I can remember sitting at the foot of my bed, in a bathrobe, brushing my damp kinky hair. It was my thirteenth birthday and my head was full of knots and expectations from the night before. I hated the consternation that seemed to linger insidiously around this time of the year. Since my mom and her side of the family were Jehovah’s Witnesses, that  meant every holiday was depressing.

As Witnesses, we were not suppose to celebrate any holiday but since my dad didn’t practice this faith, there was always some sort of dispute during the holidays. Every Christmas, my mom and dad would load up for a world war; he insisted on putting a tree up and decorating it while she insisted on ripping it down into shreds of tinsel and pine needles all over the floor. Christmas morning, my mother would taint us with her vulgar attempts to ensure us that God was watching us sin, as my little brother and I would slowly open up our guilt-wrapped gifts from my father.

As tragic as Christmas was, having a birthday has become far more of an unavoidable debacle. The year I turned thirteen is my first memory of ever feeling like my birth has had any worth. Since I had never had any birthday parties, not too many friends even knew about it. The evening before, I was anxiously trying hard to fantasize of all the praise and gifts I longed for but I just ended up dreading the disappointment I predicted for a day not-so devoted to me at all. I wake up to my alarm the next morning because it’s a school day and on the way to the bathroom, I pass my mom who disregards me as she would any other day. My heart sinks deep into my chest as I close the bathroom door to take a shower but I catch my reflection in the mirror and begin to break into tears.

In the shower, a flashback crosses my mind of my sixth birthday and how I woke up in the middle of the night unable to breathe because my asthma was acting up. My mom stormed into my room to open the window, but I couldn’t catch my breath. I concentrated on the darkness outside the window trying harder to breathe slower but hyperventilate and aggravate my breathing even more. Suddenly, I slip back to reality and realize the shower is beyond sauna-hot and my breathing is just as heavy as that night I was taken to the hospital to spend my birthday. I feel dizzy as I walk back to my room and end up losing my balance. As I fall forward, the corner of my eye introduces itself to the corner of my dresser and the pinewood leaves a lasting impression. I notice the blood and my head starts to hurt just as much as my heart does.

I’m sitting at the bottom of my bed, staring at myself in the mirror when my dad and brother unexpectedly knock and enter. My brother hands me a self-titled Britney Spears CD and says, “Happy Birthday.” Then the next thing I know, my dad is leaning closer, he places his left hand at the nape of my neck, kisses me on my forehead –which is bombarded with pimples –and says softly, “Happy Birthday, I love you.”

I quickly glance into the mirror, praying it’s without notice and think: he kissed my forehead regardless of my pimples! Maybe he really does love me. But if that were true, he wouldn’t have conveniently forgotten my next five birthdays.

This year for my birthday, I cried the whole week leading up to it unaware of the true reason. I presume it’s the frail expectation I build of having everyone I know care enough to bombard my face with kisses that allows me to become so sad. Even when I do receive a couple kisses from people who really mean a lot to me,  it’s not enough. Is anyone ever satisfied on their birthday?  What does it take to feel and be shown your complete worth? Time, money, 1000 kisses?

Perhaps the pain that stems from the birthday blues is confused by one’s worth to others when in actuality it should be properly blamed on the lack of celebration of one’s worth to self. Take a moment to celebrate yourself, kiss your hand and smile at your own reflection.

You, are everything worth loving.

Britta B.

As we know, the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force suggested earlier this month that most women can wait until they’re 50 before they get a mammogram, and then they need only get them every other year, not yearly starting at age 40, as has been the practice.

The task force also suggested women ease up on breast self-examinations. Why? I haven’t a clue, other than some discussions about women not being able to emotionally handle any lumps they find, cancerous or not. This, boys and girls, strikes me as unmitigated crap. I can handle a change in treatment suggestions — though the secretary of Health and Human Services rather quickly responded to the hue and outcry and said never mind, go ahead and do what you’ve been doing.

But telling us not to self-exam? That makes no sense to me. Knowledge is power, after all.

For further discussion, read the Rev. Marilyn Sewell’s take on it at Beacon Broadside. For even more discussion, read George Lakoff at AlterNet, who says the new guidelines could kill tens of thousands of women.

Fourteen athletes have lost the latest round in their fight to get women’s ski-jumping entered as an Olympic event.

But this is just the latest round.

Super-shero (and Superman’s cousin) Power Girl wears a slinky outfit, and one of her panels recently discussed it — sort of — and set off a bit of a firestorm.

I’m a very social, extroverted person.  But I like to be alone. 

I need “me” time every once and a while to be alone and just be. To pamper myself.   To spend time with Jesus. To pray. To watch Grey’s Anatomy or whatever girly movie just came to Redbox (that seems very opposite ends of the spectrum…well i’m random like that).

I haven’t gotten to the point of putting cucumbers on my eyes, but maybe one of these days.

