People my Partner wants to Punch in the Face. *A Fluff Piece.

On the whole, I like to think that people are pretty good. But sometimes the week of May 16th, 2015 happens, and you find yourself in close proximity with many many assholes. 

Persons 1 and 2: Edmund and Griselda. *probably not their real names

Last Sunday, my partner, Mags, and I went to see Book Of Mormon (hysterical and highly recommended by the way). I literally ran from my coffee shop to meet them outside the theatre and we found our seats. As these things never start on time, we had a good 15 minutes to chat and check out the programs. We were trying to figure out exactly how "limited" our "limited view" seats were when we overheard a strange conversation of flamboyant and theatrical tone behind us. It went something like this: 

Edmund: Darling, did you bring the chiffon? One simply MUST have chiffon when attending the theatre

Griselda: Oh my love, I left it at home, I thought YOU brought the chiffon, YOU were in charge of bringing the chiffon to the theatre

Ed: No no my love it was YOU with the chiffon, I was to arrange for the buttered chicken 

Griz: Ugh you've ruined everything now we have two buttered chickens and no chiffon! All is lost!

They had variations of this conversation starting from the beginning, changing a few words around, embellishing as they found appropriate. Mags and I leaned in to try to figure out what was happening. The couple was conversing at full volume, so it was easy to overhear. I whispered, "they  have to be rehearsing a scene." Because who the hell has this same meaningless conversation over and over with gratuitous inflection unless they are frantically trying to get their act together for a rehearsal later that evening. Mags, being a dancer, says, "That is completely and utterly ridiculous, who would do that?"

I can't tell you how many times I have recited entire monologues on a bus headed to an audition. This seemed perfectly plausible to me. 

Then it took a turn. Ed turned to Griz and said: "You know, lesbians really should control their acne." 

I know very few 20 somethings who actually got rid of their acne in their late teens. Mags got wide eyed and I quickly surveyed the scene looking for two acne ridden lesbians, perhaps outside of earshot of this weirdo couple behind us. Then I remembered that we were at a musical and therefore definitely the only two queers in attendance. They continued: 

Griz: You're absolutely right dahling, it is quite a problem

Ed: Do you think we ought to suggest treatment? 

Griz: That sounds like a splendid idea my love, what would you suggest?

Ed: Well, as we know, salicylic acid did wonders for my complexion, I wonder if they haven't tried that yet.

Again, they would start this conversation over and over, sometimes incorporating the chicken and chiffon bit. Having survived late elementary and middle school covered in zits, I was more enraptured in what was happening than I was offended their opinions of my personal hygiene. It was hands down the weirdest thing I've experienced in the theatre, and I've been to a whole lot of festivals so this is really saying something

Mags however, does not take shit from anyone. Including shit coming from the mouths of certifiable psychopaths. They turn to me and say, "What the fuck is happening, I'm going to say something!" I was like, "Whooooh babe hold on." Partially because this little part of me wanted to see how far they would take it. Also, you never know when Book of Mormon will be back in Chicago (said no one ever) and we would have to deal with confronting the assholes behind us.

After listening for another minute, Mags turns to me and says, "I want to punch him in the face, I'm going to say something." Fine, you gutsy amazing person, fine.

So Mags turns to the couple and is says, "I couldn't help but overhear you, do you just deliberately fuck with people?" 

They reply, "Oh no, this is just us. This is just how we are. We're going to have a wonderful buttered chicken dinner after this, you simply must try it." 

Literally where do you go from there? Pretty much nowhere. They continued rattling off acne treatments and we continued to gawk at how unbelievably awful they were being.

Persons Infinity and Beyond: Perpetrators of Jazz Hands Worldwide. 

This is not aimed at anyone in particular. Mags went to Art school. Mags does not like jazz hands. Mags does not like jazz hands regardless of their girlfriend's unadulterated love of Bob Fosse. Girlfriend loves them anyway.  

Persons 3-10 roughly: The Old Gents of Panera 

No less than a week after the whole sapphic acne debacle, Mags and I took a quick jaunt to the burbs. It was nearly 10 and neither of us had eaten so we stopped in a Panera to grab breakfast and coffee. Upon entering, an entire table of old men turned and stared at us. Not just a quick glance, they literally stopped mid meal, turned and gawked. I did the whole "I see you staring" thing and they just kept right on looking. 

I mean, I know. Mags is sexy as hell, but come on guys. Clearly out of your league. 

And rocking the flannel MUCH harder than you. 

