Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts

Saturday, November 08, 2014

GRIEF IS NOT A SPECTATOR SPORT!

Mikel Chane Crook 1974-2014
 BELOVED SON & FATHER
It seems that some of my family and friends aren't  pleased with the way that I've been grieving the loss of my 39 year old son. Several of them  have made comments to others about why haven't I had a public breakdown. I've even been accused of trying to wipe Chane’s memory away or of being glad that he’s gone. It hurts that my so-called loved ones seem to be actively waiting for the pity party so they can critique my heartache.

People, GRIEF IS NOT A SPECTATOR SPORT! I  have never been one to show my feelings in public. I didn't have a public come-a-part when I lost either of my deceased husbands nor at the deaths of both of my parents. I prefer to lose it in private.

No one but my dog is around when I cry while watching funny movies. I don't share the fact that I find myself wondering what Chane wants for dinner before I remember that he’s not coming home ever again or how in the grocery store I pick up something that he loves and I hate before it hits me that I'm buying groceries for one now.

So don't judge me or others on how we behave in public. Everyone isn't a Drama Queen who wants to be the center of attention. A few of us hold our feeling close and choose to deal with life’s disasters in our own way, on our own terms. Just because we don't broadcast our sorrow doesn’t make it less real, and finding that our support system is waiting for us to fall makes the hurt doubly deep.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

OUT OF A JOB

This is it, the end of life as I know it.
I've worked all my life but starting Monday morning I'll be out of a job. Compulsory retirement. Used abused and tossed away like a snotty Kleenex. 35 years invested in a career and suddenly I'm unemployed (along with hundreds of other mill employees). I understand about business but that doesn't help, especially when our plant made more profit than any other in our sector last year.
I could go back to school but after getting a 2 year degree I'll be 60-61 and who wants to hire an old woman? Plus I was interested in computer programming/security and I've been informed in no uncertain terms that "it's a young person's field".
I have no social life outside of work. All my friends are married and their husbands consider a single woman a threat.
I don't date, haven't in years. Most of the men my age aren't interested in women my age.
I won't have money to travel like I dreamed in my retirement fantasies.
Enough bitching; time to put on my big girl panties and get on with it. Donna says that I can join her in a life of leisure and poverty. Guess that's my new life plan….

Sunday, November 24, 2013

THE MILL

This is the place I've spent most of my waking moments for the last 34 years, the paper mill in Courtland, Alabama.

 I've been in  the boiler house all that time and it's where I learned to operate heavy machinery, produce electricity with steam driven turbine generators, trouble shoot pumps & motors, boss men around (like I needed lessons doing that!), control things from a DCS I/A system and multiple other skills that will be useless to me soon.

You see the mill is closing down. Not due to anything wrong with it or because the crew are incompetent; but because someone in a corporate office in another state who has never been in an actual paper mill decided that there was too much paper in the market and we were the biggest (and highest producing) mill around and it was easier to shut down 1 mill instead of several others.

Not only will this devastate the lives of  myself and my crew members but it's having a terrible impact on all the surrounding counties.

This is the only major industry in my home county. The schools have always had paper donated from IP for use across the system. That donation saved the schools $40,000 each year. Plus, there is no way to know how many students might be lost if parents move to seek other jobs. International Paper’s financial input to my county now is approximately $400,000 to the county’s general fund, $147,174 to road repair, $588,696 in school taxes and $235,478 in hospital tax.There's no way to recover from the loss that the mill will have county wide.

I'm 58 so I'll can suck it up and try to get by on my pension  until 62 rolls around and I can get Social Security but the younger folks are having to leave to find jobs elsewhere. Homes and cars are going up for sale all over the place but who has the money to buy them now that a large majority of people are facing unemployment?

Sometimes it's hard to look for the silver lining when all you see are storm clouds. They say "this too shall pass" but that doesn't make it any easier nor the future look any brighter. Thank goodness I have my health and a loving family.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

PITY POT

When I try to imagine my future after the plant closes in a few months I draw a blank. I've never not had a job, a reason to get up and get on with my day.

It's a scary thing to not know what to expect, what to do with one's self. I've debated on going back to school but at 58 by the time I get a 2 year degree who would want to hire me? Especially as I'm thinking about going into something to do with computers, which is considered as a young person's field. It's depressing to think that I've devoted 34 years to a company who is kicking me and hundreds of others to the side. I've got tons of skills but the job offers (and there have been several) are for plants as  far away as South America; I feel too old to start over in a new place and leave my friends and family behind.

Enough wining, I'll get off my pity pot, put my big girl panties on and make the best of it.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Yep! I'm a Senior




--
 
 
YES, THIS IS US!!!
 

Senior citizens are constantly being criticized for every conceivable deficiency of the modern world, real or imaginary. We know we take

responsibility for all we have done and do not blame others.

