Consider Claiming Halloween, Feminists

I was better than Beyonce.
What a fun sentence that is to write. But, it's true. Last year, I was hands down better than Beyonce and her Halloween costume. While she has more money, fame, and skin pigmentation (so jealous of that last one) than I do, her version of Frida Kahlo paled in comparison to mine. I can prove it.

Her Frida Kahlo:

Photo credit: US Magazine

My Frida Kahlo:

I look fierce and pale as my skin is, I otherwise nailed it. The surprising things about this was people's reactions. First, the majority of people did not know who I was (sad), and presenting myself to the world with atypical beauty (a lot of facial hair) made people uncomfortable: staring, staggering backwards, not looking at me when talking. It was quite the experience.  I wasn't fitting their mold. 

And it made me remember what Tina Fey said in Mean Girls and reminded me of Community Season 1 "Intro to Statistics" episode:

Annie: Oh Britta! You look adorable.

Britta: Thank you! I hate when women use Halloween as an excuse to dress up like sluts, you know?

Yes, I do know. Do you?

I've been thinking about it and the expectation that women will wear a sexualized costume on Halloween is wrong. To be sure, women can be all the things: smart, funny, cute, strong, sexy. 

But October 31 feels like a messed up Neil Armstrong quote:

That's one skimpy costume for women, One giant leap backward for womankind. 

As a woman I want to be taken seriously. I want to be able to work and be paid the same as my male counterparts. I want justice when people harass and abuse me/us. And yeah, I want to look sexy, but for me, I want to do that on my terms: my own time, in my own way, not on a specific date with a costume from a bag that frankly should involve more cloth. 

So, I submit to you an idea:

If you're a girl, reject the Halloween costume industry. Here are some reasons why:

1.) Education & Appreciation

I was a famous historical noteworthy woman who everyone should know. It was a little discouraging that people didn't know who Friday Kahlo was, but that makes it all the more important to educate them on WHY she's a big deal.  

2.) The Whole Enchilada: Brains, Beauty, and Creativity

You won't be dressed like anyone else because you thought of it yourself. No hiding in the bathroom for you. You can proudly say you thought of your costume yourself, made it and are owning it. Those are pretty hot.

American Girl Dolls

3.) Living It Out

This year, I dyed my hair red on a whim. It was late at night when my inhibitions were down, but in the morning was embraced as Kimmy Schmidt---my favorite role model for resilience in 2015. By being like her, by committing to the role, I felt stronger. It came at a good time, because I was feeling more brittle than unbreakable. 

4.) Womanhood

Think of the future. I want to use this holiday from here on out to be someone notable and praiseworthy and to inspire other women to do likewise. Who knows, maybe it can propel us into a better place. Maybe that way our daughters won't understand or be able to understand Mean Girls. Now there's a thought. 

Who will I be next year? Brene Brown? Marie Curie? Not sure. But I can promise to keep the bar raised high and my hemlines low. 

Warning: Coloring Club Brings Out Inner Child

Coloring and coloring books designed for adults is an ongoing new trend. It's a way to unwind and let go of the day. The difficulty in relaxation via coloring is you let your guard down to being yourself. The self that I am, I discovered, is a competitive take-no-prisoners coloring champion.

I know this because when someone jokingly asked me if I was feeling competitive I said,
"Yes. But I'm competing against myself and clearly I'm winning." 
Then as proof I held up my artwork. I was not joking; something had come over me.

I'd been looking forward to City in a Jar's first Coloring Club Night for a full month--RSVPed, blacked out the evening on my calendar, etc. Even though every correspondence stated Blick Art Supplies had generously donated coloring pencils and crayons (and they sure did!), I wasn't leaving the evening to chance. I carried in my own 48 crayons conspicuously bulging out of my purse.

I can say it was a little intimidating walking into Urban Chestnut knowing no one. High school cafeterias sprang to mind. I credit the communal tables. The 48 crayons, at at that point of the evening, made me feel a little too overeager and sheepish as I scanned the crowd. I saw no other 20/30 somethings toting personal boxes of crayons.

After checking myself in and locating the gorgeous artwork by Julie Hill Drawings, I had to find a spot.