Anyway,

The employee who took our orders kept sighing and was real short with us. In his defense, he was on register at a Panera full of assholes, I would hate my life too. But still good sir. We had a very simple order and I would have appreciated getting my black coffee and bagel without a side of side eye thank you very much. 

 

It was inescapable! Midway thorough my bagel a guy glanced at us, kept walking, stopped walking, and stared. WHO DOES DOUBLE TAKES ANYMORE? I just do not understand. 

Sure. The two of us together code as anything but heteronormative. I get that we look different. We don't fulfill the traditional expectations of "masculine" or "feminine" or "young couple." In Morton Grove IL, we look different. And I get that we were potentially the only queers who dared venture out of their car and into your Panera, but that doesn't mean it's okay to stare. Not everyone who lives in the burbs is exposed to diversity. But to the best of my knowledge, everyone is taught manners. We all know it's impolite to stare.

Sometimes I get caught up in the liberal bubble of the neighborhoods I choose to spend time in. I forget that when you leave for the more conservative places of the world if you are not white, middle class, passing for one of two binary genders, hetero and able-bodied, you get looks. I wont delve into the social issues beneath this blog post, but I feel the need to remind people to be polite. If you see someone who looks new and different, just don't be an asshole. If someone makes you uncomfortable because you don't understand their gender or sexuality or race or ability, don't stare. Their life is none of your business. 

And guys, we live in a world where google exists. If you don't understand something, use the googlemachine for something other than funny cat videos and your local news online. I'm not expecting much here. We all live here, lets not make each other feel uncomfortable when all we want to do is eat a damn bagel. 

Clearly I cannot write fluff. I hope this was entertaining, but mostly I hope you google the terms "genderqueer," "gender neutral pronouns" and "heteronormative" if you don't know what they mean. While your at it, search "white privilege." I'm white, Mags is white, this blog was not even kind of about race, but social justice is intersectional. So go learn stuff. 

Okay, we strayed from the path there, found a few similar paths, realized the paths were all connected in the first place, drew out an unnecessary metaphor. Anyway. I want you to google those terms please. And be nice to each other. And have a good day off tomorrow. 

Kaitlyn. 

     

Booty Spandex and Street Harassment

HI!

So for those of you who don't know (most of you probably) I've started doing stand up at pH comedy club. Because the people are funny and I'm funny and it's a free way to perform and see a show. It's also exposed me to what a homophobic, sexist, bro-fest comedy can be. So I've begun to think of this as a platform for my feminist/gay agenda. So expect preachy, but let me know if it gets unrelatable.

Also, this is raunchy and inappropriate. So no one forward this to grandma to prove that I am working in my field. Thanks.

Enjoy.

So BIG NEWS guys. This week I got my first pair of compression shorts. My bike seat and I have never felt closer. It's really taken our relationship to the next level.

It's also thrown me into the gauntlet of street harassment my straight looking friends receive on a daily basis. I was working out on the beloved lake shore trail I passed these two white dudes sitting on a bench. As I approached them one of the guys said "Hi" so I said "Hey, cool bike." Naturally his response was, "Look at dat ass, MMmmmmm sexy, I'd lick that, got enough to go around?"

Does that ever work? Has anyone ever been like "Fuck yeah, lets do this, whip it out and show me what we're workin' with." I'm going to start doing that. Because if you think you can make me uncomfortable by bringing attention to my sexy ass in my tight pants then you have another thing coming. I'm a dancer. I spend hours every day in a leotard and I know my ass looks good. Your shouting it at me validates nothing.

With that said, I hear you bench dudes of the lake shore trail. I too appreciate the sexy ladies. Suns out, guns out, buns out, I am in favor of all of this. But I have more tact than you. For example, when I see see an attractive lady out running or at a bar or at the library, instead of harassing her I covertly stare at her until she notices me. At which point I quickly look away and we never see each other again.

(I'm making a joke about lesbian flirting. It's cool, you can laugh)

 And I am still absolutely confident that I get laid more often then those guys on the bench.

The Mother Trucking Navy Pier Bike Detour.

So I have the Loveliest daily commute on the planet. Starting between 4 and 5 am, I hop on my bike and cruise downtown on the Lakeshore trail with the sunrise. Literally the only thing standing in the way of cycling nirvana is the bike detour at Navy Pier. While I can usually bypass 90% of the tourist crowd, I now have to plow through it at 2pm (peak Pier hours). The result is a gradual build up of aggression and fury that could blow at any given moment. So instead of screaming at trail patrons, I come up with ways to torture them until the are moderately to severely annoyed. Here is my list: 

If I get stuck behind one more family strung five abreast takin’ up the whole damn path, I will kick buckets of tiny pebble at them. 

