Well THAT was a horrible idea…

Well THAT was a horrible idea…

Something you should know about me: I don’t do New Year’s resolutions….at all. I fully intend on remaining the same adorable smart-ass you know and love (or hate) every single year, without pretending I’m going to be a better person just because the year on the calendar changed. Something else you should know about me: a good friend of mine was not wrong when he once said “You and Paul (his son) are just too damn stubborn for your own good.”

I’m pretty consistent at following through with something, even if it was a horrible idea to begin with. Case in point: Operation Squatty Potty Body. No, you won’t find it on Google, because I just made it up yesterday on Snapchat, and then shared it to my Instagram, because I figured if I was laughing at my own stupid joke all day, someone else might giggle too.

So, what exactly is Operation Squatty Potty Body? Well, it’s absolutely NO reference to the stool that fits at the base of your commode and has a cult following. Yesterday, I decided it was time to start drinking more water, partly so I had a reason to leave my office several times a day, and partly because I really need to drink more water. I have also REALLY been missing my CrossFit family lately. I mean, I know I haven’t been there in like 3 years now, maybe more, but I REALLY miss it, and having the time for it, and every single thing that goes along with it, so I told myself “Hey, you should just do 20 squats every time you have to go to the bathroom!” Not too bad right? Drink, squat, pee, repeat….Operation Squatty Potty Body…get it?

Sounds like a great idea….right up until the time you realize that drinking over a gallon of water means a LOT more trips to the bathroom than usual, but I wasn’t about to give up. It’s my February thing after all, BUT I’m not entirely stupid either. I scaled it back to 10-15 squats each bathroom break, and I’ll just increase that number by 5 each week.

When all was said and done, in addition to the 30 or so flight of stairs I get to climb every day, I had done somewhere around 150 squats yesterday. This morning, my body said “everything hurts and I’m dying” but my brain said “don’t you dare quote Parks and Rec to me to get out of this” and since I’m “too stubborn for my own good” here I am, another 80 squats in to the day, sitting at my desk thinking “Would it REALLY be that bad to just pee your pants to avoid another round of squats?” I mean, I already know the answer to that is yes, it would really be that bad, because I’m 38 years old, and it’s far too cold outside to go home with wet pants, so 15 more squats it is, because I am an adult after all, and last time I checked it was frowned upon for able bodied adults to wet themselves. That, and there’s NOBODY at my work that would take one for the team Billy Madison style and tell everyone else all the cool kids are peeing their pants…

Just say no….to early morning texting

Just say no….to early morning texting

Once upon a time, I had a Samsung Galaxy S3. It had this handy little feature where you could set a delivery delay on texts, so if you hit send and then instantly realized that you added a picture you didn’t mean to, or sent it to the wrong person, or in my case, needed to correct a “smart” phone grammar error because looking like a moron is something that you don’t want to do, you could cancel the sending of the message and fix whatever you messed up. I miss that. I ALMOST needed that yesterday.

Do you happen to remember last year, late-ish February, when the Utah Bar Association made national news by sending out information about their annual conference? It’s not that the conference was so shocking that it warranted national news, but someone “accidentally” included a photo of a very lovely topless woman in the email that went out to every single member of the Utah Bar Association. Immediately after sending the email, another one went out that said in a nutshell “Hey, DO NOT OPEN THE LAST EMAIL THAT WE SENT YOU!” Of course this meant that the email was opened by probably every single attorney and judge in the state instead of sending it to the garbage like most of the emails sent from the Bar Association. Yes, every single attorney and judge in the state saw that email that according to an attorney friend of mine “Perked up an otherwise mundane Monday.” (You’ll see why this little story was important in just a minute.)

Here’s the deal. I finally narrowed down my pictures from the boudoir shoot I did to 25 out of the 100 or so that were sent to me. I wasn’t 100% sure those were the ones I wanted, but I also hadn’t changed them in a week either, so going with a gut feeling, those were THE ones. My sweet photographer also noticed that I had 25 images that sat in my favorite images for a hot minute, so she worked up the book that came with my shoot and sent me a message with the link to the proof yesterday morning. I LOVED it. All of it! And what do girls do with things that they love? Of course…share them with our besties. Here’s where it gets fun….