HOWEVER, upon reflection, we would like to point out that it was NOT the senior citizens who took:
The melody out of music,
The pride out of appearance,
The courtesy out of driving,
The romance out of love,
The commitment out of marriage,
The responsibility out of parenthood,

The togetherness out of the family,
The learning out of education
The service out of patriotism,
The Golden Rule from rulers,
The nativity scene out of cities,
The civility out of behavior,
The refinement out of language,
The dedication out of employment,
The prudence out of spending,
The ambition out of achievement or
God out of government and school.
And we certainly are NOT the ones who 
eliminated patience and tolerance from 
personal relationships and interactions with others!! 
And, we do understand the meaning of
patriotism, and remember those who have
fought and died for our country. 
Just look at the Seniors with tears in their eyes and pride in their hearts as they stand at attention with their hand over their hearts!YES, I'M A SENIOR CITIZEN!
I'm the life of the party..... Even if it lasts until 8 p.m.
I'm very good at opening childproof caps.....
With a hammer.
I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up.

I'm smiling all the time because I can't hear a thing you're saying.

I'm sure everything I can't find is in a safe secure place, somewhere.
I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy, and that's just my left leg.
I'm beginning to realize that aging is not for wimps.


Yes, I'm a SENIOR CITIZEN and I think I am having the time of my life!
 
 
Spread the laughter
Share the cheer
Let's be happy
While we're here.
And, MAY GOD BLESS
 
AMERICA
AND MAY AMERICA THANK GOD!!
Go Green - Recycle CONGRESS!!


 












 
 
 



--
Bob & Lu Meinke
Romans 8:18
For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.
    



Saturday, December 31, 2011

NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS

It’s time once again for the annual swearing of the New Year’s resolution - that time honored tradition where we solemnly make all kinds of wonderful pledges to both ourselves & our loved ones. But all the good intentions and big plans mean naught because deep down in our pudgy little cholesterol laden hearts we know that we’ll never follow through on any them. Those extra 10, 20, (hell admit it) 50 pounds aren’t going anywhere any time soon and even the thought of giving up smoking has you fumbling in your pocket for a light like a drowning man grabbing for a life preserver.
Big business is well aware of all this. January is the prime month of the year for gym memberships while sales of athletic wear and home fitness equipment are higher than at Christmas. Health food stores tout the latest cure all and TV informational push the latest diet/patch/pill that makes the fat melt away and somehow magically makes you look 15 years in the process. Who knew that losing weight would make your gray hair, wrinkles & eye baggage go away?
Get real people. If you DID lose all that weight you’d look like a Shar-Pei with all that excess skin drooping down - although you could save on underwear because that floppy skin apron where your gut used to be is going’a hang down & hide your punanny/pecker from view. Which won’t be an issue because you KNOW that you are not gonna give up Big Macs & Snickers and the only time you’ll lace up your Nike’s will be to go buy goodies at the store.
Loose skin, jingly butt cheeks, drooping jowls, chicken wing upper arms. Wait I’ve got all those already! Damn it all, I’m gonna have to do it, make a resolution and count on y’all to keep me honest.
RESOLUTIONS:
1. Get Healthy
2.....
'Heck, one is enough for me',

Saturday, October 31, 2009

HALLOWEEN RANT (I DON'T NEED NO STINKING COSTUME!)

Who needs a store-bought Halloween costume? I look in the mirror at all the ravages that Father Time has done to this tired old body and I’m about as scary as I can get without putting on a mask or wig.

What were once freckles are now fast spreading age spots, and beauty marks have turned into moles that seem to pop up in weird places and make me worry about skin cancer, something that I never thought about a few years ago.

I have lumps and bumps and rolls where once there was an hourglass figure. My skin now drinks in lotion like a camel at an oasis, no longer the texture of a baby’s bottom; rough where it should be smooth and sagging like the shoulders of the exhausted elderly woman I’m fast becoming.

The boobs are heading South of the border and my feet are getting bigger; but not near as fast as my ass is spreading out. The gray is fast taking over my once reddish brown curls and my hairdresser is losing the battle to camouflage the iron colored strands with streaks and highlights.

So I’m not going to dress up tonight. Instead I’m gonna so without makeup, let my hair go wild and stop trying to suck in my gut. I’m wearing sweats, a t-shirt and no bra. I’m letting it all hang out (picture the grandma on the Klumps running in the dream sequence with boobs bouncing all over the place!) and scare all the tick or treaters who show up at the door with my natural hideous self.

So come and get some candy kids. Don’t be afraid, this too will happen to you in a hundred years or so. Happy Halloween y’all.

Friday, September 19, 2008

WORKING FOR A LIVING

Up at 3 AM, home anytime between 6 PM and 7 PM: every day, 7 days a week. This has been going on since I got home from Texas but I'm not gonna complain because I realize that I'm in better shape than a lot of other people. I know a lot of families making getting by on low wages who would love to be in my position. Yeah, I knew all this and more, but this article in MSNBC really opened my eyes. You should go read it and count your blessings. Here are a few highlights:

Nearly 61 percent of local and state homeless coalitions say they've experienced a rise in homelessness since the foreclosure crisis began in 2007, according to a report by the National Coalition for the Homeless. The group says the problem has worsened since the report's release in April, with foreclosures mounting, gas and food prices rising and the job market tightening.
..........

*The relatively tony city of Santa Barbara has given over a parking lot to
people who sleep in cars and vans.
*The city of Fresno, Calif., is trying to manage several proliferating tent cities, including an encampment where people have made shelters out of scrap wood.
*In Portland, Ore., and Seattle, homeless advocacy groups have paired with nonprofits or faith-based groups to manage tent cities as outdoor shelters.
*Other cities where tent cities have either appeared or expanded include include Chattanooga, Tenn., San Diego, and Columbus, Ohio.