If one more person feels the need to do a sunburst jazz hand motion to my face as I pass them after shouting “left,” I will eat a bean and egg sandwich and fart upwind of them.  

If one more butt-face in a bro tank sprints past me only to slow down in front of me because he can’t keep my pace for more than 100 yards, I will plague him with swarms of gnats every 20 feet until he has so many bugs up his nose and mouth that he will be snotting them out for weeks. 

If one more yippee dog on an extendable leash darts across my path, I will punt that little shart into the lake. 

If I see one more person playing on their phone LITERALLY WALKING INTO ME, I will take his phone, change the language to Russian and program it to only ring in Gregorian chants for the rest of it’s life. 

If I see one more Divvy Biker try to pass a pedestrian by cycling up their ass than shouting “MOVE” at the last second, I will switch out their deodorant for 3 day old congealed bacon grease. 

If I am behind one more Rent-A-Biker who doesn't think that she can get across the Pier Entrance Drive in 16 seconds and decides to wait it out for the next official walk signal, I will replace her Advil with laxatives.

What I’m saying is, we need a bike autobahn. Pass on the left.   

Date A Girl Who Dances. The Rebuttal.

Hello Friends.

I just finished my final final of college! I'm not feeling the least bit sentimental about it right now, but I'm sure there will be some mushy blogs in the month to come.

The end of the semester means that I finally have time to deconstruct this article I stumbled upon on facebook. I've been waiting for weeks. Here's a link to it: http://www.buzzfeed.com/steffirina/date-a-girl-who-dances-op3t The article, called "Date A Girl Who Dances, is written by Steffi Carter. At first read, I was embarrassed by her portrayal of dancers, but through further examination I found it littered with red flags as it relates to feminism and dance culture.

Let's jump right in, shall we?

The Title: "Date A Girl Who Dances"
YES. All about this. I am a girl. I dance. You should date me. Absolutely on board.

Well. It's downhill from here. You absolutely should read the whole thing, but I'll give you my highlights.

"Date a girl whose eyes get glassy when assaulted by new music because she can’t help choreographing, casting, living and dying in her mind."
I can't shake the image of me at my first death metal concert. This is about the only time I have every been truly assaulted by a piece of music. And by assaulted I mean it was so suddenly loud that I almost fell over. I humiliated myself in a room full of folks that looked like they could eat me alive and I've made it a goal to not repeat the incident. I personally feel like I can handle listening to music. I mean, I can do the fucking splits. Music does not make me catatonic. 

"Find a girl who dances. You’ll know that she does because she will seem to move endlessly. She will sway to the sounds of the city, fidget every few minutes, crack her knuckles and her neck, roll each wrist and cross the other leg just so she feels even. She will forget herself and where she is, the length of her skirt and the strangeness of what she’s about to do when something falls from her lovely, articulate hands to the floor. She will not bend at the knees because she does not have to, folding instead at the waist to execute the kill. That’s the dancer. When she straightens, she will laugh at herself, and her collarbone will beg you waltz with her."

Ah. The illusive, mysterious dancer creature. A rare breed. Certainly not human. Certainly not fit to navigate the city without getting lost in the bustle. Very strange. Personally, I prefer to bend my knees to pick stuff up. Unless there's a cute girl behind me and I'm having a good butt day. What I'm getting at here is that I'm interpreting most of these qualities as negative and kind of crazy. I absolutely like to roll each wrist to feel even, but for me that's a residual ocd type habit that I personally don't want to glorify. And this "finding the dancer" game has a predator/prey feel that I am NOT into when it comes to dating.

"Such proximity to a pedestrian has reawakened an awareness of her abnormality; she had nearly forgotten, again, that not everyone needs a tutu to feel alive."

Mmm. Abnormal. Flattering. 

"See if she cries when she doesn’t make the cut, and learn to anticipate what she needs before and after that audition. Remember what needs massaging, and when. Understand that it is a rare treat indeed for her to really be at rest, to have a day off from running to and from rehearsals, and to take a break from being beautiful."

Oh the patronizing! I can't! Please ladies, can we stop perpetuating this stereotype that we can't stand on our own two feet? I mean yeah, I have wept my way through many a post-callback situation, we've all been there, but give yourself some credit here! Many dancers can push their bodies very far physically and the professional performing world is full of bullshit that we just have to take. You're pretty damn strong. And this bit about taking a break from being beautiful? Please. The connection to female beauty standards doesn't bear deconstructing. 