I had several text conversations going that morning, including one to the “perked up an otherwise mundane Monday” friend of mine a few minutes before receiving the link to the photo book. When I copied the link for the book, my phone automatically selected the last person I had texted, and me, thinking it was one of the Best Bitches trio, ALMOST hit send. Fortunately, in my not quite fully caffeinated state, I thought “Maybe I should check that text first,” and spared myself from sending it to my attorney friend, effectively submitting my 25 picture application for Ms. Utah Bar Association 2019.

So yeah…I don’t think I’ll be forwarding any pre-caffeine messages to anyone any time soon, because I’m not sure there’s a way to recover from that one, other than “Please forward my application to the appropriate member of the Utah Bar Association. Thank you for your consideration.”

Let’s talk about Ed baby

Let’s talk about Ed baby

Please tell me you read that title and at least THOUGHT about Salt-n-Pepa’s song Let’s Talk About Sex. I linked it, so you can have it stuck in your head too. Coincidentally, I probably should have called this post “Could there be any more links in one post?!” You’ll see why, but back to the point….the big long drawn out point. Yes, this will be a long one, and it may not be worth reading, but then again, it might, because a few weeks ago, I did something that really should have terrified me. It definitely pushed me right the hell out of my comfort zone, and it was worth every single second of it. But first, the backstory.

When I was in 6th grade, I met my new best friend on the first day of school when I dropped my pencil in Mr. Hall’s math class, and rather than tapping the shoulder of the girl in front of me to ask her to pick it up, painfully shy me instead chose to lean over as far as humanly possible to try to inconspicuously reach it myself. Well, that didn’t work, because I reached too far, tipped my desk over, right on to the foot of the cute boy next to me, turned 50 shades of red as the ENTIRE class watched me pick up my desk, (I mean how could you miss it), and then the girl in front of me, who I should have just asked for help in the first place handed me that stupid pencil. We’ve been friends ever since. Actually, I think if I could have lived at her house, I would have in a second, at any time during our childhood. (OK, let’s be honest, I’d move in with her now.)

We were pretty much inseparable during the weekends and summer. Our favorite activity? Riding bikes or walking to the Saloon/convenience store (it’s a Mexican restaurant now) about a mile away from her house to get snacks, and then going back to her house to make mix tapes. We certainly got our fill of that during the summer after 6th grade, which was good, because during the beginning of the next school year, my dad dropped a bombshell on us. We were moving to an island with 14 miles of state road in Southeast Alaska. RUDE! Try as I may, I couldn’t convince my family to just let me stay with my new BFF. I had to move with the family. Double rude! I mean, I ended up loving the place we moved, because there’s really nothing to not love about Sitka, or the people in it, but that’s beside the point.

I was always active when I was a kid. We worked and played outside all the time. I played basketball, volleyball, softball, and we swam all summer long and ice skated all winter. We didn’t eat a lot of fast food as a family; my mom cooked almost every meal we ever ate. We never thought of food as either good or bad, we just had food, and sometimes we had treats. But when we were moving, my dad said something to me that forever changed the way I viewed everything. “It’s good we’re leaving,” he said, “because you’re developing bad habits with your friend on the weekends.” The bad habits he spoke of? Convenience store donuts. Our favorite treat at the convenience store that we WALKED to was those mini powdered hostess donuts that you can buy in a package of like 6 or 8. We each bought one. We each ate one, and that apparently warranted worry. It wasn’t long after that, that I realized my mom was using the good old Slim Fast, shake for breakfast, shake for lunch, healthy dinner routine a few times a year to lose weight I didn’t even notice she needed to lose.

I was 13 years old the first time I made myself throw up. I’d just finished a very in depth report on anorexia and bulimia for my 7th grade English class. I was sure I needed to break those bad habits my dad had mentioned, and if my mom was always dieting, surely I could stand to lose some weight too. Besides, my legs were way bigger than the other girls I played sports with, and 13 year old me absolutely couldn’t fathom that this was because they were solid muscle from all of the sports I was involved in, and the way that my body is built. I couldn’t simply not eat, because we had family dinner every night. I couldn’t pick and choose what to eat, because that is certainly not the way it worked, so to be more like the other girls, to be more like the beautiful girls, I just threw up whenever I couldn’t stand the thought of all of the calories in the meal we had just eaten, when I needed to be skinny like the other girls.