I looooooooooooooove spending time with my hubby more than anything in the world, but I also need my me time. He’s been playing basketball with some friends on Tuesday nights for the last year, which has opened the door for a night at home alone.  I almost always beg hubby to not go, and I still miss him a ton when he’s gone.  But I still love my time. 

I’m getting even more thankful for this time as I prepare for my Baby Girl to come in a few short months.  “Me” time will happen very rarely.

What do you do for your “me time”? Especially if you’re a busy mom, how do you make time for just YOU?

It’s actually a life-and-death one, says Connie Schultz at Truthout.

And to not-embrace the new “Twilight” movie.

Whee! Swimmin’ against the tide! Ooooh, yeah!

And this sure looks painful, the National Stiletto Championship (you’ll have to scroll down below the nekkid former-would-be-son-in-law-of-the-former-would-be-vice-president) in Paris on Friday.

Not sure I could compete. In fact, I know I couldn’t.

[There's nothing to hide the flaws in an extreme closeup of secretary of state Hilary Clinton taken during a press conference at the U.S. embassy in Kabul today. Image via Getty]

My prayer is that Brian Moylan, who posted this on Gawker, lives to a ripe, old age, and learns to feel comfortable in his skin. Because you know what, Junior? If you’re lucky to live long enough, you, too, will have wrinkles.

Now bite down on it, won’t you? Flaws, indeed.

Oh, and Brian? It’s “Hillary.” Two L’s. Fortunately, it appears that several of the commentors below the photo agree this is ignit in the first degree. (That’s “ignorant” in hillbilly.) And careful, Brian. We old chicks have long memories.

Uh…never mind.

Yielding to public uproar, Department of Health and Human Services Sec. Kathleen Sebelius has advised women and medical professionals to ignore government-issued recommendations.

Just recite along with me: We’re No. 31! We’re No. 31!

Here’s the report.

And thanks, Sister Cynical, for the link.

Is this Newsweek cover (originally a Runner’s World cover) of former VP candidate and author Sarah Palin sexist?

Palin says yes.

Jeff Fecke at Blog of the Moderate Left says no.

Ratchere.

Are we missing any?

And thanks, Morning News, for the link.

And thank you, Sarah Haskins, for the head’s up. And thank you, The F-Word, for the link.

And here are just a few reasons why.

On Monday, the federal Department of Health and Human Services’ Preventive Services Task Force recommended — among other departures from long-held practices — that women wait until age 50 to get routine mammograms.

Perhaps because this comes in the wake of the Stupak-Pitts amendment that severely limits a woman’s access to abortion, this does not set well with everyone.

Here are the new recommendations. Tell me I’m getting all conspiracy-theorist and I will at least half-listen, but we all know women whose breast cancer was first detected while those women were in their 40s.

And here’s a bit more on the topic.

What’s got me so annoyed? What am I so frustrated with that I’m completely done? I’ll tell you what: khakis.

That’s right. I hate khakis. Has any woman ever put on a pair of khakis, looked in the mirror, and said “oh yeah, these look good!” ??? Heck no they haven’t, and I’ll tell you why: because khakis suck.

First, the traditional bland, oatmealy (not-quite-a) color of khakis is rarely flattering to anybody. And guess what! If you have a big ass, khakis only make it look bigger. Short legs? Khakis shorten ‘em. Wide birthin’ hips? Khakis widen ‘em. Thick thighs? Imagine the tight creases of creamy khaki material stretched over them. You see what I mean? Khakis don’t hide anything; rather, they embellish.

Second, the fabric that khakis are made out of makes it impossible to find a cut that is flattering and doesn’t stretch out or lose its shape by mid-afternoon (plus, they wrinkle something fierce). The cut of khakis, whether its boot cut, trouser-cut, flared, skinny, whatever, just does not flatter any body shape. I don’t care if you’re a skinny, five-foot-eleven fashion model – you look like an awkward, poorly-dressed teenager in khakis.

Third, nothing looks good with khakis! A crewneck sweater? “Hi, I’m Boring, nice to meet you.” A polo t-shirt? She’s a man, baby! An argyle sweater? More polished with normal trousers or a pencil skirt. The only things that match khakis are a private school-boy blazer (and even that looks pretty young-boyish), or a blue smock that says “How Can I Help You?” on the back.

These pants make me think of two kinds of people: IT professionals, and Target employees. Khakis were originally designed to homogenize a large group of subordinates, I feel pretty sure of that.

Anyone familiar with TLC’s program What Not To Wear knows that Stacy and Clinton have a special term for that ugly dress in every woman’s closet that doesn’t fit or flatter them at all: the “I Give Up” dress. Khakis are hearby officially deemed the “I Give Up” Pants. I’m done with them. No more. I’m leaving the scourge khakis to men, who seem to wield these casual Friday pants far better than women.

When you pry it from my cold, dead fingers.

Vogue’s laying off Sec. of State Hillary Rodham Clinton on her fashion sense. Finally.

