This is NOT a Drill! New Series Launching!

Hello, dear readers.

Gross.

That doesn’t sound the slightest bit natural.

What up, y’alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll?

As we grow and become active participants in the world around us, with opinions and morals/a personal code, the things we love let us down once we are #woke (wondering what that means? It is social awareness kicking you in the ass to remind you or teach you why something just ain’t right). Nothing stays innocent forever. Not even nursery rhymes - take a look at This Little Piggy again. None of them were going grocery shopping at that market. Or fairy tales - read the OG version of The Little Mermaid. That shit is fucked up.

More than the precious memories of childhood being ruined when you find out that little piggy is having roast beef because they are fattening it up for sale or slaughter, I find the fall of those you idolize particularly heart breaking. It happens every day - and should - as we find out more and more what lurks beneath the facade people hide under. It isn’t just people we see fall from grace either as evident by more and more companies we praise or swear by slowly loose grip on the scandals and conditions they weave into silence begin unraveling. Exposing the terrors that surround us is more and more common but whistle blowing is still seen as taboo and victim blaming is still the hefty price many pay.

I can’t do much about it, whether from my computer or in a march, other then help people become #woke to what is happening around them.  Oh, Jesus. Is it then in this case? Or than? Google ws no help. Either way, welcome to a new series on the blog I like to call Sometimes Your Faves are Problematic or SYFAP (hahahahaha yes, I know it ends in fap. And if you are related to me by blood or marriage or are over the age of...50ish or under say...18 PLEASE DO NOT GOOGLE IT Kthanx I love you).

The first in the series?

You may love their 2 day shipping and Prime benefits but did you know Amazon is problematic AF?

Hair Crisis 2K18

Well, it has been a hell of a week guys.

It started with a hair crisis which I am still in the throws of. By Thursday, I was out of my mind and I had The Husband cut my ponytail off with shitty scissors. I am still trying to decide if I like it (seeing as it is THE SAME HAIRCUT just shorter) or if I want to buzz off the rest. What is italicized below is the original post I started for last Tuesday before deep diving into self-loathing.

I have to tell you, I was revved up to write a post about cosplay and how sad it is that in 2018 at a convention run by an international expo corporation we still need to have ENORMOUS signs explaining that cosplay is not consent and what that means. IN 2018. Something about how unfortunately real Jessica Rabbit's line "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way" is in the word of cosplay.

But that is not the post you are getting today.

Nope.

Something else managed to get to me more.

I will tackle the pissbaby fan boys and girls soon, my dears - don't you fret. But until then...

I am going into hair crisis.

I am sick of my hair. I don't know what to do with it and have had the same style for like...3 or 4 years. And while it is a dope cut, i am just...bored.

Given the length (shaved on both sides and the back with just like 1/3 of the top long - perfect for a manbun) I don’t have a lot of options.

Do I shave it all? Just GI Jane that shit at home?

Do I go for a pixie? I am useless when it comes to styling my hair so it can't be too involved.

Do I keep it pink?

Instead of being consumed by my brain going in a million directions and just letting depression seep in until I cry about how much I hate everything about me (sounds fun, right?) I took to the internet to google image search my options.

Because when isn't google helpful?

I looked at faces and faces of conventionally attractive men and women - perfect skin, perfect hair, faces small and angular...

Or, ya know, 100% not me.

Clearly, I just said Fuck It and cut off my pony as indicated at the beginning. But after a week of slipping into a depression funk (like for real - I cried in bed last night because I don’t think I am cute enough to go on a girls weekend with a friend. This brain is a rollercoaster.) I am annoyed at myself. Not because of the depressed state that I am in but because of the catalyst.

Hair.