I managed to hide this for 2 years before my sister caught me and told my parents. They made me go to a doctor, but I had this thing under control, so I told her what she needed to hear so I could just be done with it. Nobody understood that this was the only thing I felt like I could control. Besides, it’s not like I did it all the time, just when I NEEDED to. And it’s not like I had the self control to just quit eating, so I was still getting nutrition that I needed….until that time my senior year, when I really needed to feel like I had some control over something…anything, so I just quit eating, because if I couldn’t control what was happening in my life, at least I could control what went in to my body, and what stayed there.

The world we live in feeds insecurity. The world we live in makes it SO easy to develop eating disorders. How? Well, because the world we live in focuses SO much energy on physical appearance. When I quit eating, it took about a week before I had a noticeable loss of weight. One week until the comments of “You’re looking good” started coming in. And if I looked good at one week, just imagine what 2 did, and then 3. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I consumed MAYBE 10,000 calories over the course of 3 1/2 weeks before I decided I really needed to stop that. And I did, but not before “Wow, you look great” was just about all anyone could say. I weighed 110 pounds, and on my frame I didn’t look great. I looked sick, and I hid it with baggy clothes and makeup.

For 25 years now, I’ve had to fight an eating disorder mentality every single day of my life. I had a friend living with me once that understood this struggle completely. We decided one day that we were going to call our eating disorders Ed. Ed is a bastard, but it was comforting having someone else who got it. Someone else who we could just say “Hey, Ed is really difficult today,” and without saying another word, we knew that we just needed to be a support to each other.

Ed is an asshole, a constant, unforgiving asshole. I mean, I clearly beat the anorexia side of Ed, but I struggle with the rest of it ALL the time. If someone compliments my appearance, I will assume they need their vision prescription checked. Thanks Ed. If I eat something that isn’t healthy, I want it out of my body, like now. Sometimes I can fight that, but still to this day sometimes I can’t. Thanks Ed. I look in the mirror and see someone who is at least twice the size I am, even though my rational brain knows that’s not the case. Thanks Ed. If I don’t work out today, Ed helps facilitate all kinds of negative self talk.

I have amazing people in my life, who tell me things all the time that are contrary to what Ed and I believe about myself. I ALWAYS brush them off (internally) as “they’re just being kind because they’re my friend” but a few weeks ago, I stepped in to a beautiful studio in Jensen America and had some Ed therapy in the most unexpected of ways. The girl that hides from the camera because she isn’t happy with what she looks like, the girl that layers clothing so nobody can see anything she doesn’t want them to see stripped down to almost nothing, and pranced around the studio while the most amazingly talented photographer took the most amazing pictures I have ever seen. It was a 1-2 punch to Ed, because for the first time in my life, I looked at pictures of myself and didn’t immediately pick them apart. Mindy Gale and Ali Dudley (linked, so you can check them out on insta) worked magic; Mindy with the hair and makeup, somehow managing to make it look like I had slept more than 20 hours in the week leading up to the photo shoot, and Ali with the wicked photography skills. The hour or so that we took pictures for went by SO fast, and as I left the studio and went home looking and feeling absolutely amazing, I felt a peace with myself that I don’t remember feeling ever.

About an hour after my photo shoot, Ali sent me a sneak peek of a couple of images. I literally sat on my floor and cried, because she did something I honestly didn’t believe anyone could do ever. She took pictures of me that I loved. Yes, I still struggle with not being where I want to be, and I still wish I was as fat as I was the first time I thought I was fat, but Ed is far easier to deal with now than he has been in the past quarter of a century, and all it took was stepping way the hell out of my comfort zone, and in front of a camera.