The article goes on about how an unbelievable number of folks have lost their homes. Being homeless no longer means being a drunk or drug addict who doesn't work much less bathe. It now means whole families who couldn't make their house payment sleeping in the family car.

Thankfully I have a good paying job and a home that's paid for. It's easy to complain about high gas prices and long work hours but sometimes we need to be reminded that we're lucky to have a job and a car to put gas in and a roof over our head when it rains.

We (and the rest of the world for that matter) think of America as the land of the entitled. When we see pictures of homeless people, starving children, people sleeping on the ground with no clothes and nothing to eat we think of a third world nation but Wake up folks, this is happening here in the USA!

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Petition For Brest Cancer


From a nurse:

I'll never forget the look in my patients' eyes when I had to tell them they had to go home with the drains, new exercises and no breast. I remember begging the Doctors to keep these women in the hospital longer, only to hear that they would, but their hands were tied by the insurance companies. So there I sat with my patients, giving them the instructions they needed to take care of themselves, knowing full well they didn't grasp half of what I was saying, because the glazed, hopeless, frightened look spoke louder than the quiet 'Thank You' they muttered. A mastectomy is when a woman's breast is removed in order to remove cancerous breast cells/tissue. If you know anyone who has had a Mastectomy, you may know that there is a lot of discomfort and pain afterwards. Insurance companies are trying to make mastectomies an outpatient procedure.
Let's give women the chance to recover properly in the hospital for 2 days after surgery. It takes 2 seconds to do this and is very important. Please take the time and do it! If there was ever a time when our voices and choices should be heard, this is one of those times.
There's a bill called the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act which will require insurance companies to cover a minimum 48-hour hospital stay for patients undergoing a mastectomy. It's about eliminating the 'drive-through' Mastectomy where women are forced to go home just a few hours after surgery, against the wishes of their doctor, still groggy from anesthesia and sometimes with drainage tubes still attached.
Lifetime Television has put this bill on their Web page with a petition drive to show support. Last year over half the House signed on. PLEASE!! Sign the petition by clicking on the web site below. You need not give more than your name, state, and zip code.






Wednesday, August 06, 2008

GLOW IN THE DARK JUNEBUGG

My life has become a comedy of errors; “Murphy’s Law” has attacked me with a vengeance. I have big plans to drive out and visit Jackie Sue in Texas during Labor Day, I already have 2 weeks vacation scheduled and I am going if I can still walk but it seems that fate is trying to throw me a curve ball. Read on to see what I mean.

As some of you already know, a tree (well, half a big tree) fell onto the roof of my house. Not good but no one was hurt, the damage was minimal, the leaks were all in the overhang and I’m insured. Then …….

Wednesday, while watching the tree people remove several large specimens from beside the deck, my tummy started rolling and growling and just feeling not so good in general. By 11 AM I was having chest pains and by 3 PM I was in the emergency room convinced that I was having a heart attack.

After being poked and prodded, forced to drink gallons of barium, injected with radioactive dye and zipped numerous times through a CT scanner they decided to admit me to the hospital and try to find out what was wrong. Days of stress tests, entire pints of blood being drawn every 4 hours, more radioactive dye injected and no heart problems anywhere. Dr. Dick (I swear that was his real name!) kept dropping by asking questions, dreaming up more tests and promising me that I was going to be OK. He was kinda cute, real flirty and if I had felt better I would have enjoyed his company but damn it; I wanted to go home.

Skip to Saturday, still in the hospital, both arms black and blue (but my-oh-my the morphine was nice!) and I find out that my gallbladder has one itsy bitty tiny gallstone that was causing all the trouble. So they send me home with some antacid pills and hopeful comments about how I may never have any problems out of that pesky gallbladder again, surgery wouldn’t be necessary at this time. But ……. if I do it won’t take but a minute to suck that nasty little bugger right out of my belly button. Promises, Promises.

So, I’m felling better, the roofers are supposed to be here next week and I decide to mow the yard. Just a few passes around the back yard the dad blasted mower belt breaks. Damn it I can’t seem to get a break. Wonder what’s gonna happen next? I quit smoking and my body starts falling apart. I make plans and things keep trying to get in the way.
Now tell me, am I losing my mind or ……. Do y’all see a trend here?

Sunday, March 09, 2008

SNOW

Last night snowflakes swirled and danced across both outside monitors, coloring the nasty gray tire chip pile and the dusty mountain of shredded bark a clean, frosty white. Steam billowed off of sludge and ash, obstructing my view of machinery, bins and hoppers; forcing me to guess-ta-mate on whether they were full or empty but damn, it sure was prettier than my normal view here at work.

Others may watch life pass them by on TV or out of their home’s windows, but we shift workers have to rely on wall-mounted monitors to tell us if the sun is shining, a tornado about to blow us away or if it’s suddenly snowing after a week of 70 degree weather.

When you work inside a windowless, climate controlled room the outside world becomes remote and your whole universe becomes the circle of ‘puter monitors surrounding you and the voices of your coworkers on the radio. Then you walk outside at the end of a 12 hour shift and get all squinty eyed; blinking at the sun while tears stream down you cheeks from the wind and cold.