Or rather, how much worth and self worth humans tie to it. As I sit here still debating if I should just embrace the clippers and go full on buzz I have to ask myself why. Why shave it all off? I keep saying that if I want to grow it out shaving if is smartest so it will grow out evenly but the reality is that I will let it grow for a bit only to get the itch to do something to it (cut, shave, dye, whatever) again. It isn’t uncommon for women in some kind of crisis to change their hair as a means of exerting control over some aspect of their life. The likelihood of growing it out past a long bob ever again seems like insanity to me. So much time and effort and product… I can’t get up on time to gel the gentleman’s regular I have now. So, self, what am I really skirting?

Long hair equals beauty.

It is all over the media we consume. Short hair is coded as tomboyish at best but more often as angry, man hating lesbian/villainous (Yo! Take a peek at Ursula. And, yes, I understand that there are “edgy” female with short hair but that is another topic). Princesses give way to teen dramas which in turn give way to rom-coms, almost all with perfectly perfect female characters - dainty, pretty, and slender with long flowing hair. It is seen as the “norm” so much that people are happy to tell you that you “men don’t like women with short hair” or “you would look prettier with long hair”, not to mention the SCORES of people that want to tell fat women they should never cut their hair short because they are fat and need to hide behind the long layers. I had one boyfriend tell me I wasn’t allowed to cut my hair because he preferred long hair and because I was too fat so it was necessary to make me look better. (I would love to send you my therapy bills someday, bruh.)

I am disappointed that after all this time, all these years of being #woke to the patriarchy, I am still fighting internalized sexism as if it was written in my dna. When I think of myself my go to characteristics are negative but vanity isn’t one of them - so why am I so hung up on the idea of how hair equates beauty?

Until I figure it out, or at least figure out what to do with my hair, I remain stuck here.

RIP Floppy Vengeance

Free Range MPA?

I woke up 2 hours before I technically hit 33. At 4 hours removed I could say that it feels like 32 but with a migraine and knee pain.

It got me thinking about all the ways I don't recognize myself. Yes, my upper arms wave when I do and my meaty forearm ends in cankle-like wrist before spitting out stubby hands with sausage fingers. Yes, I may have gained a chin. And, yes... I am still a mixture of appalled and sad when I see myself from the side in a mirror. I am still quick with a trivia answer as well as with sharp wit. Indulging in garbage pop music is still delightful. But fundamentally a few things have changed.

The Husband went out for a day with the nephews Monday. After picking me up from work we dropped his PIC off at his home and ended up at an intersection with a Farmer's Market. It took immense self control not to scream that we should go check it out. I am planning a trip to Portland with a friend and one of the things I am most hype about is going to a Farmer's Market. Not drinks. Not poutine made with french fries that have been fried to perfection in duck fat. Nope. The Farmer's Market. And not JUST the Farmer's Market, guys. My excitement over locally grown Maine produce and artisan shit has me wondering not which breweries to tour but how many reusable shopping bags to pack. I want to wander around Whole Foods and Common Crow or any other natural grocery store. The smell of small natural markets is the purest smell on Earth.

WHY AM I EXCITED ABOUT FREE RANGE MEAT AND LOCALLY GROWN PRODUCTS?

WHY AM I WEARING NATURAL DEODORANT?

WHY DO I SUDDENLY WANT TO THRIFT FOR DOZENS OF JARS?

But the horrors don’t end there.

I spend my free time watching vegan videos on YouTube. I watch videos on zero waste life styles. I signed a pledge to stop using single-use straws (which I think should still be made available for those who need them but like maybe we shift to the paper ones?). I question whether I should order coffee via mobile pick-up because it means I sacrifice bringing a reusable cup for convenience. When grocery shopping I lament buying soaps/detergents I could easily make at home and paper towels when I could use a washable option. If we have kids do I go the fabric diaper route? Or those rad ones that breakup in the toilet and are flush-able?

And don’t get me started on period products. The tax is enough to piss me off but all that waste?!?! Do I order washable pads? Do I switch to the cup?

