelon on a summer day. It makes me think of dragonflies and butterflies. I truly love it.

Genderless: Heretic Nosferatu spray

Top Notes: Lilac, Ambrette Heart Notes: Petrichor, Violet Absolute, Orris Concrete, Cypriol Base Notes: Vegan Ambergris, Oud, Labdanum

Normally I do my genderless layer with a rollerball, but I only have this in a spray. It works out just as well, though I am sure this would be an amazing rollerball scent. This is a rich mix of very beautiful things, but what stands out on my skin is the petrichor and the vegan ambergris. Petrichor, for me, is sunlight on wet stones after a storm. Vegan ambergris is an ethical chemical compound that to me is the basis of everything I love about gender neutral scent. Like the first layer, this layer is wet and sunny and fun.

Femme: Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue spray

Top Notes: Sicilian Lemon, Crisp Apple, Cedar, Bellflower Heart Notes: Bamboo, Jasmine, White Rose Base Notes: Cedarwood, Musk, Amber

If I am honest, I will admit this is a layer with more practical intentions and less aesthetic intention. I have a small sample of the D and G that I have promised myself I would get through this month. It is one of three very small samples that I have. They need to be used, enjoyed, and moved on.

Having said that, I am not upset about how this layers with everything else. I have a running citrus theme with a lot of the rest of this, and other elements like the cedar, musk, and amber also layer well. The bellflower adds a sense of dewiness that works with the other water layers I have going on, and the apple adds a fun, crisp contrast. I think I liked that the most.

Provocative: Skylar Lime Sands rollerball

Top Notes: Lime, Sea Salt, Verbena Heart Notes: Lily of the Valley, Coconut Water, Orange Flower Base Notes: Driftwood, Vanilla, Musk

In this case, my provocation layer is about lime and salt. Add the vanilla, coconut water, verbena, which is lemony, and the orange flower, and you get something heady and sour-sweet in all the best ways. Driftwood adds a layer of sun-bleached wood and earthiness, plus extra salt to support the sea salt. Lily of the Valley is sweet but still lemon-leaning, giving this whole layer a very cohesive theme.

In the end, what do I get?

A watermelon margarita by the lake on a sunny day after a rainstorm. A relaxed, happy, lazy day where the sun casts pretty highlights in your hair and makes your skin feel glowy and good. It is a lovely, rich stack and I am deeply pleased with it.

Beauty Lessons in Reflection

 Today I am canceling my IPSY subscription. I have enough product to last for quite a while, and continuing would only mean giving in to FOMO. I shall not do that. I shall use down the products I have and then perhaps consider subscribing again.

As this was, at its core, a quest to learn more about cosmetics and skincare, I think it’s a good idea to reflect on what I actually learned and discovered. Let’s discuss.

1. Blush is my best friend
Because I always valued a goth pallor and loathed the natural red in my cheeks, I avoided blush when I was younger. In my 50s, I find that if I stick with the old routine, I look rather dead. I mean, goth-dead, yes, but not in the way I’m going for. Blush helps a lot with that, giving me actual liveliness while still emphasizing the pallor I want.

2. Bronzer
Along the same lines, I stayed away from anything that would darken my face, even at the edges. But I’ve found that the right bronzer (in my case, very light ones) can make you look stunning and beautifully glowy. In fact, if my skincare is doing what it’s supposed to do, some days I just add a small touch of bronzer and go out like that. It works surprisingly well.

3. Minimum coverage foundation
It’s ironic that when I was younger and had stunning skin, I could apply a thick layer of Pale as Possible foundation and look fine. I probably didn’t even need it. These days, foundations that do the smallest amount of blurring are best for me. Once you reach a certain age, you want to look like a living person, and you definitely don’t want foundation caking in your wrinkles. Very light foundations help with that. Bonus: many of them are moisturizers with SPF.

4. Setting spray
Ah, the varnish level of makeup. It’s not actually that thick, but it does help things stay in place longer (which for me is still not that long) and helps the whole look make more sense.

I started with a cheap setting spray, which was serviceable. Eventually I received a higher-end one from IPSY, and that made a noticeable difference.

5. Primer
I cannot express this strongly enough: if you are a person of a certain age and your makeup just isn’t working, invest in a good primer. Skin prep is key. And this isn’t just about putting it on. It’s about putting it on and waiting while it sinks in. Give it time. Yes, this means budgeting a little more time for your routine, but letting your primer set will save you time later because you won’t be fretting over how weird everything else looks.

6. Toner
Toner was a step I wasn’t sure about before I started using it. Clean your skin, sure, but do we need toner too? Yes. Yes, we do.