A friend of mine once told me “I don’t know why any woman wouldn’t want to pose for Playboy. They are the best pictures you will ever have taken of you in your entire life.” He may have been on to something, but while every woman won’t have the opportunity to pose for Playboy, every woman should take the opportunity to strip down their insecurities, and their clothes, and do a boudoir session. And before you start to stress about boudoir now that I’ve thrown in the Playboy reference, it’s not about the sexy pictures. It’s not about the sexy clothes; you can keep all of your clothes on if that’s how you’re comfortable. It’s not even about getting those pictures taken for someone else, because Lord knows, if I waited until I had someone to have them done for, they’d never get done! It’s about the confidence you’ll find, because if I can find confidence in a picture, anybody can. Just do it for yourself. You’ll be so glad you did. As for me, I’m pretty sure Ed is pissed about losing some of his power, but I for one, am so relieved that a sweet blonde with a camera and her hair and makeup magician could take that asshole down a few notches.



Tell me I’m not the only one who read that title and was immediately transported back to high school, because the whole damn cheer is running through my head right now. B E A G G R E S S I V E. Be aggressive. B E Aggressive. And if it wasn’t going through yours yet, it’s stuck there now. You’re welcome.

I was talking with a friend a few days ago about why dating in this day and age seems so much easier for guys than it is for girls. I mean, there’s a whole lot of creeps out there, and I feel like the general consensus is that guys are far less likely to meet them, and unfortunately more likely to be them. That makes the idea of dating just overwhelming, and a little scary, which is more or less why this person said she was glad she is married and doesn’t have to navigate this world of dating. Then we were talking about a mutual friend of ours, who dating doesn’t seem to bother. Her exact words were “He seems to love it.” I feel exactly the opposite about it. I don’t love it. I don’t even particularly like it most days. Why? Because the vast majority of guys I’m meeting are just too mother f-wording aggressive, and I can’t stand it.

Being aggressive is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, playfully assertive is kind of fun, but let me tell you, as this year comes to an end, I’m soooooo over the scary aggressive guys, and there is definitely a difference. Like, deleted all dating apps and have started the process of accepting the fact that I’m probably going to just have to get used to being the weird celibate one who lives alone forever, over aggressive guys, because I REALLY need a break from the BS. I know…this seems completely contradictory to the usual “I just want someone to make the first move and follow the F through with it once in a while.” Ask me out, plan something and then actually follow through with that shit instead of a constant “we should get together some time” followed by weeks of radio silence. THAT I don’t have a problem with.

Here’s where I have the issue with aggressive dudes. In the tail end of 2017, I was sexually harassed….OK, actually, it was assault. I was sexually assaulted by someone who I’ve known for my entire life. That has screwed with me for 13 months now. Thirteen months have passed, and I’m STILL messed up from that and questioning every single action people take, and avoiding situations that I used to love, look forward to, and thrive in. I still tried to trust new people last year though, and it backfired on me more times than I ever would have imagined. Here’s a small sample:

  • I had someone tell me that they would love to find out where I lived so they could show up at my house and work out some fantasies whether I wanted to participate or not.
  • I had someone tell me it was rude of me to not travel 6 hours out of my way on a weekend to spend the night with them after casual small talk over the course of 24 hours prior to the request.
  • I had a “friend” show up at the hotel I was staying at, demanding to be let up to my room, who was turned away by some very attentive hotel staff. (It pays to consistently stay at the same place and make friends with the staff!)
  • Again with hotel weirdness, I had a guy demand that I fake sick and have my friends go to dinner without me so he could come meet me at a hotel while I was on a weekend girl’s trip.
  • I had someone tell me they wanted to get to know me better, then got upset with me when I told him I had something going on at the moment because “You talk on the radio like you’re single, and that’s just not cool to tease people like that if you’re really in a relationship.” (Um, excuse me, but I said I had something going on, not that I was in a relationship, and besides, I work in an entertainment industry, and if I want to keep my private life a little private, that’s none of your damn business!)
  • I had yet another person tell me they wanted to take me to dinner, because they want to get to know the girl on the radio. I told this person I appreciated the offer, but I had something going on at the moment. They said “Dang, my timing sucks,” and then proceeded to wait less than 72 hours before telling me I needed to go to dinner with them, and 2 days after that, and 2 days after that, and 2 days after that. Hey…here’s a novel idea…maybe respect my boundaries enough to understand that when I say “I have something going on right now” that doesn’t mean “You should ask me every other day to see if I’ve changed my mind yet, because the grown ass man equivalent of ‘Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom’ might work instead of annoying the ever loving hell out of me.” (And for the record…I don’t do dinner on a first date with someone I don’t know anyway. It’s always coffee, lunch, or brunch, so there’s a guaranteed way out if I don’t like the way things are playing out.)