*Gulp*

I'd sniffed out between checking in and getting the art, this was not a roll in stag sort of event. People came in alone and united with friends. They were in tight clusters of 3 to 7, which made it necessary to utter the dreaded words,

"Can I sit here?"

Thankfully, I got a "yes," as an answer, and got to tuck into some great coloring.

Later, when someone walked up to my table and asked if she could use some of our crayons, I felt a little too good. I immediately gave myself a pat on the back for being prepared. I'd scooted down and told myself I would share, if she sat next to me, but in between back pats the other table members said "No."

She was forced to either 1.) steal the crayons** or 2.) walk away. She moved on, and I realized our true selves, our inner children (as promised) were coming out, and apparently, they don't like sharing.

So, what did I learn at coloring club? 

1.) Go it alone (if you can't locate friends to come with),
2.) Come prepared; it can't hurt. 
3.) Reign in your inner child: share and scoot over
3.) Soak in as much as possible. 

Really, I haven't changed very much from childhood to now.


Want to share my crayons with me next time? Let's be friends and go together. RSVP here, and don't wait too long. Tickets are limited.


**I may need to write a short story about an adult who steals the crayons at coloring book night and the fallout that occurs because of it. Spoiler alert: it will escalate quickly.

Words Escape Me

Well hello there. I've been breaking the first rule of blogging lately, which is blog.
That was profound. Maybe you should write this down:

Rule #1 of blogging: Blog.


I haven't been writing lately because of my other rules: be positive, don't complain, work through your feelings first before telling others. Truth is things have been downright exhausting, hard, and sad lately.

To keep all of my rules, I'm not going to go into it as yet. Just know that 2.5 weeks ago I intended to write a plucky piece about other things you can make when life gives you lemons. And I wanted to make this phrase viral:

When life gives you lemons, make lemon curd. 

Curd is such a gross word; it fits.

Here were the pictures for the positive post that I didn't write. This picture symbolized the things going wrong:

make lemon curd

This one represented controlling the "lemons" and making them into something useful and pretty:

bunt those lemons!

Shortly after taking this I almost keeled over because I was taking them on my back porch and overheated. I fled to Target to use WiFi, drink water, and get Advil. (I couldn't go inside my apartment because...it was filled with an asphalt smell. So much lemon curd to be made!)


At any rate, things have been difficult, and one thing I know and learned was after a lot of stress a person's higher level thinking skills (including creativity) plummets. It's simple brain chemistry. My brain was/is trying to help me survive.

I can fight. I can take flight, but unfortunately, I couldn't write. The thoughts were too visceral too raw, more meaningless onomatopoeias than words. It felt so unlike me that I wondered if I had brain damage. I asked friends if I seemed somehow altered, dumber, to test me, to be honest. But really it was my brain on cortisol over far too many days.

I think I see a glimmer after today of finding words again, which is a relief because I need to write to earn my keep.

For me, health and writing are linked, and they come only with quiet, peace, stillness and being alone. Are you that way?

I sat in silence for hours and hours driving. Hours and hours at home all alone. Hours in silent exercise in nature and another hour getting a massage. And I can hear myself writing now in my head.

So today I learned:

Until I am composed, I can't compose. 

Open Swim (not Sink) St. Louis

I wish you could have been there.
I wish you could have splashed in the water.
I wish you could have seen the dazzling smiles the spectrum of skin.
I wish you could have moved aside for children scaling the perimeter, unable to touch bottom, unable to swim...yet.
I wish you could have heard the collective joy and music rippling around and through the scene.
I wish you could have helped strangers offered to fix their goggles, to find their mom.

I had those pleasures and more at our Pool Party.
It was a sight to behold: neighbors, friends, and strangers-- a jubilant jumbled buoyant mass
Knotted together.
As it should be.

Happy to be together.
Happy to claim a new season.
Happy to swim,
St. Louis.


*Special thanks to everyone who helped make the Marquette Pool Party  an event I cherished. That means you, Cara Spencer, Blank Generation, Sleepy Kitty, Black James, Southside Forever, Mayor Slay, and Parks Department,

Overheard in St. Louis

Not so long ago, I was walking to a coffee shop in a suburban-ish neighborhood. I was approaching a group of three workmen getting ready for their day to begin. Two had perched themselves on the trailer bed full of equipment. One was facing them and the homes. I could hear what they were saying from 15 feet away because of the quiet hour.

