Tag: bitch

No clever title today.

CommonMaggieLeave a comment

I do not trust myself enough. I’m also too hard on myself, but I guess that is true of most people. I am constantly trying to find the group into which I fit.

I have been lusting after a tshirt that has an image of Albert Fish on it with the text, “Full of Grace.” Now, you have options: you can Google “Albert Fish” and “Grace” and thank me later (hint: you’re not likely to thank me later), or you can contact me via Facebook, Twitter (@commonmaggie), Instagram (commonmaggie) or leave a comment here for me to ask, “Hey, what does that shirt mean?” So, I have had my eye on this shirt for months. A few things are stopping me: I don’t need another tshirt; I shouldn’t spend money on something I don’t need; I’m not sure how often I’d wear it. I mean, it’s an Albert Fish tshirt. If you Googled what I instructed you to Google, you know it’s inappropriate. Also, is this shirt ME?

I am simultaneously lusting after a sweater blazer – among other items – from JCrew. It is my favorite clothing brand. I cannot help myself.

What group is that? The group of women who cannot pass up a good serial killer pun tshirt but who want to wear a JCrew cardigan over the serial killer tshirt (I have a great emerald green cardigan that I want to wear over ev-er-y-thing). While actively thinking about this, I have told myself that if it is just me – which is unlikely – that’s okay. If there are only 4 of us in the world, that’s okay, too. If there are thousands, and they all live in Scandinavia while I live in Texas, it’s still okay. I like to think I will get to “the others” some day. But, if it’s just me or if I never meet others, it is okay.

As cheesy as it is, I often give myself pep talks about being myself. Some days, I do it more than once. Other days, being myself and owning it come so easily. I am not 100% sure of every single thing. I probably never will be. But I know myself better and better all the time.

I can tell you what I like: serial killers, preppy clothes, expensive purses, Converse, blankets, disturbing stories, horror movies, mysteries, silly socks, puppies, bookstores, music stores, comedies, puns, crossword puzzles, books, cardigans, boots, hats, my Honda Fit, the color green, my glasses, ice cream, Italian food, brunch, art, skylines, the tall green trees of my homeland and the unbelievably wide sky of west Texas, rainy days at home, soft fabrics, wandering around with Todd, road trips, holding babies (Yes, I like holding babies, especially the part when I hand the baby to someone else), watching football, swearing, writing, working out, sleeping in, yoga, warm weather, the beach, the mountains, the Pacific Northwest, people watching, the smell of books, shuffling cards, scarves, hoodies, reading about surreal horror films I may never get to watch because they exist in such a small space, trying to understand what “surreal” means, finding a new author to love, being an Introvert, telling people I’m an Introvert, poetry, playing games, finding one more thing to love about San Angelo, getting dressed up, the physical act and physical sensation of writing, fresh notebooks, Ramona, movie lists (ie The 50 Scariest Movies of All Time), never having had to stop listening to an episode of The Last Podcast on The Left (I want all the gold stars!), fundraising for MS research, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, vampire lore, learning about sex offenders, being assertive, helping someone “come around,” things that could likely be described as “fucked up,” surprise flowers, desperately trying to find an NFL team to support (how long ago did Peyton Manning retire, and I still have no clue), buying things from school fundraisers, and on and on and on. The list may never end.

For some balance, here are some things I don’t like: butterflies, the color pink, Metallica, science fiction movies, boxing, lima beans, beer, the NY Yankees, Alabama football, peep-toe shoes, face tattoos, chevron pattern, deciding that every person who has committed a crime is a bad person, elitism, being interrupted, mansplaining, being treated like I can’t handle things, eating meat off of the bone, spicy food, the idea that addiction isn’t a disease, people who argue that sexual contact with children should be permitted if the child consents (a child cannot consent), people who wear dark clothing while jogging around Santa Rita in the dark, not being able to read all of the books at once, not having a window in my office, how difficult it is to find shirts for work that are stylish but not low cut, and on and on and on.

I really did begin this entry focusing on my lack of feeling like I belong in a group. In a way, I have found “my people,” but they aren’t my people in that I can say I am a certain type of person and they are the same type of persons. I don’t think there’s anything concise I can say about myself that would give a person an idea of who I am. I don’t have a category, like goth, that would right away tell someone what to expect from me. I don’t identify as a feminist (see previous entry) or a yankee. I’m not a Texan. I’m not a buckeye (2-4-6-8 who gives a shit about Ohio State?), and I’m not an athlete. I don’t identify with a certain religion, at this time. I didn’t go to a big, well-known college (it I’m not an Aggie). I’m not an English teacher. I’m not a Steelers fan.