"Technically, she was never trained to talk. She was trained to listen. Let her speak when she finds her voice. Do not ask her to make sense."

Pardon? Never trained to talk? This tells young female dancers that they should keep quiet. Women's voices have been historically undervalued if not completely ignored. There have been WAVES of feminists who worked their asses off to give women more of a voice and I REFUSE to forfeit the progress we have made because I also happen to express myself through dance. Some of the most articulate people I have met are dancers. Setting the bar this low should not be something to aspire to. 

"It’s easy to date a girl who dances. Give her ibuprofen in bulk for her birthday"

For the record, I prefer M&Ms and chewing gum. I can handle my own medical supplies thank you. 

"Look at her. Stare."

But actually, please don't. I prefer not to be objectified. Thanks. 

"Because she’s unreal. The human equivalent of a black cat, with that same mesmerizing and vaguely alarming quality in the way she slinks toward you."

Jesus. I am very real. I am not a fucking ethereal fairy thing. Side note, what about my slinky walk is alarming? The last thing I want to do when I am slinkying towards someone is alarm them. 

"Date a girl who dances because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who adores everything you do, every little thing about you...This is a woman who rehearses for weeks on end for maybe one minute onstage — do you think she does anything because it is easy?" 

That's right. Hey dancer, you thought this article would be about how great you are? Nope. It's about the other guy. He deserves you. You deserve...it's not in this article. Now go back to your slinking. This also suggests that the dancer is the one that puts all the energy into the relationship for very little payback. Do you really want that? 

"You want a girl who bites off more than she can chew because she is the most flexible, most sensitive, most ambitious, most big-hearted of the bunch." 

Well. I do happen to be pretty flexible. So if you're into that.

"You deserve a girl who doesn’t break easy, a girl who’s prepared for a bit of pain for the sake of of beauty."

Please God ladies, don't idolize pain in order to be beautiful. It's not healthy. Don't glorify pain in relationships either. 

"She’ll embody the ebb and flow of that tide between well-established vanity and soul-crushing insecurity" 

That's right, that triple pirouette makes you vain and soul-crushingly insecure. Best of both worlds really. 

The End. But Not Actually. 

Ok. That's the end of the article, but I have a few more general comments. 

Firstly, I get it. This is a buzzfeed article. It doesn't need to be politically correct. And if you read the article and identified with it or liked it, you do you. I'm not going to tell you how to feel about something (she says after finishing a very opinionated blog). But at the same time, when an article like this gets a lot of attention, we need to acknowledge what it says about dancers and women in our culture. By othering dancers as these mysterious, inarticulate, mentally unstable, non-human creatures we are creating a potentially dangerous standard if universalized. 

Also, this only addresses girls. And I understand that the title specifically implies this, but if you refer to "dancer" as only female, you're ignoring all the men and gender non-specified folks. They do exist.  For the record. 

*Before we end, I want to acknowledge that I'm throwing around words like "crazy" and "unstable" pretty casually. I want to be clear that I am not making a statement about mental illness. I have dealt with mental illness personally, with my family, and and among my friends and the topic itself needs more understanding an acceptance. But understanding and glorifying are two very different things. This article has a tone of glorifying this stigma of dancers as "crazy." And I don't like the stigma that creates for the community.

So yeah. Something to chew on. Mentally I guess. In response to this, I intend to write, "Date Me: A Dancer, The Un-universalized Take on Date A Girl Who Dances." Basically it will be the most self indulgent thing to grace the internet. 

May the 4th be with you. A day after the fact. 

Kaitlyn 

Why I Hate Your Smartphone

Tragedy has struck the apartment.

Three of my (soon to be) four roommates have smart phones.

My grandpa like reflexes have always been keen to the dangers of new fangled doodads like the internet, calculators, texting, and online dating sites. Why can't we just grab our abacuses, head to the bar, and pick up dates the old fashioned way? By talking about your latest re-read of the Little House on the Prairie series and smoke signaling if you're up for a second date.

I recognize that giving up your smart phone may be a little harder than burning your abacus or doing away with the telegraph system, but the reward will far outweigh the price. Without further adieu (stop playing angry birds. Right now. You, yes You. I see you there. Put the phone down. Everything will be alright) Allow me to present: Why your Smart phone is the Work of the Devil. 