Man, I need some time off. I drove home this morning on a sheet of ice and snow; giggling as my little front-wheel-drive economy car passed a shiny new 4X4 asshole deep in a ditch, with the tracks & ruts to prove that he wound up there after sliding across all 4 lanes (when will those rednecks learn just because it's a 4 wheel drive doesn't mean that it'll stop on ice?) It was a good day to snuggle with the cats and sleep long and hard, which I did until it was time to go back to work. I don't think I even rolled over and I didn't even stay to work out in the gym this morning, all I could think about was a warm bed and flannel PJ's.

Hope y'all are alright, I promise to post more often because they've gotta give us some time off soon. The company has some ads up for job openings so maybe they'll hire us some more help (hopefully someone young , cute and with a strong back. Hey, I deserve some eye candy!).

Friday, February 15, 2008

Sex, Dress, and Power in 2008

I got this email today and thought I'd share the love. Sad to say, it seems that we females will always be doomed, with society judging us by our appearance; the color and cut of our clothing or the size of our boobs instead of our brains.

The Clothing Chronicles

The Clothing Chronicles
So, what's on tap for today's article? How to dress like a leader. Enjoy!

Diana
diana@fashionforrealwomen.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FEATURE ARTICLE

Sex, Dress, and Power in 2008

Does what you wear have an impact on how you're perceived as a leader?

That's the question that's been burning up the fashion blogosphere the last few weeks, ever since Hillary Clinton declined to appear on the cover of VOGUE magazine and Editor Anna Wintour took umbrage. The story makes an interesting case study regardless of your politics, because it reinforces the importance of knowing how to dress appropriately for your industry and position. If you work in a male-dominated field, I encourage you to take notes.

Here's the story:

Senator Clinton was invited and agreed to appear on the February cover of VOGUE. The day she was supposed to be photographed and interviewed, she bowed out, saying that on second thought, she had decided that being on the magazine would make her seem "too feminine" in her race for the presidency.

Annoyed, Ms. Wintour responded at length in the February issue of the magazine, saying, among other things, "The notion that a contemporary woman must look mannish in order to be taken seriously as a seeker of power is frankly dismaying. How has our country come to this? This is America, not Saudi Arabia."

So who's right and who's wrong: Clinton or Wintour?

They both are.

Right and wrong, that is.

The reasons are subtle and not politically correct, but let me take a stab at it:

On the one hand, you have a woman who has made it to the top of a female-dominated industry. Fashion magazines have been published regularly since "Godey's Lady's Book" appeared in 1830, and women have been writing for them almost as long - one of the few industries where women were welcomed early on. Not only does Anna Wintour wear whatever she wants to work, she influences what millions of OTHER women wear to work through her magazine's layouts, articles, and ads. Of course she can't understand why a woman can't be both feminine and powerful; she's been feminine and powerful her entire career.

On the other hand, you have a woman who has made it to the top of a male-dominated industry. Hillary Clinton started practicing law in the early 1970's when women were few and unwelcomed in the courtroom. She's had things said and done to her that would have sent other women screaming in the other direction, and she has the battle scars to prove it. Now, as the first woman to run for president, she's again treading into unfriendly territory. She dresses plainly and conservatively because she learned long ago that being feminine in a male industry is a liability instead of an asset.

Not fair, you say?

Life rarely is. But if you look at the underlying psychology, you'll begin to see why things have evolved the way they have. Western women are not required to don the traditional abaya worn by their Islamic sisters, as Ms. Wintour suggests, but they do need to understand a few things about how to dress when working with men.

Let's break this down to basics:

In the animal world, all the species have lived or died based on their ability to reproduce. When fish, animals, and insects look for mates, they seek the strongest, healthiest, most powerful specimens in order to accomplish this goal.

It's the same in the human world. Our language, manners, and culture may set us apart from the animals, but our basic, most primal urge is still the same: to attract the strongest, healthiest, most powerful mates in order to reproduce. Even if we're not conscious of this, even if we have no plans to reproduce, from exercising to exfoliating, women and men still regularly engage in behaviors to attract mates.

So what does this have to do with Senator Clinton and VOGUE?

Keep reading. It will make sense in a minute.

In her book "Survival of the Prettiest" (1999), Dr. Nancy Etcoff, a psychologist at Harvard Medical School, reports that while we're told as children that "beauty is only skin deep" or "in the eye of the beholder," the reality is that attractive people have long be rewarded for their beauty throughout history in nearly every culture in the world.

Pretty girls have more friends as children, are sought after by more men as adults, and are hired more quickly and paid higher wages than their less attractive counterparts. Women learned long ago that beauty is a commodity, which is why we have evidence of lipstick dating from 5,000 B.C., why Cleopatra bathed in milk and honey for luminous skin, and why we spend more money on beauty products today in the United States than on education and social services combined. Beautiful models and actresses are among the highest paid women in the world.

For women throughout history and around the world, beauty equals power.

But for men, physical prowess and ample resources equal power.