The madness seems to be permanent. It grows every year. Is this adulting? No one warned me about this. No one told me I would slowly turn into a hippie. My go to when leaving or entering a room, letting a car go, being let through by another car, taking pictures, or apparently just existing is to throw up a peace sign. I think shaving is a stupid societal convention the patriarchy uses to make women feel less than. I can’t wash my hair daily if I want to keep the dye vibrant and it does not bother me at all. It is like as I age I go more rogue but the idea of it is almost comforting - as if aging gives me a free pass to live my crazy hippie dreams and everyone will just look at me and quietly say to each other “ahhh, she must be over 30” like it naturally explains my behavior.

I suppose it isn’t a bad place to be but it sure will take some time to get used to this me that wonders where on the North Shore I can buy shampoo and conditioner in mason jars I brought in, weighed empty, filled, weighed again, and bicker with the cashier before asking for the manager who I greet with a peace sign.

Dreams. The Goal Kind.

If you have followed this blog for sometime or gone through the past posts, you know this isn't my favorite time of year. And by time of year I mean quite specifically my birthday. It is a time that reminds me of spending time with my father in San Diego and the last time I felt really connected to that side of my family. This will also be the first birthday without my Grandmother who has never failed to call me to sing Happy Birthday to me. I spend this time scrutinizing every decision I have made and if in the last year I have done anything other than being a colossal waste of precious oxygen. 

My Womb Evacuation Day, or rather the day I was cut out so I didn't have a cucumber-shaped head, is a day I chose to fly under the radar. One that I pretend is a normal day to avoid as much fuss as possible. It is possibly the least Leo thing about me.

This year, we're hitting the big 33. And while I thought of some kind of Jesus/stations of the cross bar crawl (...sorry, Mom), I don't drink nor do I like anyone enough when they are drunk to do that. Instead, I am trying to embrace this renewed drive to write here. To capitalize on this motivation and do...something. 

I have mentioned briefly in the past, if not on here than to a few people IRL, that I want to start a literary magazine. I took a course in college where we spent a semester doing small writing projects before going through submissions for the school's literary magazine and to curate that issue. It was by far one of the best courses I took and it opened me up to the idea of publishing in general. Now without a degree, a job in publishing isn't really achievable. But you know what? That is ok because the more I think about it the more the concept grows.

Could it go from small, primitive (I think indie is too generous at this stage) pdf booklets to published in paper that is of the most spectacular quality and weight and finish - sorry guys, I REALLY like paper - and maybe even sold in bookstores?

Could it go from small and primitive to a huge online presence that evolves into a community like XO Jane, Bitch Media, or Bust?

Is it possible to create this from nothing? Is it possible for me to create this from nothing?

I don't know but for once I don't think it would hurt to try. 
And isn't that the miracle of aging? Getting to a point where you throw caution to the wind and embrace what could be so you aren't left with another what if?

Is 33 the time to leap?

Again...?!?!

What is up, my dudes?

This is my third time in a week with y'all and I know that may seem weird.
I am trying to give this a real, legitimate go. 

Will I screw it up? Uh..., Duh. Of course.
Will I try to blaze forward? Yup.

Will it be three posts a week, every week? Not on your life. But there is a schedule!

Tuesdays and Thursdays will be the days I post new content. Sunday will be reserved for bonus posts or when things crop up and I just can't keep this mouth of mine shut.

That being said, you can always find me and other on brand comments, retweets, reposts, and general me-ish stuff throughout the week on all of the blog's social media platforms! You can find me creeping the corners of the internet on:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/cupcakesandcrossbows 
Twitter:@cupcakesnxbows
Instagram: @cupcakesandcrossbows
YouTube: Maybe some day, guys but not yet!

<3 

The Weight of My Weight

As an adult I have tried not to hide my fatness behind sugary words to make them more pleasing to the people around me or the strangers that see me. Fluffy. “Curvy”. Fun Size. Party Size.

Nah. I am fat.

