Cheerleader Envy

With nothing much to do this past Sunday, coupled with the fact that it was damn hot here in Austin, I watched the final four episodes of the Cheerleader U, Season 2 marathon on the Women’s Entertainment network. The show followed the University of Central Florida's cheerleading squad through the Universal Cheerleaders’ Association national championships held each January. Snarky thought in 3, 2, 1...

I didn’t watch the show to see how the squad fared in the 2008 championships, even though they were defending champions of their 2007 title. I watched to see how much the campus had changed at UCF, because that’s where I earned my undergraduate degree. I was super excited to take a trip down memory lane… ah… football games, homecoming, campus life, and studying, lots of studying (I swear!).

What I wasn’t prepared for, however, was to become totally enthralled in the fate of the squad. Now, it’s important for me to share that since high school and maybe even middle school, I have suffered from cheerleader envy. I was a tall child and fairly clumsy; I still take the occasional spill for no reason other than that damn imaginary crack in the sidewalk. You know… the one you look at after you trip for no reason? And, to make matters worse, I had bright red hair and lots and lots and lots of freckles. I share this information with you not for your sympathy, but to make clear that I have always had a deep, irrational disdain for those cute, pony-tailed, tan beauties that are cheerleaders.

But not this past Sunday. On Sunday, I was transfixed by the UCF squad! Clapping goofily when they stuck a twirly thingy and groaning when they fell down after another twirly thingy went terribly awry. I loved it!

And it got me thinking. My own insecurities as an awkward adolescent manifested into an aversion for cheerleaders. Never mind that I would kill to have my red hair back now. Then, to feel better about myself (I now know), I thought something very serious must have been wrong with those girls for them to be so cute and perky.

And then I wondered how many other women watching the show (it WAS the Women’s Entertainment network and God knows all of Texas was probably damn hot) felt the same way I did as a kid.

Well... clumsy, goofy girls unite! Those cheerleaders aren’t so bad. I guess.

Go, UCF!

It's Good to be King

Think just saying the right thing is enough? Be careful. Your true feelings are most likely on full display. Joe Navarro, a former FBI agent, explains several ways in which we prominently display our true feelings in body language. In particular, the territorial dominance display called “splaying out” prompted me to share a story.

Once upon a time, in a job far, far away, my boss hired a consultant to evaluate our new program and give us advice on our progress. During a meeting, we were discussing some of the challenges we were facing…hotly. Our boss always encouraged us to be authentic in meetings, which translated into contentious, lively debates.

While the rest of us were leaning forward and hip-deep in our discussion, the consultant leaned back and to the side in his chair and stayed that way. Our boss noticed. She calmly reached over, tapped his arm and asked him to sit up. We were shocked. And the consultant was clearly embarrassed.

Afterward, not really understanding what had happened, we asked her why she did it. On first glance, several of us perceived that he was just trying to “stay out of the way” of our debate. Not our boss. She told us that she hired him to help us and that she didn’t appreciate his “it’s good to be king” posture. It dawned on me then that she was right.

Much of what Navarro shares will be familiar to you instinctively, but there are a few that might take you by surprise. Share your body language stories in the comments.

What We Say Without Words – Washington Post

No More Girl Talk

Language has power. Take the word girl vs. the word woman. If a girl has had a period, she’s a woman (right?). No more of this girl talk.

It never used to bother me. Now it eats at me like crazy. I’m sure you can think of many examples. I’ll offer just one. Recently, the final four on Survivor were all referred to as “girls” - by the host, by the castaways, and even by the women themselves.

I can offer one somewhat lame excuse for the use of this word: Males have man, guy, and boy. Females don’t have a “guy” word. This may be why the word girl has taken over... maybe for lack of a better “in between” word in the English language. I find it difficult to refer to my husband Chris as anything other than a man. I feel as though I would be degrading him if I were to refer to him as a guy and especially a boy. So why, for so long did I find it acceptable to be referred to as a girl? Well—now—I firmly believe that it’s not.

To quote Norman Vincent Peale: Change your thoughts and you change your world. The word girl is SO ingrained into our pop culture. Maybe if we referred to teenage girls as teenage women they would take more responsibility for who they are and what they have become. (And maybe if we objected when others (mostly men) referred to us as girls, we would garner more respect.)

Drives me nuts, but I still slip sometimes myself. The fact that the same word can be used to describe me and my four year old step-daughter doesn’t seem possible. The last time I checked we were pretty different.

So, this is what I think: The word girl vs. woman is all about responsibility and respect. I call Chris a man because I respect him. Guy or boy does not do him justice. And it’s weird, but I have a harder time calling the men whom I respect and honor “boys” than I do calling the women I respect and honor “girls”.