So, where does one belong if her first heroes were Daria Morgandorfer, Sylvia Plath and Elizabeth Wurtzel? I wrote high school research papers about the Manson family and euthanasia (I support the Right to Die movement). The only moderately decent stories I’ve ever written were “horror” stories, but I’ve written some poetry that wasn’t total trash (probably 98.5% trash). I want to spend the rest of my life working with and researching sex offenders and sex offender treatment. I love to watch Bob’s Burgers. Hannibal Lecter is my favorite fictional character and I love the Harry Potter series. Reading The Complete Stories of Flannery O’Connor changed my life. As did The Handmaid’s Tale and Anatomy of Motive.

When we were in California, the same day we visited The Huntington, we also visited The Museum of Death (LA), and I really enjoyed both. Both were important to me on that trip. On a different day, we made a quick stop outside of Jim Henson Studios so I could see the Kermit the Frog statue. Then we went to Amoeba Music where I almost bought a Texas Chain Saw Massacre tshirt (wish I had). None of this seems to add up to anything logical.

Maybe all of this rambling is a lesson, for myself, in not being able to put anyone into a group; not being able to have any expectation of anyone based upon a group with which a person may choose to identify. It would be nice to come away from this topic having lost the feeling that I should fit in a group, because the reality is that nobody does.

Enough already.

CommonMaggieLeave a comment

10.22.17

When I feel or think that I’m not *this* enough, I don’t know if my feeling or thought is realistic.

In LA, Todd wanted to buy me a “Feminist AF” shirt. It was a great shirt. I liked it. It was kind of him to want to buy that for me. He thought it suited me. I turned it down because I worry that I’m not feminist enough. I don’t even know who gets to make that decision.

Can we say that I know a lot about serial killers if I sometimes forget where John Wayne Gacy lived? Or if I don’t know many details about Henry Lee Lucas? I’ve only just recently decided I want to learn more about Carl Panzram. What about forgetting the number of victims for a given serial killer? I am almost never sure of the number of victims. I gotta say: it’s similar to my interest in music. I have favorites. I have preferences. I know more about Jeffrey Dahmer than I do Richard Ramirez. If Ed Kemper still wrote to people, I would get a PO Box and write to him. True story.

Maybe I’m not enough of a horror nerd because I haven’t seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2? I feel indifferent about seeing it. The Exorcist is scary, but it doesn’t scare me that much. I can watch it without problems. I found the book to be scarier. Pet Sematary, on the other hand, equally scary book and movie. We don’t need to discuss how many times I’ve watched Hannibal or Silence of The Lambs, but maybe I need to watch Hannibal Rising a few (okay, several) more times to even out that my viewing of the Lecter movies? Todd and I were recently discussing the Saw franchise and I had to admit that while I fondly remember the 2nd one, I think I only watched it one time. I like horror movies, but that’s not the only genre of movie I like. I’m never going to have watched all of the horror movies. I don’t want to do that. I want to see the comedies, too, and serial killer documentaries and documentaries about the opioid crisis, sex offenders, folklore and cults. I also enjoy a good tear-jerker and some classics.

I may not be enough of a book nerd. I love to read, but I almost never read a book that was just released. Christopher Moore is my favorite author, and I still haven’t read The Serpent of Venice. I’m currently reading a book that will never see the NYT Bestseller List. Although I don’t know what they will be, it’s safe to say that the next 4 books I read haven’t made it and won’t make it to the NYT Bestseller List, but they will be what I want to read. As a side note: Noir, also by Christopher Moore, will be released 04/17/18, and I’m not likely to read it or even buy it right that minute.

I believe and feel that I am enough, as a person, but somehow, simultaneously not enough to fit into these groups (i.e., feminist, horror nerd, bookworm). I think to get myself to a point that I believe I fit in any one of these groups, I would end up being untrue to myself somewhere in the process. I would end up feeling like I’m wasting my time trying to meet what may very well be an impossible standard (not that I have a habit of setting impossible standards for myself or anything like that /s). I would likely feel resentful. I bet Nicholas Sparks makes the NYT Bestsellers List. I don’t want to read that. I don’t want something I enjoy and LOVE to become an assignment I’m trying to complete “for someone else.” For someone who isn’t paying attention, has no idea I’m doing this for him/her and doesn’t care. I’m not willing to do that.

I’m only willing to be myself – a woman who reads and watches what she wants to, what she likes. A woman who thinks it’s important for women to be treated equally to men, women should have choices and power. I enjoy watching horror movies, and I want to watch so many of them, but I also want to re-watch Psych and the Harry Potter series. I want to keep up with Bob’s Burgers, to an extent. I want to watch whatever looks interesting to me. I don’t want to read ALL of the books. I only want to read the ones that sound good to me. After I finish Motherfucking Sharks, I might get into some Camille Paglia. Who knows? I’ll never reach that looming, impossible standard I have set in my mind that will make me a real feminist, a real horror nerd, a real bookworm, but I know someday it will go away. It will be like it never existed at all.

I don’t know how to measure any of this.