The words out there designed to make my body more accepted and marketable to potential lovers, bosses, friends, or whoever has the misfortune of getting caught in my personal magnetic field are not my words. They are not the words I choose to define me. I do not care about someone’s discomfort with the word fat or the preoccupation society has with it. I move and giggle and take up space in a world that thinks being fat is the worst thing you can be. I live every day trying to balance the self-loathing coded in what seems to be every cell, every fiber, every particle in me with the urge to love myself and my stretched out skin and my flesh. Most days the balance tips in the direction of self-loathing, all of my progress sliding to the floor and shattering only to make the next day harder; each time asking myself do you need to radically change yourself to love yourself.

The Husband had bariatric surgery about a year and a half ago. He has done phenomenally, sticking to his medical program and shedding weight. He moves better. He feels better. Medical issues he had have cleared up. I went with him to the information session for surgery. I went to the consultation and follow ups for my own potential surgery - a gastric bypass to help with the  weight, pain, and medical issues that can sometimes accompany being fat. Everyone, the medical practitioners as well as myself, agreed I needed to work on my mental health and bring down my A1C before we could really moved forward. I never went back. Not because my process was delayed but because I can’t decide if it is right for me.

I don’t know if I have ever taken a diet seriously when I have tried to lose weight so a step like this seems drastic. I don’t exercise really. I gained back every pound I lost while working with doctors and then some. I am not happy with myself most of the time. But is something like this going to change that for me? Or will I just continue this balancing act at another size?

And then the internal argument bombards me with mixed messages that weigh me down further and make my heart ache. How can you feed into diet culture? How can you go outside when you look like this? Why let society dictate your appearance? How can you be a feminist if you think like this? Why did someone marry you, you cow? Why can’t you just practice what you preach and be stronger when it comes to body image? No one really loves you. No one really likes you, they just tolerate your existence because they feel bad for you. WHEN THE HUSBAND LEAVES YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE SO DISGUSTING, NO ONE WILL EVER WANT TO BE WITH YOU. YOU WILL DIE ALONE.

Let me tell you, this shit is exhausting. But I get it. I get why I fight this fight in my head. I preach the gospel of accepting yourself and your body to everyone yet at the end of the day I have nothing nice to say about myself or my body - other than I think my eyes are nice because they are so dark you can see through them to the depths of hell and that I am doing a-ok in the breast department. I try to reconcile this drift between who I am to myself and who I am to others. How can I continue writing as my authentic self if my self is in what seems like a lifelong civil war?

So I simmer, letting these thoughts marry until over and over the same thought bubbles to the surface gasping for oxygen: is thinness the key to happiness?

I can’t believe it is. That is one thought I can reject even if it fights its way to the top continually. Rearranging my organs can’t cause happiness. Starving myself can’t cause happiness. Fighting myself can’t cause happiness. Could this be the moment where I let go of the years of bullshit? The diet culture and shame that seem to be bred into me?  Is this where I lean in to the wind and let my weight, for once, work in my favor - letting it tip me over so I can fall in love with myself?

I will prepare a parachute, just in case.

-MPA

A Re-Introduction

Hello, Friends.

It has certainly been a minute. Life, like usual got a bit outta control. But here I am, attempting this shit again. Is it because I love failure? Is it because I have I am a glutton for beating myself up when I trip up or don't stick to a schedule? Accurate, but no. I just have a big mouth. A big mouth and a terrible desire to clog up the social media feeds of my family, friends, enemies, really...anyone and everyone. #sorrynotsorry

Now, you may be asking yourself "what has brought this broad out of hiding during the dumpster fire that is the year of our Lord 2018?" Maybe your question is "what has Trump shit on lately to make her emerge from hiding?"

The answer? Lately I feel myself being less and less authentically me. Sure, I still have weird hair that is dyed pink and some inability to filter before speaking but… Something has been missing. The blog has always been a way for me to be and feel more authentic in a world where because of work or other organizations or relationships I can’t necessarily be myself 100%. Most people see Diet MPA - just 4 calories and with a lingering aftertaste that isn’t wholly right.