Here’s the deal. If you’re going to act like a crazy, possessive, overly aggressive ass while you’re just contacting me through an app, I’m sure as hell not going to give you my phone number and let you know where I live. Despite what you may think, that’s not just me being a bitch; no girl in her right mind is going to do that. I’m already a little on edge with you knowing where I work, and feeling relieved that I have friends in every single level of law enforcement and the criminal justice system, and yes, they will run a quick background check on you for me if I ask them.

On behalf of single people everywhere, stop being so creepy, so dating can stop being so scary!

Unnecessary Apologies

Unnecessary Apologies

“I’m sorry.” How often do you say it without even thinking about it? If you’re lacking a Y chromosome, I’m guessing you’re an awful lot like me and say it FAR too often. Why though? Why the need to blurt out those words to make someone feel better about the shitty things they do to you? 

I realized what a problem the almost immediate “I’m sorry” is for me this weekend. How? Well, it’s all because I had a little come to Jesus therapy session with one of the sweet phlebotomists at the American Red Cross when I donated blood this weekend.  Here’s the deal, she had an AMAZING color on her fingernails and I was heading out for a pedicure after donating blood and wanted to know where she got them done. When I commented on how great her manicure was, she said “Thanks. They messed up this part though. Look. It’s bubbling. I hate to be that person, but I just got it yesterday, so I called them and said ‘I’m really sorry, but this is lifting, and I’m a single mom who did this as a treat for myself for Christmas. Is there any way I can come get this fixed?'”

That’s right, she was literally apologizing for wanting the nail salon to fix their mistake. They had no reason to NOT fix it, and they did apologize and tell her to come in so they could take care of it, but she still apologized to them for their faulty work. So I asked her “As women, why do we feel the need to apologize for things that are CLEARLY not our fault?” She looked at me as dumbfounded as I imagine we would have looked if someone had said that to me. Because I didn’t want to sound like I was judging her, and I genuinely wanted to just bounce this idea off of another person, I told her what I had apologized for in the past 24 hours that was absolutely unnecessary. 

  • I’m sorry. I just can’t stay at work any longer today (after spending 50 hours at work during the week).
  • I’m sorry: to a co-worker complaining about their check when in reality, your check sucks because YOU didn’t work the hours you were scheduled.
  • I’m sorry: To the drive up employee who dropped my money when I handed it to him and had to wait while I got out of my car and picked it up. 
  • I’m sorry: to the bank employee who didn’t send me a receipt for my deposit, so I had to ask for it. 
  • I’m sorry: to the people who’s Christmas party I won’t attend if the person who sexually harassed me last year is there. 
  • I’m sorry: to the person who straight up ran in to me with their cart at Trader Joe’s because they weren’t paying attention. (related: Trader Joe’s is a special kind of hell on a Saturday afternoon. That is something I don’t need in my life ever again. That dill havarti of theirs is amazing, but TOTALLY not worth that crowd. And I forgot the portobello mushroom soup I went in there for in the first place!) 
  • I’m sorry: to my best friend’s sister who I dropped Christmas presents off to so he could pick them up from her house. 
  • I’m sorry: to the person who had to step back at the automatic door to avoid being hit by it because they were trying to go out the in door at the same time I walked up to the in door.

Seems a bit excessive doesn’t it? It doesn’t even end there. She rattled off some more of her unnecessary apologies, and before she was done taking my health history, we both decided that maybe, just maybe it was time to start a New Year’s Resolution right now. Enough with the unnecessary apologies! Why apologize when you’ve done NOTHING wrong?! There simply isn’t a reason, because the way I see it, when you apologize for other people’s shitty behavior, or just their mistakes, it doesn’t make you the “bigger person,” it just makes it easier for people to walk all over you. 