Point 1: Smart phones inhibit social skills. Social interactions with me are tangibly uncomfortable to begin with, if I had the crutch of unlimited knowledge/busy work at my finger tips, I would probably become a mole person. But in all seriousness, if I'm talking to you, you have my full attention. (Or at least my attempt at full attention, I have this tendency to zone out without realizing it. But that's a topic for another day.) Nothing makes me crazier than someone whipping out their phone and texting someone else while we are having a conversation. That person in your phone isn't in this room with us, ergo they're not in on our conversation. Also, as someone who occasionally texts while conversing (recovering texting addict), it's really hard to concentrate on what the other person is saying to you! Makes you feel real outa the loop. What's worse is when two people are talking while simultaneously playing on their smart phones. There conversations go a little something like this:

Azra: Yeah.... no it drives me crazy when that teacher does that chalk thing in that class.

Marco: I know, it's ... so annoying, right?!?!

Azra: So annoying. Yeah.

Marco: Yeah with the chalkboard ... I can't think of ... hold on a sec .... uhmm Do you wanna get lunch?

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AZRA NO. NO YOU DO NOT WANT TO GET LUNCH. You should both go sit in your respective bubbles and chat with people who are not there about arbitrary things in 160 characters or less.

SUB POINT 1: When we are in a room full of people talking to a person whose not in the room, we are not really present in the room. I like human contact. Let's not let that die yeah? Cause I'll overcompensate by cuddling with all of you. All the time. And you'll be uncomfortable. 

Point 2: Hey, do you know the average life span of a Panda? Me neither, don't you DARE look it up on your phone. You don't need to know that right now. For the love of all things good and holy, wait till you get home. Then google it if you must. It drives me insane when we're in the middle of a conversation and you decide that you need to show me HOURS of information and videos on your TINY SCREEN to "enhance" our chat. I don't care. That's what documentaries and research papers are for. And I genuinely enjoy those.

Point 3: GPS. I have to admit that I have definitely been saved by friend's iPhone's whilst traversing Chicago. And I am only temporarily grateful. Knowing I can be saved by a travelers iPhone makes me not learn the area I'm in. Dangerous stuff. The iPhone does not have an "avoid ghetto" option. And I'm on foot. It's a crutch yo. Get a map...and while you're at it, grab one for me as well... If you think your sense of direction is bad now, wait till you get a smart phone. You will lose all organic ability to navigate. And that's sad.

Point 4: We don't need unlimited information at our fingertips. You don't need to know everything right now. Use your brain, think about it. Be patient.

If you have a remedial phone, keep it. Resist. Join me.

If your brain has already been taken over by your smart phone... It'll probably be like quitting hard drugs.

I'm here for moral support.

Quote of the day: "Apartment problem #483: I don't lock our bathroom door because our bathroom door doesn't close." Do with that what you will. And pee before you visit.

Kaitlyn

I Know What You Did Last Summer...

Ayeee Mates,

As previously agreed upon, it has been about 3 weeks since my last blog post, and I am back to keeping this thing updated. In short, I finished up my stuff in Cleveland, moved to Chicago, survived a week of classes, celebrated properly, and spent the awake part of my today recovering.

So before all memory of my summer job is taken over by 300 theatre history terms, I'm gonna write a blog about it. And Mates, if anything in my life is blog worthy, this is.

Without further adieu, allow me to present: "Quick Stories/Lessons learned from my summer Working at a Special Needs Summer Camp"

1. Sticks are the work of the devil. Placed on earth only to be used as weapons, weed whackers, obsessed over, javelined, and collected. Situation: kids are not allowed to go into the woods. Kids LOVE STICKS. Sticks are in the woods. 75% of summer spent sprinting through the woods after a child. Fucking sticks.

2. Kiss your personal space good bye at the door. Have you ever had to peel a human off yourself? Did they then start singing Titanic? I don't feel the need to elaborate here.   

3. The self defense skills of a ninja. Because there are a lot of reflexes that are out of anyone's control. And they happen fast.

4. Slow down. Anyone's whose walked anywhere with me (class, finals breakfast, unwanted doctors visits) knows that I keep the pace of someone with a gun to their head. Working with kiddos taught me that just about every human on the face of the planet has a slower pace than mine. And if I just talk, walk, and exist a tad closer to normal speed, people actually understand what I'm trying to get across. 

5. Not everyone needs words. I think I prefer non verbal communication. Not that I don't see it's faults, but you slip into non verbal functioning without even realizing it. It's pretty cool.