How long, o, Lord, how long will we continue to judge powerful women by the threads they wear? And when — d’ya think — will we apply that same standard to, say, V.P. Joe Biden?

-this is for the girls or those who like to hang with the girls

While this may sound critical, I am a BE “veteran” of over 14 years now. I like what I like and if I don’t like, I’m honest about it! Hope this helps anybody decide yay or nay.

Here’s my take: -ouch! This is now more expensive than when I bought it!! That extra money might be enough to warn non-pinky girls to pass this one over.

Brushes:

•precision eye defining brush: is like the eye defining brush but maybe 25% smaller; I never loved the ED, so this one seems pretty much the same…if you like ED, then you’ll like this;

•tapered blush brush: if this were at a drugstore, I’d pass it over. It’s small and fluffy, so better for applying radiances? I consider it a child’s toy-quality and will pass on to my nieces to play with;

•flawless face brush: similar to all FF brushes but the bristles seems fluffier…I used it to apply Mineral Veil with Pearls. It’s for light coverage only (they say light to med, I disagree);

Mascara:

I’ve never been a huge fan of BE mascaras but this one is fine. The major difference is the brush is more like a many-spoked comb. Kinda cool but takes handling-difference. I could see that it lengthened my lashes.

Eyeliner:

Unlike others, I don’t have a problem using heavy eye lining (my favorite it Jet Set by Smashbox & also their cream liners), so a black pencil type device didn’t scare me! It went on pretty much as expected for a pencil but BEWARE (or be happy, whichever): this does not work like common eye pencils. I applied it FIRST (over primer) and then went about my business, foiling. It bled/ transferred all over the place.

That was totally unexpected! Usually pencils have wax, silicon or oil-bases. They hold up to eye shading *over* them (note: when using BE dry or wet for lining, I do it *last* but this being a PENCIL, I used it as normal for a pencil).

This was fine, just unexpected. I had to do some damage-control and then used its blend-ability to my advantage UNDER the eye with a damp liner brush over the drawn line.

Blush:
Sooooo very rosy/ pinky. I’m an extremely pale-warm, so this is going straight to my pinky medium-toned friend.

Lipgloss:
Again, pink, pink, pink. Will go to an elderly lady friend who likes that shade.

E/S:
(forgot the names!)
Light one: far deeper than imagined/ appears. It’s easily used as a day-time contour (dry) on my skin tone…and I love to wear DEEP colors since I have “no natural color.” :p It should work great for more conservative makeup users. It foils nicely, foiling perking up that pearly shine, which also lightens/ brightens the color.

Dark one: doesn’t do much for me dry (blah-brown) but foiled, it’s a delight! It gets a blue-grey gleam when foiling. I highly recommend it foiled as an eyeliner!

Mineral Veil with Pearl:
Read that it was “orange” — it certainly looks like orange sherbet! Since I’m warm, I figured it would be okay and it is. I ended up using as I would a RADIANCE. Tried it as highlighter (dry) or eye color (foiled) and the pearl does *not* give a sheen or gloss, like foiling normally does (I get the ingredients aren’t in there for that but you never know unless you try).

I don’t feel that it is anything special. I used it as a blush+radiance actually, since it is that much deeper than my skin tone. It can “sculpt” all over for palest tones. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with it, it’s just one of those things where I already have pieces that do the same job, so this was sort of redundant.

After thoughts:

I signed up for AD, maybe I’ll cancel…dunno. I wonder if the future eye liners will be different shades? That would probably be enough to keep my interest. The kit was a good price, considering I can use pinky-bits as gifts. The brushes were largely a let down–I love good brushes!

Lastly, the box is darling. All in all, the kit is a small disappointment but for that price and all the gifts I can make out of it, “breaks even” in my head. Given the colors, I think it will work best with brown eyes or those *darker than* fair and fairly light complexions. Everyone can make things work, it just seems like medium toned people will benefit from it more than the palest or deepest IMO.

All crimes are crimes of passion.

Do you really think so?  I wish it was the truth in an odd sort of way. I wish that people always had an emotion behind the things the do. Emotional reasons. Even anger and hatred has a place, and a time where it fits in. Who gets to say what people feel is wrong?

Maybe its not the feelings that are wrong, but the actions. Someone decided that you just can not act a certain way regarding feelings. And I think I’m ok with that. I’m also ok that I am not the person who had to make that decision.  I think the part that bothers me the most when I think about it is the people who you know do things and feel nothing. For a long time I was that person, I just didn’t feel anything. Except anger and a whole ton of lust. I think thats what I lived on for a good 5 years or so.

And now I feel, I get sad, I get emotional. It makes me wonder if that’s ok sometimes because I feel like its so up and down. But maybe the ups and downs are just how its supposed to be. I don’t think that life is very constant or level.  And I think that its ok to feel a little crazy, or a lot crazy. I know I do.

And there is nothing wrong with me.