I’ve already had a chance to put that whole “no unnecessary apologizing” to work, and it’s killing me. You see….Last Monday, I made plans to meet with my person (My Meredith and Christina person, not my Meredith and Derek person….I’m still not convinced the latter exists) on Saturday. Friday night, he told me he forgot I was coming out, and made other plans, but he’d see what he could do in the morning. Cool….Friday night, I apologized to him for not reminding him that I was going to be out on Saturday. Stupid right?

Saturday morning: Crickets.
Saturday day: Crickets.
Saturday night: Crickets
Sunday afternoon: “Ugh. My phone was lost. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet up with you.”
My Sunday afternoon response: “I’m glad you found it. :)”

My new phlebotomist friend would be so happy that I didn’t cave on our deal and apologize unnecessarily. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows though, because my unnecessary apologizing behavior wants to send another text that says “I’m sorry it’s been radio silence the last day or so. My feelings were kind of hurt when you forgot that I was coming out and made other plans and I didn’t want to add my stupid girl emotions to whatever else you have going on.” Look, I already feel like I’ve accomplished something by not using the phrase “you hurt my feelings” and instead used “my feelings were hurt when….” The second version seems so much less accusatory, and just feels like a more healthy way to express disappointment. 

At any rate, I’ve been successful at the end of the year “New Year’s resolution” for 48 hours now, which is about 40 hours longer than I’ve ever managed to keep any other New Year’s resolution, so maybe the end of December is a better time to start with that nonsense anyway. I look forward to checking in with the Red Cross vampire in 55 days when I can donate again to see if we both still realize that you can be compassionate, sympathetic, and caring without apologizing for crap you didn’t do, or don’t need to apologize for. 

I’m Your Huckleberry

I’m Your Huckleberry

I’m your huckleberry. It just sounds so much better than “I’m your go to girl” doesn’t it?  I mean, that probably has more to do with “I’m your huckleberry” conjuring images of Val Kilmer being a total bad ass in Tombstone than it does with huckleberry sounding cooler than “go to girl” but that’s neither here nor there. 

I’m your huckleberry, and sometimes it is mother f-wording exhausting! 

Over the past week, I’ve given 3 complete strangers some valuable information they will need to help navigate the world of a new cancer diagnosis. I’ve listened to my best friend stress about Christmas for his kids and reassured him that he’s doing better than he thinks he is, and that just like the past 2 years, I have some kick ass gifts for those sweet boys so their Christmas isn’t going to be anywhere near as desolate as he’s worried about. I’ve listened to countless other people unload their stresses and let them walk away feeling less of the weight of the world on their shoulders. I spend at least 2 hours every single weekday listening to a certain someone stress talk about the local economy, the stock market, and the president, among other things, which leaves me wondering why I even still live where I do, and if I’ll even have a job this time next year. 

“I match energy, so you just go ahead and decide how we’re going to act.” Actually, when I saw that on Pinterest, it was “I match energy, so you decide how we gon be.” Nails. On. A. Chalkboard. But the sentiment was there. I match energy. I always have. Maybe it’s not even matching energy. Really, most of the time it’s like an energy swap. Like “Here, you take some calm, and give me the storm.” So you can imagine how those interactions over the past week leave me feeling. Sure, while the people I’ve helped out or talked to may feel a little better, I get to add their anxieties on to the ones I already have, and holy shit is that ever draining! Then multiply that by 52, because hand to God, it’s never ending. I don’t mind though, and I’d never walk away from someone who needed it, because…I’m your huckleberry.

I came across this tweet the other day, and I was instantly in love with it. “Do you have the mental space for this right now?” I don’t even know what I’d do if someone actually asked me that. Because the answer is, no. Most of the time, I really don’t have the mental space for it, but somehow I manage to shove something off to the side and do your thing instead of working with mine. It’s ok. I really don’t mind it. Honestly, helping people out is refreshing, even though it’s also draining. I’m your Huckleberry, and knowing I’ve helped you at all, well, it makes me feel a little better about myself. I mean, we all need to feel needed, right?!

