Don’t tell me what to do

Recently I started wearing red lipstick. Not like, sheer red lip gloss. Like, RED. LIPSTICK.


And I feel pretty great about it. Not only does it make me feel awesome, my beloved grandma Nancy wore red lipstick all the time and it makes me feel like I’m channeling her. And she was amazing so that’s great news.

But I got mad yesterday.
And here’s why:

I’m minding my own business at the check out line at the HEB and a guy remarks to me, “a little dressed up?”
I’m looking at my outfit like, “um, no.”
He’s like, “it’s just that the lipstick you’re wearing. It’s a lot. You probably shouldn’t wear it. I don’t like it.”
Me: *flames flying out of my ears* That’s a good thing. Red doesn’t really seem like it’d be your color.

OKAY, HERE’S THE THING: if you don’t like bright red lipstick, guy, then don’t wear it.
It is absolutely not your place nor any of your business what I, or anyone else, chooses to put on their body.  I am not here for your viewing pleasure.

And then I started thinking about it. And about how many times people have told me that I should/shouldn’t do something because THEY like/don’t like it.

How many times someone has said,
“you shouldn’t wear that dress”
“you shouldn’t be blonde”
“red isn’t your color”
“don’t get too muscular”
“don’t lift too much”

And the thing is, I’m not asking for their opinion.
I’m not saying, “hey, I’m thinking about wearing red lipstick, what do you think?” I’M WEARING IT ALREADY.
This is not an invitation for your unsolicited opinion about what you prefer me to do/wear/look like.
I’m wearing it/doing it because IIIIIII like it and IIIIIIII want to.
And if I had always listened to the people who told me “you shouldn’t” or “don’t”, I’d probably never accomplish anything I wanted to.

After talking it over with Mama Nancy, I’ve decided that there’s only one good response to people who tell me, “don’t…” or “you shouldn’t…”, etc.

So the next time someone tells me “you shouldn’t wear red lipstick”,
my only response will be a big smile and then to say “or else, what?”

"I thought you’d be fatter than that" and other left handed compliments

So I’m at my corporate office, minding my own business, headed to pick up some stuff from upstairs when I run into a girl who works in the office but I’ve never met.

Conversation ensues.

Me: “Hey girl”
Her: “Hey, you’re Ace, right?”
Me: “Yeah, that’s me.”
Her: “Oh. I thought you’d be, like, way fatter than you are.”
Me: “…”
Her: “Well, it’s just that [insert other coworkers name here] said you’re into like, weightlifting and stuff, so I just figured you’d be really fat.”
Me: “…”
Her: “I mean, but you’re not. You’re actually way smaller than I expected.”
Me: “…”
[insert long pause here]
Me: “Okay, well I’m gonna go.”

I need to know. Is this mentality like, a thing? Like, a girl lifts weights so she must AUTOMATICALLY weigh 403,929,010,198,183 pounds? No. I can honestly say that the more I lift, the smaller I get.

Other left handed compliments (assumptions?) I don’t appreciate:

From guys: “Oh wait. You’re straight? I mean, I just assumed you’d be gay since you lift weights so much.”

“It’s nice that you’re not as bulky as some other girls that lift weights.”

“I’m glad you don’t look like Arnold!”

“You’re probably manly-er than most guys around here.”

“You have real clothes? (as opposed to gym clothes)”

From guys: “You can probably lift more than me, huh?” (If you have to ask, probably. And this is neither attractive nor an effective means of hitting on me)

“I’m glad you’re not like, really big, because that’s scary.”

Stupid people are stupid.

"Don’t get too muscly"

When I tell people that I crossfit, the first question I am usually asked is, “what is crossfit?” 

I explain what crossfit is and the next comment I get is, “well, that’s cool. Just don’t get too muscly”

Then I get angry. And people don’t like me when I’m angry.
Sorry for all the cursing, but who is she or he or you or anyone to tell me what the hell to do with my body?! 

Don’t get me wrong, I am trying to be more fit. I am not trying to be the she-hulk (even though I think that would be the coolest thing pretty much ever). But with fitness comes muscles. Because physically fit people are strong. Duh. 

I am trying–and training–to be the most fit I can be. If for nothing else but the clearly inevitable zombie apocalypse. And for me, being fit, does not mean weighing 4 pounds, wearing size 0 million and not being able to lift a pencil without struggling. 

I want to lift things that are way heavier than me. Know why? Because that means–if I needed to–that I could lift my own body weight a bunch of times. I want to have a healthy body with all the right kinds of curves. I want to have an ass and not a butt. 

No one is going to convince me that a “thigh gap” or whatever is sexy if you look like a mosquito hawk. My thighs touch and that shit is great news. Why? Because if I’m ever trapped under something up to 2x my body weight, I can push that shit off of me. 

I don’t watch the scale. I don’t care what that piece of shit says and neither should you. It’s just a number. It’s your relationship with freakin’ gravity. The only thing I care about gravity is seeing how fast I can pick up whatever it’s holding down. Know what it isn’t gonna hold down? Me. That stupid scale can’t tell me how awesome I am or how far I’ve come. 

All I try to do everyday in the box is be better. 
Lift more.
Run faster.
Jump higher.
Get double unders (that shiz still hasn’t happened yet).
Be more fit.

My goal is not and never has been to be stick skinny. Because I can’t be. I am not built like that. I have and will forever have hips, thighs, boobs, and ass. So I had a decision: use what I got and make it tight…or look like a bag of mayonnaise and die in the zombie apocalypse. I chose the former. 

A lot of people I talk to want to be skinny and don’t want muscles. They want to run on the treadmill for 30191803 hours a day. They don’t want to lift weights because “it’ll make ’em bulky”.
If that is your goal, fine. 
Watch the scale.
Follow a crazy, 500 calorie a day diet
And be skinny fat.

I’ll be over here, feeding my muscles with steak and (sweet) potatoes.