As I approached, I saw one of the men look up into a yard. He made a glottal noise- a mix between a grunt and scoff.

"They have a 'Black Lives Matter' sign."

I stiffened and felt my pulse quicken. Instinctively I was preparing myself for whatever he was about to say next. Trying to anticipate it, so I could respond.

Then I heard...

"Black lives do matter." 

One of the man's partners spoke up. Simple. True. Stated without anger by an African American.

There was no response. Not a rebuttal or effort to refute. It was so unlike what'd I've seen unfold online. No splitting of hairs. No, "But all lives matter," retort.*

Just, "Black lives do matter," and silence. It was beautiful, really to see and hear. It said it all.




*If you hadn't noticed already, this is an axiom leveled to negate the point of the Black Lives Matter campaign. Both are true. One needs to be said more and lived out.

We Are So Fragile

Maybe you have to know darkness before you can appreciate the light. 

Madeline L'Engle

Sunday was like any other. I was running late and to my car, 1/2 my makeup on the other 1/2 in my bag as I locked the front door and turned to dash down the stairs. That's as far as I got. The back window of my car was bashed in. I took one look, said "Oh" and pivoted to go back inside.

This was dangerous -- not the circumstance itself. I knew it would be costly and cumbersome and rain was on the way. Those weren't the dangers. Those were the facts. My danger was emotional, knowing that one random act of violence could set off a chain reaction in how I see the world. How I would respond. How it would strike my thoughts and could shatter my emotions. This isn't the first window I've had busted out, so I knew. The first time I convinced myself it indicated a coming lifetime of navigating the world and it's problems alone, unsupported, and vulnerable. It was damaging train of thought triggered by broken glass. Since it happened again, what would follow?

That past reaction let me knew I needed to proceed with caution. This isolated act of destruction could destroy something far greater, if I'd let it. I started the mental list and the calls: police, insurance, glass repair, car dealership. I studied the weather and reached out to a few friends.

Then I started to catalog and collect things of the day the good things. I knew the stress and heightened sensitivity would allow me to remember vividly, so I tried to shore myself up attending them rather than my feelings.

I remember things like:
The black cat chasing robins in the lawn;
The cashier's "I'm New" badge;
A bird that pooped on my hand (Ok, who wouldn't remember that?)
That my neighbor drank chilled white wine on her porch;
Someone left a frying pan on top of the dumpster.

Those were just things, but good happened too.

My friend drove his car around a marathon to help me buy groceries.

The sun came out.

All of the neighbors clucked their tongues and shook their heads.

Passers by looked at the scene in a horrified way, revealing what I think to be true, that this is not normal to do or to see.

Just when I thought it was impossible, I got those blasted UMSL parking stickers off the window after all. (P.S. UMSL, I still want my money back.)

In addition to the good things I observed, I learned a few things I maybe wouldn't have. And for me there's something inherently thrilling about learning things.

Things I learned: 

1.) Bricks can't be dusted for fingerprints because they are too porous. (I don't believe this, but that's what the dispatcher told me.)

2.) The police department when filing a report takes down (seemingly) irrelevant information like birth date, marital status and ethnicity before they ask you what's wrong. I get it! I'm single in my 30s and white, okay? It hurt my feelings.

3.) I like motive. I want to know the motives behind people's actions. The thrill of destruction was too foreign  a reason for me in this case.  Instead I decided the person had a vengeful dislike for Ernest Hemingway. Therefore, I learned I shouldn't have 3 Hemingway novels in my car at any one time, since it evokes an irrational brick wielding wrath.

4.) I'm sensitive. (See number 2.) I didn't learn this, just confirmed it for the zillionth time.

5.) I want to reason with people and set some ground rules. So you're going to destroy my car, okay. Please do it in a somewhat controlled and considerate way and heed these:

• If you're going to throw a brick in a car window, then don't do it on a Saturday night. Every repair place is closed on Sunday.

• If you're going to throw a brick in a car window, then don't do it in April. There's so much rain to contend with and it will be a mess.

• If you're going to throw a brick in a car window, then make sure they have a garage.

6.) My neighbor gives good hugs. She unhesitatingly took me into my arms and said, "This is such a violation." Then she let me use her garage until I got everything fixed up.


7.) The support of others makes a world of difference.