6. Over chlorinated pools can burn off your tan. Funny that you think I'm kidding. 

7. Every behavior is a function of something. Theatre folk, this is like acting. Everyone has reasons for their actions. You may not know what they are or understand them. Hell I almost NEVER know why people do what they do, but everyone has their reasons. Here comes the preaching: Stop judging other people because they're different than you. I decided that needed that amount of emphasis. But seriously, it's really starting to piss me off when people make fun of other people because they don't understand them. Why on earth would anyone be intentionally mean or "weird" or different just to piss you off. I'll tell you why, they wouldn't. The problem is that you don't know what's going on in their head. I totally understand the need to vent and blow off steam, but this impersonal enemy of the week shit is getting old. So seriously. I'm gonna start calling people out on it. And if I do it, feel free to call me out as well. Really folks. Humans need to work on this. 

*Gets of soap box*

8. Don't sweat the small stuff. For real though. If someone's not about to die, don't freak out. Cause you'll drive yourself, and the rest of the staff, up the wall. My apologies to the staff (also my family, friends, cast, and that one squirrel I cussed out) during field trip week :)

9. I am not cut out for this kind of work.

10. A new appreciation for the educators, staff, counselors, and families who work with the spacial needs population. Seriously. These people have something very special that I definitely don't have. I learned so much from my co-workers and other volunteers this summer. It's a whole different ballgame. All we see is the tip of the ice burg. Major props.


So there's the short list. I've learned so much more this summer than I can put into words. It's definitely an eye opening experience.

Hmmmm there's a way to cap off this blog, but I can't think of it.

*Insert inspirational quote of your choice here*

Or just make fun of me for blogging about my summer job.

Or for having a blog in general.

I can take it.

Good Night.

Kaitlyn

Thoughts on Toddlers and Tiaras

Hi Fellas,

It's mid-week (in case you were wondering). I think I'm gonna aim for one solid blog per week-ish that I share on Facebook, Twitter, Smoke Signals, etc. I'll post some short random blogs in the mean time. Just to write. Because it's fun. That way you can kill 5 or 6 birds ("bird" = blog entry) with one stone per weekend, with at least one well thought out article. And I still get to write random stuff that doesn't suit itself to a full blog. Win win.

Sidebar: MY DOG IS DRIVING ME UP THE WALL. I will eventually do a "why my dog is cuter than your dog" blog, but right now, I would kill for puppy Ritalin.

I have some thoughts on Toddlers and Tiaras.

Who doesn't have some thoughts on Toddlers and Tiaras? This show is nuts. It's unhealthy. The parents on the show argue that pageants raise their kid's confidence. They probably do. But I think the collateral damage is worse.

What really gets me is their emphasis on facial beauty. It's a buzz word.

"It was a tie, so we broke it on facial beauty." "Facial beauty is worth 75% of their score." "My child has the best facial beauty."

OF COURSE your kid is the most beautiful. Beauty is subjective, and you're her mom. Duh. And how do you even judge facial beauty? Especially on kids! There are some beautiful people in this world who have nontraditional quirky faces. That's what makes them adorable! (see what I did there? I dodged the bullet of quoting a One Direction song. Well done self, well done). But seriously. How can you tell a three year old that she is more beautiful than another three year old? More importantly, how can you tell which three year old is more beautiful?! Beauty is genetic until you start taking meth or tanning too much.

Not only is beauty undefinable, but the emphasis parents put on it is crazy. Crazy Mom Quote of the Afternoon: "Facial beauty is the most important thing in a pageant, and really in life too. Beautiful people are the most successful." Full stop. I don't even feel the need to elaborate here.

What kind of effect would that have on a poor kid's self esteem? Puberty is rough enough when it's just your classmates judging you. They're putting their kids in front of a panel of adults. Unbelievable.

Some of the parents do it right. I don't see any harm in dressing your kid up and letting them strut around on stage. Even if it's a little too sexual. The kids are 10. It's going right over their heads. If you don't believe me, re-watch the spice girls movie. See, you turned out alright.

But still. How can we teach young girls that beauty counts for anything?! Everyone is beautiful (I tried so hard to avoid said cliché. Just lost that battle). It's not objective. And it shouldn't effect anything in life. In a perfect world.

I think this is what TLC intended when they put this show on the air. Even as I write this, I'm pretty confident most of you will agree with this blog. I hope this can be a catalyst away from crazy, old fashioned views of beauty. But in the mean time, I will definitely continue to watch, in horror.

True life.

Hope your weeks (collectively) are going well. Mine is pretty solid. Gonna walk my crazy dog now :)

Catch ya on the flip side (of what? I never really understood this)

Kaitlyn