Just as male lions, gorillas, and deer viciously fight each other for the right to claim females and territory, so do men battle each other for the right to claim women and property. Sometimes it's been just that base, as in war, but more often it's played out elaborately over time by growing strong, gaining knowledge, and accumulating wealth.

To this end, as in the animal kingdom, men create an ongoing, unspoken dominance hierarchy in order to establish who's the "alpha male" in any given situation.

Dr. Etcoff describes it this way:

    Males form ranks quickly, even as boys. In boys' camps, rank order develops in cabins within an hour. The top-ranked boy isn't necessarily the biggest, but often the best-looking, most athletic boy who shows the most mature physique. The top boy initiates and organizes, and lower-ranking boys obey and question. Their submission is rewarded by the dominant boy's protection and his leadership. (1)

The medieval feudal system is a formal example of this hierarchy, as are the various ranks in military, government, churches, and corporations.

But it's not always so formal. Watch any group of men together and you'll see this dynamic in action, even if they're all completely unaware of it. Ever wonder why young men always seem so hot-tempered and quick to come to blows when they disagree? They're trying to establish dominance. Ever wonder why guys like to watch football, boxing, or movies with gory battle scenes? Because they like seeing OTHER strong males establish dominance.

Guys learn early how to demoralize their opponents and how to find and exploit each other's weaknesses to gain the upper hand. Even when they're just joking around with their friends, men say things to each other in this ranking ritual that would end a similar friendship between women.

Now take a bunch of these strong, dominant males who are used to battling each other for resources, and drop an attractive, feminine woman into the mix who seeks the same resources. What do you get?

Well, once they stop laughing, as they did at the beginning of the women's movement, their first impulse might be to either sleep with her or push her into a low-ranking position out of their way. If she resists, then they'll treat her like any other challenging male: they'll "tap swords" to get an idea of her strength before they start looking for weaknesses and testing her endurance. Often, they'll set aside the nice manners they use to court women and revert to the rougher "locker room" language and behavior they use among themselves. So what if she's offended? It means she's weak and doesn't belong.

Now obviously, this doesn't describe every man on the planet. There are lots of nice guys out there all along the alpha-omega scale. Kind, funny, helpful, and respectful, they barely resemble the dominant males I just described.

But those dominant alphas are out there, mark my word. They tend to congregate en masse in high power, high income, male-dominated industries like law, medicine, politics, and professional sports, and in departments where big egos and big paychecks go hand-in-in. They may treat their sweethearts like princesses, lavishing them with pretty baubles, then turn right around and steamroll any woman that gets in their way, including competitors and support staff. If you plan to do battle with them, you must go prepared.

So dress femininely to attract men, but gender-neutrally to do business with them? That hardly seems fair!

It isn't. But in many male-dominated, highly competitive industries, it's the reality.

Yes, I know it defies logic - kind of like the ongoing fascination with Britney Spears - but research shows it's the most effective way to go about it. Women have a lot more latitude now that we did thirty years ago, and certainly much more freedom than many women around the world, but I think it's going to be a while longer before we can dress in feminine frills and still be perceived as a strong leader of men.

See how subtle and "un-p.c." this is?

So to return to the original question: does what you wear have an impact on how you're perceived as a leader?

Absolutely!

If you're in a women-dominated industry (fashion, beauty, interior design, the arts) dressing fashionably and femininely can have a positive impact on your bottom line. If you're lauded for your beauty or sense of style and grace, then you're a woman to be envied and emulated.

But in male-dominated industries (finance, science, electronics, oil), where strength and power are desired, being fashionable and feminine is seen as a weakness. You need clothes that are strong and crisp and that draw attention to your business savvy rather than your feminine curves. You want men to listen to your ideas, not check out your cleavage.

So yes, Anna Wintour is correct in saying that women can dress femininely and still be taken seriously - but only in certain fields. Spending too much time on how you look can hurt your credibility in many industries.

And yes, Senator Clinton is correct in saying that appearing on a fashion magazine may make her seem "too feminine" in her quest for the presidency. At the same time, UNDER-estimating the importance of wardrobe can also hurt your credibility. I believe Senator Clinton suffers from this.

While her clothes are usually conservative and modestly cut, which is appropriate for politics, she sometimes wears colors, patterns, and styles that don't flatter, fit, or command attention. Her selections seem haphazard. She has no signature look. She may be seeking the highest office in the land, but you wouldn't know it by how she dresses.

By contrast, Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice "gets" power dressing. Tailored, flattering cuts in rich fabrics and strong colors, you know at a glance that she's a powerful, wealthy woman by how she dresses. Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi has also does a very good job of sporting flattering styles in luxe fabrics. Her color choices sometimes stray off the power path - like the lilac-colored suit she wore for the last State of the Union Address, for example - but by and large, she also dresses like a powerful woman in a male-dominated industry.

So yes, what you wear has a HUGE impact on how you're perceived as a leader. So make sure your clothes say that you're ready, willing, and able to do the job, and nothing's going to stand in your way.

Need more advice on what's appropriate for your industry? Download a copy of BUSINESS WEAR MAGIC:

http://www.businesswearmagic.com/

To learn how to "dress for success" in your field.

(1) "Survival of the Prettiest" by Nancy Etcoff, Anchor Books (1999), pages 74-75.