Toner not only removes leftover impurities, it also restores pH balance and readies your skin for the next steps. It gives you a level playing field, and that is extremely helpful.

7. Serums and moisturizers
My roommate occasionally comments on how I slather things on my face. And I do. I slather proudly, because my skin has never been happier. Serums serve different purposes depending on your needs. I have many skin needs and use various serums accordingly. I do not do this not all at once, but as I feel drawn to one or another. There is one I use every day because it makes my skin feel and look amazing.

Moisturizing happens during the usual rituals, but also outside of them. My skin can get dry and unhappy pretty often. Adding a little moisturizer helps a lot. It restores bounce, and it’s also a small moment of mood reset and grounding.

8. Toppers
Speaking of mood resets, I’ve come to value eyeshadow toppers. Just a small pop of color on the eyelid brings cheer to the overall look. Some might argue that this is too young for me or unprofessional. I would argue back that it’s not their eyelid, so shut up. Toppers bring me joy and add to the aesthetic I’m going for.

And really? Joy is the key. Whatever you’re doing with these products should make you feel better. Not because you’re complying with beauty standards. Not because you’re performing femme like it’s a duty. But because your senses found something delightful.

If you’re not getting that, explore other products that might.

9. Scent
Speaking of joy, scent has become one of the truest pleasures I discovered in this process.

Between perfumes and scented oils, altering my scent experience can shape my day. A bit of hair mist, a touch on the wrists, or a scented moisturizer on my legs can shift my mood from “why am I continuing?” to “actually, I’m okay.” This has become important to me.

10. Layering scents
I don’t have a signature scent. I have scent moods, scent themes, scent agendas. These are usually achieved by layering something mysterious with something genderless, something femme, and then something a little provocative. Within this, I get what I’m going for. It sets the tone until the scents fade. After that, they’re replaced, perhaps with the same grouping, perhaps with something entirely different.

Further Thoughts

1. Beautiful packaging makes me happy. Moments of happiness matter, and pretty things please me.

2. Just because it’s expensive doesn’t mean it’s better. Do your research.

3. At the same time, just because it’s expensive doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it. Again, do your research.

4. Cosmetics are an investment. Handle them with the same level of research, time, and energy as any investment.

5. Beauty routines are about you. This is your skin, your face, your hair, your joy. If it works for you, do it. If it doesn’t, don’t keep doing it just because.

Closing Reflection
The value I received wasn’t just blog fodder. I learned a lot about myself, my skin, my features, and the way they’re changing with time. That will continue. My skin in my fifties will not be my skin in my sixties. My skin right now may not be my skin in a year, especially after having my thyroid removed.

I will always maintain that skincare and makeup routines are not obligations. They are expressions of art. This is about the tending to and decoration of a canvas that moves, changes temperature, alters with environment, and is subject to internal shifts. It is a challenging canvas, and the challenge is always different. Like any art, the artist should create because it pleases the artist.

Pleasure, after all, is far more important than we often allow ourselves to admit.

A Thousand Enemies

 Someone I love has started college.

I am very proud of this person.

Today was this person's first day.

It should have just been a nice celebration of 'first day of school' pictures.

But then someone in the comments had to post a list of

THINGS TO TELL YOUR DAUGHTER FOR THEIR SAFETY

And I'm just.....ughh.

Look.

I know they meant well. I know they want this person to be safe and they want this person to have a happy college experience.

I certainly want that too.

But two things kind of hit me at once about the situation.

The first was that it sucks that we can't go ONE DAY without reminding someone that just because they exist in a certain body, they have to carry an extra burden around when it concerns their own safety.

As I have said before and will continue to say, no one ASKS to be born into the bodies we're born into. The fact that suddenly ALL THE SPECIAL RULES hit is just so frustrating.

But beyond that?

Look. It's roughly one in 1:3. As a person in a femme-presenting body, you have a 1:3 chance of being attacked.
So basically?

Yeah. You can opt not to get into people's cars and you can guard your drinks and bring extra cutlery and keep your keys between your fingers and not take that class because it lets out too late and not take that shift because no one will walk you to your car or not jog or not wear this or not wear that or not do anything or do everything or any of it.

But at the end of the day? It doesn't matter.

People are assaulted because they are within the proximity of a person who CHOOSES to assault them. This act that could alter so much about how you view yourself and view the world boils down to the fact that someone else decided. And you can fight them, bite them, scream at them, do anything you can to stop it, but they still made that choice. And you still have to deal with it.

I wish this person I love wisdom. I wish her speed and agility. I wish her strength and cunning, sharpness and ferocity.

But mostly? I wish that the people around her who have the option to choose harm or not choose harm, opt to do nothing at all, as doing nothing is easy and often the best path when it comes to others.

“All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed.”