If the shorts don’t fit, you must….

CommonMaggie3 Comments

When I decided to share this blog with anyone & everyone, I realized there is some element of bravery in this adventure.  There is A LOT of bravery in sharing this post.  If you suffer from an eating disorder or are a survivor of an eating disorder, this may be triggering for you.

_______________________________________________________________

6.10.17

We went swimming at Tristi’s today.  I felt so excited to put on my bathing suit.  I really like my bathing suit.  I like the story of how I came to have this bathing suit.  I felt so excited to go lie in the sun and – hopefully – get some color on my skin.  I pulled on a pair of running shorts over my bathing suit.  The shorts are every bit of 2 years old.  I talked to Todd about how they used to fit loose.  They did.  I have photographic proof!  Now, they are snug around my booty and my thighs, but I like that.  That was part of our discussion – that I like having a bigger booty and bigger thighs.  By no means is it all solid muscle, but there is a fair amount of muscle.  I squat, I lunge.  I do what Coach Aubrey tells me to do and I use weight.  I feel proud of my thighs and my booty.  There is power & strength there.  The shorts are satisfyingly snug, not uncomfortably snug.

After swimming, I dried off and attempted to put the shorts back on.  Tristi commented on how she thinks they are cute.  We had been talking about trading clothes earlier because as I am getting larger, she is shrinking, so she said she will take them if I’m ever ready to get rid of them.  Then, I couldn’t pull the shorts all the way up.  I couldn’t get them over my thighs.  They made a sound like the seams were tearing.  Okay, no shorts for the short ride home.  My brain went to a place that I would have preferred it not go.  Chubby.  Heavy.  Fat. 

While walking to the truck, CARRYING MY SHORTS I COULD NOT FIT ONTO MY BODY, I thought of giving them to Tristi.  Why not?  I need to stop wearing them.  They don’t fit me because I am chubby.  I am too big.  Tristi has gotten so tiny, and I know she needs shorts.

When we got home, I got ready to shower.  Chubby.  Heavy.  Pale.  My stomach is so big.  My thighs are fat, not strong.  I am pale all over.  My stomach is gross.  My waistline is GONE.  Chubby.  Pale.  Gross.  Ugly.  Those shorts must look awful over my chubby thighs.  They are short, which means my pale legs are exposed.  Pale.  I could already tell that I didn’t get any color today.  That’s not surprising.

I must disclose that this is very difficult to write.  I work every day to love this body.  I work every day to remind myself that I am so much more than this.  When others struggle with their own body image, I remind them of these things that I’m not always good at remembering for myself.  Every body is deserving of love and care.  But this belly has to go.  These things have to get toned.

I lose the fight against my skin tone every year, and every year I feel angry and frustrated that I am allergic to something in self-tanners (and this is the only thing I am allergic to, as far as I know).  The only time I’ve gotten and kept a respectable tan is when I used a tanning bed, which I won’t do anymore.  It’s so weird that I may see someone who is pale and my mind makes up all these reasons why it is okay for that person, but not for me (it is okay for that person, but not for me = that statement, alone, is a huge problem, that it’s not okay for my skin to be the way it is).  Sometimes I can go long periods of time without giving a fuck.  Yes, I am pale.  Whatever.  What-ev-er.

I don’t want to buy bigger clothes.  I have convinced myself that buying bigger clothes means accepting my body at this size and not trying – not working – to make it better (read: smaller).  Then I might accept it getting even bigger.  How long before it’s out of control?

As I wrote, I work every day to love this body.  I have had many long stretches of time during which loving this body went very well.  Part of the reason why I love my bathing suit so much is that I spent the time and energy to work up the courage to try on bikinis and buy one.  Earlier this year, I told myself my bikini days were over.  I told myself I needed to get a one-piece bathing suit this year.  More often than not, I do the work for my self-love.  I do the work to keep it afloat.  As you can see, there are times when I slip.  My self-love isn’t as reliable as I need it to be.  I am a work in progress.

Some kind of leader

CommonMaggieLeave a comment

written 6.2.17

During the past 2 days at work, I attended a training about Motivational Interviewing (MI).  I think it was an okay training.  I don’t think I can use much of it in working with sex offenders.  That’s an entry for another day.  Today was the second day of the training, and I noticed something that I feel compelled to write about.  I even made a note in my notepad during the training so I wouldn’t forget.