**************

Until next time,

Diana

Diana Pemberton-Sikes

FashionForRealWomen.com
AccessoryMagic.com
BusinessWearMagic.com
OccasionMagic.com
WardrobeMagic.com
TheClothingChronicles.com

=====================

Published by:

Top Drawer Publications, LLC
256 S. College Ave.
Newark, DE 19711 USA

Copyright © 2008 by Diana Pemberton-Sikes All rights reserved.



Tuesday, January 29, 2008

SAY IT AIN'T SO

On my trek from the powerhouse to the parking lot I encountered an male acquaintance that I haven’t seen since last summer.

He: How’s your boyfriend, did he get over his motorcycle wreck?
Me: I don’t have a boyfriend.
He: Damn, did he hit his head that hard?
Me: Huh?
He: The idiot must have brain damage to let a woman like you get away!

My head and ego both swell up at the compliment.

Me: Thank you! That’s a really sweet thing to say.
He: Yeah, you’re funny, smart and you got a damn good job. Any man who lets a woman with money get away is an idiot.


Can you hear the hissing of my head and ego both deflating at an alarming rate? At least I know that I can weigh 400 lbs, be as wrinkled as a Chinese Shar-Pei and look like shit and still attract a man as long as I have a job.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

SATURDAY SUNSHINE

After lots of thunder and lighting plus some wind damage severe thunderstorms Thursday left us wonderful weather in its wake. Clean air, sunny skies and moderate temps in the 50s made me want to play hooky today so bad that I could taste it, but duty calls so off to the slave shop I went.

The drive to work this afternoon was picturesque; too bad I had to make a straight line to the mill instead of meandering up and down the back roads. I wish I had thought to bring my camera and had the time to snap some of the sights on the way. You know which ones; those special moments that capture your eye and intrigue your mind. All too often they pass in a blink and get forgotten in the press of everyday life.

I spent several minutes trailing a vintage horse and buggy driven by an older couple, their white hair gleaming in the sunshine as they leaned their heads together. I swear their tilted bodies and touching foreheads formed a perfect heart-shape just like something on the front of a Hallmark card. You could see the happy pair’s smiles flashing from a mile away as their scarves waved gaily in the breeze. Young love be damned, it looked like these oldsters were doing just fine in their golden years. We should all be so lucky.

A bit farther down the road a youngster on a shiny new ATV (obviously gotten for Christmas) was zigzagging up and down the ditch banks; cutting donuts and slinging dirt all over a much used and abused older trail bike sitting on the side of the road with a “FOR SALE’ sigh on the handle bars. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor trail bike. Old, worn out, unloved and unwanted, discarded and replaced as soon as a newer younger shinier model becomes available. I think there are a lot of us who know the feeling, even if we won’t admit it to anyone but ourselves.

I don’t own a full length mirror. I live and work in jeans and casual shirts in blue-collar industry, so dressing up is a rare occasion. So the other night when I went to get slicked up for a co-worker’s retirement party it came as something of a shock when all my dressier clothes were tighter than I remembered. OK ........ I’m 52 and some of this stuff has been in the closet for years, I can deal with the thicker waist, broader hips and sagging girls. My face is aging well (I guess) and makeup does wonders when I take the time to apply it. After all, age hits us all differently, I have a friend whose body is the same size 4 as when she was young but her face shows her years of chronic sun worship. We all have our flaws; so I take a deep breath, throw on a respectable outfit whose buttons don’t pop over my bulging bosom, paint my face, twirl around and model for my son and the 2 cats who give their approval, and off I go.

It wasn’t so long ago that I had to be careful of appearance and body language at dinners and meetings; my co-workers’ wives considered me a threat just because I was decent looking and had a boobilicious rack. But the other night as I was introduced to the other ladies their eyes glanced at me, slid from my artfully streaked gray hair and down my ample curves. And then dismissed me. I mean they totally looked away and never acknowledged my existence again. Not in words, looks, acts, nothing. They saw an older overly-plump over-the-hill female who wasn’t worth the time of day because she could never interest their men. It seems that if I’m not a threat I’m not worth the time of day. WTF!

These younger (I’m talking 30-something) women spent the night huddled next to their guys shooting glares at each other while I and the few other “matrons” laughed and giggled and wondered what was wrong with the pseudo fem-fatales at the other tables. And it was unanimous; all we “middle-aged ladies” agreed that they didn’t consider us worth anything because we weren’t a threat.

When did women become each other’s worse enemies? And what the hell makes them think that anyone else would want the testosterone-sodden pot-bellied male who shares their bed? What happened to female comradely? Hell, I always have more fun with my girlfriends than with a date; I don’t have to impress the girls; I can eat with my fingers, get slightly tipsy on too much wine, do the funky chichken if I want, and I don’t have to hold my breath so my gut doesn’t pooch out as much when I’m with my buddies.

I just don’t get it. We dismiss each other based on age, weight, shape and if we think someone looks better than us. I thought it was bad enough when men did it to us, but now we’re doing it to ourselves. Girls, this shit has GOT TO STOP!

Thursday, December 20, 2007

ON THE FLOOR

Now I know I’m getting old.