STL Heart Card
julie.johnson11007@gmail.com

Thank you to everyone who helped me. You reacted with protective compassion when I needed shielding.

Revive Your Wardrobe this Spring

There is one closet in my apartment. It is one of the drawbacks to living in an older home. I have still managed to fill this, 2 dressers, a wardrobe, and a few storage containers of Spring/ Summer or Winter/ Fall clothing (whichever seasons aren't happening).

I own a lot of things. A slightly embarrassing amount, really. But I have achieved it all economically. After moving to St. Louis, I got almost all of my clothes at The Scholarshop. Check them and their mission out here. Then I discovered the better Goodwills in town and let's not forget clearance racks.  

But lately (the past 3 years) I've been able to "shop" at clothing swaps around St. Louis. I've gotten more than my money's worth, have been able to completely change over what I own, and feel like a champion. 

Now, let it be said, I don't want to be a clothes hoarder. Before I ever go shopping, I comb through what I don't wear, or don't like anymore and discard. Only after that will I seek out "new to me" things.

Mostly I donate clothes to Revive Thrift Shop. It helps the Mission St. Louis JLT program, and I feel good about the work they are doing in my city.

Then there's the swaps. I am only familiar with 2 and really that's all I've needed to keep covered and layered up for every season.

I often go to Perennial's (and just went last weekend) held once or twice a year. (They also have a clothing swap for men and one for home goods!) 

And then there's the swap that was my introduction to the concept, The Covering House's Swap Till You Drop.  (The next one is April 18th!)

But let me explain something that happens to me at clothing exchanges. After a bit of milling around, surrounded by other people who are finding cute things and apologizing for bumping into strangers with their reusable bag, I start to get a little...frenzied. 

If you've ever been to the pay-by-the-pound Goodwill, you've seen this happen to a group of people. Swarming, territorial behavior that really someone should study and write a psychology paper about. (Someone do this for your thesis and dedicate it to me! It's a great idea.)

I feel it slowly start to well up in me.  It's an "I want that" mentality that springs to mind when a stranger pushes a hanger over revealing something that may or may not fit, and she starts to reach for it. Maybe I could grab it away. Maybe I could say "look over there" and distract her. Once I even thought of pulling a parka that looked as if it was made of hemp out of a person's over-stuffed bag. "She'd never miss it," I rationalized. I'm not Rastafarian, so why did I want it? Because I could have it.

This is the temptation of free things. It's easy to lose sight of what you need, want, and what is just questionable. I truly get into a bit of an alternate reality thinking. Whatever the reason, the proof is in my bag.

Once I get home from an exchange, I realize first, that I have more than I thought. Mostly I donate more than I take away, but it's still a bit surprising as I hoist it into my car. Then take out the things and spread them out at home so I know how to go about washing them. That is when it starts to dawn on me that, "maybe I shouldn't have brought this home."

I have a very loose concept of what I would wear at a clothing exchange. I won't be wasting my money and it's an opportunity to try something new with no regrets. This is how I came to try high waisted pants, crop tops, started my crochet cape collection, and learned about sweater skirts.

But I have also come away with other treasures like...

a belt with jungle beasts and bejeweled eyes
Nothing say fashion quite like elephants and panthers around your waist. Don't they look scared?

a power drill without bits 
Because sometimes you've got to fix stuff...or be almost ready to fix stuff.

These shoes 
Great for weddings where a certain former someone might be there. Of course he wasn't, and I almost died. 

a polyester vest with a yarn apple on it 
2-4 sizes too large and...why?

high waisted Wranglers that double as a corset. 

A shirt that says "chillin' like a villian" 
made for a child under the age of 5 (One you will immediately regret wearing when you bump into an ex. He didn't see the shoes; he saw a sweated up penguin t-shirt. Awesome.)

And it goes on.

If you want to revive your wardrobe this spring, do it. Follow these simple steps:

1.) Donate first at an organization you can get behind.

2.) Swap without regret. 

3.) Then after you get home see if you too brought home treasure or questionable items.

4.) Re-swap your questionable items...or

5,) Recycle your shouldn't be given away clothes at H&M. 

Did something come over you at your swap experience? Come away with something inexplicable? Not to worry! Tell me about it on the Facebook page. I want to hear about it. We can commiserate.