This was not supposed to be the first post back. I had a lovely fluff piece on Mercury in Retrograde as a Sunday special to kick it off so I could pace myself and really see if this was worth it, if this would give me that feeling of being genuine again. I couldn’t finish it. It will sit, in my google docs until I finish it or delete it. Instead, I thought if I yearn for this validity in myself and in what I am reading on my own then I owe it to myself and the dozen people that may read this to do the same. What better way to do that than to re-introduce myself and define myself as I am right now, knocking on the door of 33 and still a mess?

So, that is what you’ll get on my return. Me. As close to 100% as I can possibly be.

I am:

Almost 33

Fat as fuck

Unhealthy

A ball of anxiety and depression

The mother of two beautiful cats

Married to someone that has managed not to divorce me even though I am A LOT to handle

The Creative Director of a Rocky Horror shadow cast

Weird

Nerdy

Confused

A witch

Most likely unable to have children

Tired

Queer

Most of these are no real surprise if you have read any posts before but while we are here, let’s unpack a few of these.

I spend a crazy amount of time in my own head. Why am I here? What am I supposed to do? What/Who am I meant to do or be? Why is the world such a mess? Why don’t my cats let me pet them more? Why are corgis the most precious of dog breeds? What am I? WHAT AM I? The world is so much more #woke now. People can define and label themselves in ways that reflect them infinitely better and more accurately than when I pondered this before. Do I define myself as a woman because it is all I have ever known? Am I a woman when I have never felt intrinsically female or male? Am I just performing a gender because it is expected? I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, other than a mess. What do I know? Finding yourself and gaining true identity is confusing and hard and the people that have, who live their truth everyday are brave af.

Yes. I am queer. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY.

Whatever you want to call it. I am it.

The first person I ever kissed was a girl and while I don’t remember it, I have had it retold to me many times. In an act of shame or making fun of me? I don’t know.

But you’re married.

I know it is confusing. So lemme break it down: For many years I clung to “homoflexibility” as my sexuality. That, my friends, is some garbage. Some grade A rotting garbage because it is easier to say you just do things sometimes or when drunk than it is to deal with people’s opinions of your changing. Y’all - I AIN’T GOT TIME FOR THAT SHIT ANYMORE. I define myself, right now in my truthiest truth, as pansexual. No. I don’t think pans are hot. Cast iron, copper, Teflon coating, all of that has nothing to do with it (I am flipping off my laptop right now because people think they are hilarious and ask that all the time). I like to explain it to people as: I like consenting adults. Hearts not parts? It is funny that it took me years to understand this. When I was dating my ex-girlfriend (ESCANDELO!) my mother and brother had a conversation that she relayed to me where he was not surprised because he felt I would look at a person for who they are and not anything else. RIGHT ON, BRO.

Now, let’s add some additional layers to that.

I am on an antidepressant/anxiety medication. If you have been on one or know someone who has, you know that sometimes your mental health improving comes at the expense of your desire for intimacy.

But you’re married.

I am. I had to make a decision to stay on a medication that made me suicidal but didn’t hinder my drive or change medications. I changed medications. Some days I feel like this wasn’t the right decision. Most days I feel like a terrible spouse. Add to it, the large possibility that biologically having kids is off the table too makes me feel like a terrible daughter/daughter-in-law.

But didn’t you just define your sexuality?

I did. Because that is me. When I am well. I suppose you could call me medically asexual right now for the most part. Now let’s smash it all together to create and identity!

I am a 33 year-old fat weirdo, whose gender is …?????, is pansexual but due to mental health issues basically asexual, and panromantic (I like consenting adults for romance as well as other activities). I am loud. I am proud of that identity. I am here to reign fire on issues and type until my fingers are tired. I am here to make delicious food and try crafts on Pinterest that I will ultimately fail at. I am here to laugh, and cry, and be angry. I am here.

-MPA

**side note, I just realized I never came out. I just kind of, started dating a girl and didn’t explain myself. 10/10, MPA. **