After spending several hours in the floor surrounded by wrapping paper and bows, I found that I couldn’t just get up like I used to. Damned if I didn’t have to get on my hands and knees before I could struggle upright and on my feet! I go to the gym, I do setups and all that other crap, why the hell did my tired old bones lockup after hunkering down on the carpet? I was OK once I was standing, but gravity had me glued to the floor. It was like there was a big magnet sucking my fat ass downward every time I tried to stand up.

The cats seemed to get a kick out of it; they circled me meowing either encouragement or insults, I couldn’t tell which. I shoulda chunked them both up against the wall before I got up off the floor, just to teach them not to laugh at the person responsible for filling the food dish and emptying the litter box. Thank God no one else was around to witness my decent into feebleness or else I never would have heard the end of it (I know y’all won’t tell anyone!).

Guess I need to take up yoga or something to help on my flexibility. There aren’t any classes here in the boonies but I can get a CD and entertain the pussies some more. Thank goodness there aren’t anymore presents to wrap; I’m not sure I can go through anymore humiliation this week.

Friday, December 14, 2007

CLOSE CALL

I had a close call with The Grim Reaper today.

As I was exiting the post office my traffic light was green, but just as I entered the highway some ditzy blonde bitch in a green Ford pickup blew right through the red signal moving well above the speed limit, staring at me the whole time like “What the hell are you doing pulling out in front of me!”

I slammed on the brakes (never let anyone tell you that a front wheel drive car won’t leave black marks) slid sideways and slung all my junk that stays heaped in the backseat into the floorboard. The Ford Floozy just kept on keeping on, never once hitting her brakes or even slowing down. Thank Goodness I was only going about 3 MPH or else there would have been a mating of vehicles and not in a good way.

All I could do was sit there, half in the road and half in the parking lot, trying to get my heart out of my throat and my breathing under control. Luckily I stopped just short of T-boning the Hurrying Harlot but it was too damned close for comfort. I realize everyone is running around like crazy trying to get ready for the holidays but come on people, Safety First and all that. What kinda Christmas is your family gonna have if you’re in the hospital or even worse in the morgue?

In other news: the living room floor is piled up with wrapped presents, the stocking are hung and I have a fine collection of Christmas cards from friends and family. The cats have been playing King of The Mountain on the stacked boxes, shredding paper and unraveling bows to their furry hearts content. Everyone’s been bought for so no more fighting crowds and I actually have several days off next week. Barring schedule changes, I work off Tuesday morning and don’t have to go back until Christmas night. I can’t remember the last time I had Christmas Eve off from work!

Sorry I haven’t visited everyone’s blogs, I can’t do it at work and I haven’t had time what with working OT and trying to get all the shopping done. I promise to get around to everyone as soon as possible, but until then know that I’m thinking of you all and wishing y’all a Merry (and safe) Christmas.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

THE FULL BODY PROJECT

Leonard Nimoy is perhaps better know as Star Trek's Dr. Spock but he is also a very well known and respected photographer. His latest gallery showing is "The Full Body Project" featuring not stick thin models but women of size (you can see several of the photos on the website). Never one to follow the crowd, Nimoy has decided to showcase the beauty of the full bodied woman. In his own words:
I asked them to be proud, which was a condition they took to easily, quite naturally. Having completed the compositions that were initially planned, I then asked them to play some music that they had brought with them, and they quickly responded to the rhythms, dancing in a free-form circular movement with in the space. It was clear that they were comfortable with the situation, with each other, and were enjoying themselves.

How wonderful to find a person, and a man at that, who doesn't shy away from a woman with a little meat on her bones. These woman are more what we normal females look like; not those stick thin waifs you see on the catwalk, those boys with boobs whose pelvic bones could and should be considered lethal weapons. These are women who enjoy life, you don't hear skinny women talk about much except their diets and how much they weigh.

Many full-figured women are tormented because they haven't learned to love themselves. I believe this is because society as a whole (TV, magazines and the web are full of diet, weight loss and exercise ads), and so called friends and loved ones in particular, badger them to become something that they're not. Some of us will never be skinny no matter what we do. Age and gravity work on us all. Things settle, the "girls" head south, our asses droop and drag, we get that pooch on our tummies from carrying our children 9 months. And you men don't fare any better: the more your belly sticks out the less ass you seem to have, your hair migrates from the top of your head to your back and shoulders, your "solider" doesn't salute near as often nor does he "raise the flag" near as high. The main difference that I see between the sexes is that no matter how bald, fat, old or wrinkled a man gets, he still considers himself fine. I wish the ladies had the same self confidence. And ladies, you should know that there are guys out there who love your curves, AskMen.com - Skinny vs. Full-Figured Women or this guy and his commenters.

It's like the great poet Sir Mix-A-Lot once said: "I like big butts and I cannot lie."

So Ladies, love yourself. You have to consider yourself lovable before someone else can love you. No one wants someone who considers themselves worthless. You have to decide that you deserve love; hell, you deserve to be adored for the wonderful sexy vixen that you are. And age doesn't count, you can be a silver fox if you want. And men, cut the ladies some slack. A well rounded woman of any age will love you all night long leaving you gasping for breath and jumping for joy.