Why is that? Share your thoughts.

Might as well face it, he’s addicted to…

Call of Duty. I have been hesitant to write about this topic because I thought maybe it wasn’t an addiction, just a “phase”. You see, I committed my life to a creature that is very cyclical. And normally the cycle begins when he immerses himself into something, and he goes into an obsession phase that lasts for a few weeks. Eventually, the obsession decreases, he moves onto something else, and the cycle begins again. For example, subjects such as exercise, gambling, wine, real estate, cars, sports, and politics are usually the subjects of obsession that cycle in and out. This fickle behavior used to weird me out, make me think that maybe I would be the next “item” to be cycled out. But, lucky for him he isn’t this way with women. Needless to say, I have learned to live with his cyclical obsessions and have even found them amusing at times. That was until I was confronted by a new beast, an obsession that doesn’t seem to be on a circular path, one that has not phased out, but grown; it is the PS3 game, Call of Duty.

Now here is the problem, you can play Call of Duty with/against other people online – there is actual real-life competition. It’s not like his brief obsession with Assassin’s Creed; when he beat the game, he was over it. In Call of Duty your character moves up the military ranks, gains access to new weaponry, and your enemy is always different. And the cherry on top… his best friend, Chip, now has Call of Duty so they call one another and play together. Picture this, a 33 year old man sitting on the living room couch with his iPhone headset in his ears (so he can communicate with his best bud), his PS3 control in his hands, his tongue almost out due to concentration, and an unwavering focus on the television to kill the next enemy who comes into view – talk about hooked in. One evening, he was like this for four hours straight! And another time he jokingly asked if he could play with Chip for a little bit. I laughed and said, “Sure,” so he got on his phone and said, “You ready dude? Carrie said I can play for a little bit.” Did I marry a man or inherit a son?

In order to eliminate as much anger and bitching as possible, my husband is careful to sneak his addiction and play when he thinks I won’t mind or notice; for example, when I am on the phone, in the shower, or working in the office. And let me tell you, he is quick to play. If I as much as begin a conversation on the phone he is playing Call of Duty.

Like a good wife, I have attempted to play Call of Duty with him. The whole if you can’t fight em’, join em’ mentality. Unfortunately, all I came away with was frustration and a little motion sickness. I must admit when I sit down to play, I can’t stop thinking about the other things I should be doing instead. Do addicts have this internal voice? Or have they mastered its mute button?

So here is what I am proposing, this section of the blog will be dedicated to COD –Anon (Call of Duty Anonymous) We will create an area that offers help and hope to family members of those addicted to Call of Duty or any other videogame. So please share your own experience, strength and hope. It is important that I meet others who share my feelings and frustrations, if not my same situation.

See you in COD-Anon.

The "Who Am I?" Moment

When I first learned about identity it involved topics like gender, race, ethnicity, religion, and class. I gained confidence knowing that this is who I am, my foundation. There was security knowing that these aspects of my identity could not be taken away from me. Unfortunately, I didn’t think much about the pieces of identity that can be taken away, until it happened. So what happens when the parts of your identity, the ones you worked hard to achieve, are taken away or changed? How do we cope with these changes effectively? I mean, it is never fun when we have a “Who Am I” moment. And let’s not even go into the powerlessness and out of control feelings.

I suppose if I want to know about other peoples’ “Who Am I?” moment, I must first spill mine, so here it goes... Because I found the man who I want to spend the rest of my life with, and he just so happens to be in the Navy, I went from living in San Diego, a social life that started Wednesday and went thru Sunday, driving a Scion TC (I know, it’s not my dream car but, I felt cool in it!), and having a career that seemed like anything was possible. To living in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. Social life, what is that? Does that include working out in the yard and waving to neighbors? Driving a 2000 Ford Ranger pickup truck, and can’t find a job that pays over $15/hr.

Now, don’t get me wrong, great identities have come with this change. I am a wife, a stepmom, and the proud companion of Missi Lou and Diego Jean. I am happy but, the transition has not been easy. And being a military dependent, I mean spouse, this will not be my last identity switcharoo. I know there is a reason for everything. I just haven’t figured out the reason(s) behind the cruel joke of me living in Mississippi.

So here is the conflict…

The radical feminist side of me starts to holler. “This is the reason women are making $.80 to the man’s dollar, they engage in the institution of marriage and the man’s career takes priority and the next thing you know you are confined to the house, knocked up every other year, and driving to soccer games - right where society wants you. AHHHHHHH!”

And then I tell the radical bitch to shut up and let me be happy with where my life is headed, wherever that might be.

So please share. We all know that misery, I mean happiness, loves company!