Eventually though, all of those things I shove aside decide they need to be worked out, and it’s usually at the end of the day when I’d REALLY just like it if my brain would shut the hell up and let me go to sleep. But my brain is having absolutely nothing to do with that, because when it comes down to it, at the end of the day, there’s a whole lot of things left to say, and nobody to say them to. SO…..that’s when I find myself mindlessly swiping through apps on my phone when I should be sleeping, looking for people who might want to be that somebody to say things to. Except here’s the thing….while I really wouldn’t mind having someone around at the end of the day once in a while, I really don’t think I’m quite ready to have to do that calm/storm trade at home too, and that is why I just deleted (though probably only temporarily) those apps.

I’m your huckleberry….but sometimes I really wish finding one for yourself was as easy as being one for someone else. 

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

I feel like you have to have been living under a rock lately to not realize that people seem to be REALLY reaching for things to be offended by. Case in point: Baby It’s Cold Outside, written in 1944 is all of the sudden so offensive that radio stations are pulling it from their Christmas air play rotation in droves. Why? Apparently it’s a little rapey, overbearing, and generally creepy. 

I’m not always the biggest fan of Christmas music, since I work in retail and get the pleasure of listening to it for 6 weeks of the year. It gets a little annoying, but I LOVE Baby It’s Cold Outside. In fact, this song was my go to jam in the car all weekend long. It was a weekend of Car Karaoke featuring me, myself, and I, and this song was the most requested, by me, and performed by me, and not once was I offended by any of the lyrics. Why? Because I realize this song was written in nineteen forty freaking four when a gal had to at least make a show of saying she needed to leave a boy’s house when she really wanted to stay. That’s why there’s the back and forth of “I really should go. Ok, I’ll stay for another drink. Ok, now I really should go. What will everyone think. Ok, I’ll stay for a cigarette.” And so on and so forth. Do we know if she really left? No, but we know it’s cold outside, and she didn’t really want to leave anyway. 

Sure, if you look at the lyrics to this song as if they were written today, they seem a whole lot more sinister, but let’s be honest…. If this song were written today, in a day and age where you literally summon strangers from the internet using an app on your smart phone so you can hook up whenever and wherever you want (Related: THIS makes dating rather than hooking up in this day and age a special kind of hell!), the song would be insanely short, written post smash and feature a quick Nicki Minaj or Pitbull cameo. It would be an auto-tuned mess and go something like this: You really should go. (But baby it’s cold outside.) Aight boo, I guess you can wait for your Uber inside, but lock the door behind you.

But don’t let Baby It’s Cold Outside take all of the offensive Christmas song credit. Here’s some more that are equally offensive if you really want to find trivial reasons to be offended. 

  •  I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus: did we really just subject children to seeing their mom as part of an extramarital affair? And did Santa have mommy’s consent?  I sure hope so!
  • The Christmas Song: Open fire?! Really? Think of the pollution. What about folks dressed up like Eskimos? Can we say cultural appropriation being blatantly celebrated? And what about the chestnuts and people with nut allergies? Sugar plums dancing through heads of children that might have diabetes…
  • Is dreaming of a White Christmas racist?
  • Santa Claus is Coming to Town: He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. Well…is Santa a stalker or what?!
  • How about celebrating the blatant bullying in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?  
  • Santa Baby: If ever there was a song to teach your daughters to be gold diggers, this is it!
  • Surely All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth is offensive to all of those poor unfortunate souls who have lost all of their teeth to meth…

I could go on and on and on with completely asinine reasons to be offended by nearly every Christmas song ever written, but I won’t, because I’m literally sitting at my desk laughing to myself at how the people who are so worked up over a Christmas song that is over 7 decades old are probably the same people who are dressing their daughters up in adorable dance costumes and stage makeup for their dance recitals. Recitals where they will dance to some of the most popular songs in the country, which are either subtly or overtly sexual in content without even batting an eye, but a playful Christmas song from 1944 is offensive and should never see air time again. And besides….if you’re going to be offended by something in that song, be offended by the fact that he’s setting her up for a lifelong addiction and possibility for lung cancer with that cigarette she’s staying for.