Friday, November 23, 2007

THANKSGIVING MORNING

A blustery breeze swirled moist mustard yellow leaves around my ankles as I stepped out of the car. Dawn’s anemic sun peeked through the remnants of storm clouds, casting a sickly sepia tone over everything. Last night’s thunder-boomer had passed; a goose-bump inducing drop in temperature and icy mud puddles the only evidence that summer’s long drought was over.

Puppies peeked out of the insulated doghouse, little black noses and floppy ears signaling that while they noticed Mommy was home, not one sorry flea-bitten hound bothered to leave their shared body warmth long enough to say “Good Morning”. Can’t say as I blame ‘em. Usually they play this fun game of twining around my legs or darting beneath my foot just as I try to take a step, trying to see if they can trip me between the car and the house. Selfish beasties, letting a little cold and wet interfere with their display of doggy affection, I should short them on their kibble rations!

After a long 12 hours sitting on my ample ass in front of a bunch of computers I was ready to hit the bed and snuggle with the poo-kitties for a long nap. I shed my coat and bags in the kitchen and was walking through the house leaving a trail of clothes behind me when I noticed the blinking amber light on the answering machine. Thinking “It’s Thanksgiving, someone is inviting me to fix a plate on the way to work or just giving me a cheery 'Happy Turkey Day” I hit the play button.

A sad/little boy lost/I just lost my best friend/nobody loves me voice said “Junebugg, its ex-sweet thang. I just wanted to talk, give me a call”. NOW HE WANTS TO TALK. Sounds like a personal problem to me, and it ain't no problem of mine.

Hitting the delete button, I slid between the sheets with the cats draped on each side of me and drifted off to dreamland. After all, I don’t get a day off until nest Friday week and I don’t have time for all the drama.

My new motto courtesy of Popeye: “I stands all I can stands and I can’t stands no more”

Thursday, November 15, 2007

WOMAN OF A CERTAIN AGE

Friday I'll be the ripe old age of 52. I consider myself to be in the midst of middle age, so imagine my surprise when I found this while digging around on the web:

The phrase was popularized in a 1979 book by the psychotherapist Lillian B. Rubin, "Women of a Certain Age: The Midlife Search for Self," in which midlife spanned 35 to 54. Reached in San Francisco, Dr. Rubin, whose book indicates she is now in her early 70's, was surprised to learn of the long English history of the phase because "it has a long history in French (femmes d'une certaine age), where it refers to women of fortyish and thereabouts who are able to initiate boys and young men into the beauties of sexual encounters. The early use in English seems to be about spinsterhood, but the French meaning has nothing to do with marriage." In French, the phrase has erotically or sexually charged overtones. "It comes from a society where sexuality is freer," Dr. Rubin notes, "and more understood as an important part of human life."


It's nice to know that at least in certain parts of the world that a woman isn't past her sexual prime. Here in America if you're not a young 20 something, lean and have a figure like a boy with boobs you're considered over the hill. Poo on that! We over 50 women have a lot of life left in us: we're vivacious, sexually active (even with all our lumps, bumps, wrinkles, sagging boobs, dragging butts and love handles), got jobs and money of our own and now we Baby Boomers are outnumbering all the other age groups. So look out world, it's our time to shine!

I've never lied about my age and I'm not starting now. 52 and proud of it Y'all! Hell, being over 50 damned sure beats the alternative! Who knows, I might even go out and find me a trophy guy. If the men can do it why can't we women? Or as the French would say, "Vive La femmes d'une certaine age"

Saturday, November 03, 2007

ALONE AND LOVING IT

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt love; I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone, even when I was married. I care more about some people than others but I’m self-centered. Can’t help it, I’ve always been that way. I’m not sure I even love my parents; I feel obligated to them for all they’ve done for me, especially after the way they’ve taken care of me after my wreck and all. Hell, I don’t even know what love feels like. But I do like you, I feel comfortable around you, I like your company. I just don’t have strong emotions of any kind. But I’m not gonna be alone, I’ll always have some female to keep me company if you’re not interested.”

Isn’t the lack of any kind of emotion the description of a serial killer?

This is the excuse I got the next day; after Ex-Sweet Thang called, told me he’d be over soon and then didn’t show up, didn’t call, didn’t answer his cell. AGAIN. It’s the same way he disappeared for months twice before in the last 4 years: breaking up by disappearing until he got lonely; until he found out that the younger prettier thinner women weren’t interested in a self-centered overweight 47 year old blue collar worker. Then it's time to call Junebugg again: the doormat, the one who spoils her men, the one who always seems to be around until something better comes around.

And what am I, a holey pair of jeans that you put on when you don’t care what you look like, when all the nicer jeans aren’t available?

Fuck that!


So I’m now foot loose and fancy free. No more sitting at home waiting on someone who may or may not show up or call or even just think of me once in a while. No more putting my life on hold until someone else feels like doing something.

I want passion in my life! I want feelings: love, anger, sex, hate. I want to feel alive, and if I’m with someone I want them to do more than feel “comfortable”. I realize that I'm out of shape and over 50 (of the 57 million American women 45 and up, nearly half—25 million—are unmarried, outnumbering entire populations of countries such as North Korea, Taiwan, and Australia) and that demand for women of my age aren't in high demand. I don't care, being alone is the way that I've spent most of my life.

I do believe it’s time for a girls night out.