I would never label myself a “leader.”  I would never ask to supervise a project or be someone’s boss.  When I have been asked to take on a supervising role, I have said, “No, thank you.”  I’m not an extrovert.  I don’t want to be in charge.  In every class I took with Dr. Sofranko during college, he said that because we (the students) were in college, it was almost inevitable that we would all end up managing/supervising others at some point in life.  At that point in my life and for many years after, my Sass Level was well below zero (0).  Still, every time Dr. Sofranko made that statement, I thought to myself, “I’ll show you!”  Honestly, the first time I heard him say it, I’m sure my Internal Panic Alarm sounded.  But, every time after that, my internal response was to accept the statement as some kind of challenge he was issuing.  It’s not lost on me that my job title is Community Supervision Officer.  I’m not supervising other employees.  I’m supervising sex offenders who live in the community (insert helpless, maniacal laughter).  This is the first time I am having this realization.  Good lookin’ out, Dr. Sofranko.  May you rest in peace, especially knowing that you were right about so many things.

For the MI training, we were situated in groups of 8.  I have no issues with anyone in my group.  I approach my job with the philosophy that the job of everyone in my department is difficult.  End of story.  As is usually the case, there was not an obvious leader in my group.  When someone had to speak for the whole group, we all looked at each other hoping it would be someone else.  That’s my default setting.

I know work trainings are often boring.  Sometimes they are/seem pointless.  I know that.  I also know that sometimes trying to make the best out of a less-than-perfect situation keeps the situation from seeming so awful.  Time passes easier, one’s mood doesn’t sour as much when one tries.  I think?  That’s been my experience.  Easier said than done.  I know that, too.  Maybe attitude is everything?

Early in the day yesterday, I realized that I would not be able to use much of what we were being taught because of the nature of the population I supervise.  That happens.  A lot.  My initial response to this realization in any situation is to feel frustrated.  Damnit.  I need help with my work.  I need to learn new skills to help me work more effectively with sex offenders.  But I’m the only person in my department who needs this.  Eventually, I replace frustration with some other feeling: apathy, being reasonable, etc.  I chose being reasonable yesterday.  Okay, I have to sit through this training.  I’ll make the best of it.  I’ll listen, I’ll take notes, I’ll try to do the exercises correctly.  I might even participate in discussions.  If I pay attention, I may learn some things that I can use, here-and-there.  Not everyone in my group took this route.  Okay.  We’re all different.  No problem.

We were working on an exercise that required us each to write responses to, I think, 5 different statements, discuss each of our statements as a group and choose one that we believed was the best out of all 8 options.  When it seemed like my group was kind of disorganized, I tried to become some kind of leader.  I got the impression that nobody wanted to do the exercise, nobody wanted to share their answer and nobody wanted to choose the best one.  Work trainings are often boring, and we always have work to do in our offices that is, honestly, more important.  We didn’t have much choice and I didn’t think it sounded like much fun to have nothing to say when it was our turn to respond.  No, we wouldn’t get into trouble, but it wouldn’t do our image any favors.  Not to mention, there were supervisors in the training (supervisors, like bosses).  And it’s just not in my nature to blow off tasks I’m asked/told to complete at work, no matter how meaningless the task may seem.  We are professionals, and I think we should each present as such, especially when we are being given a presentation by another professional to whom we should show respect if only because he is a person who is trying to help us be better officers.  I believed that part of being respectful was completing the exercise as instructed.

My stint as “some kind of leader” was pathetically brief.  Working with the responses and body language of some of the people in my group when I tried to bring some order to the chaos, I decided to be quiet.  That was the end.  I didn’t try again.  When we did other group exercises, I kept my input to a minimum.  I definitely did not try to lead, nudge or direct.  My motivation was primarily internal – the way I interpreted their responses and body language – the blank stares, the lack of responses, the mumbling.  Did they think I was being too bossy?  Did they think I was a bitch because I tried to “take over?”  Did they think I was some nerdy loser who was paying attention and trying to learn?  (FYI: “nerdy loser,” party of one right here because learning IS fun and knowledge IS power, motherfucker).

I can’t say the exercise was easy.  I understand the fear of being wrong in answering a question in front of a group.  It’s not fun, but it’s a good way to learn.  Just as much as the next person, I hate finding out that old, cliché advice is accurate.  Still, if my group gave an incorrect response, what would happen?  The presenter would give us feedback about how to improve our response?  We’d gain a better understanding of what we were doing?  That doesn’t sound so bad.

My intention was to help my group.  It didn’t work out.  It prompted me to think about the discussions of referring to girls as “bossy” as if this is a negative trait.  I have never been bossy.  I have always been quiet.  A few times, I have sat quietly while I knew the “boss” was getting something incorrect, and I didn’t say anything.  I don’t want to seem like a know-it-all.  I don’t want to seem like a bitch.

Throughout the training, we worked in pairs and used real life examples to practice the techniques we were learning.  One of mine that came up more than once was my desire to be more assertive.  I am so much better than I used to be.  Just, so much.  I can’t even tell you.  BUT, there is much more room for improvement.  I want to be more assertive.  And, even though this desire was on my mind during the training, when I had an opportunity to work on strengthening my assertiveness, I didn’t take it.  Given the circumstances, I may have been considering “choosing my battles” over exercising my Assertiveness Muscles.