Our Father's Mustache

I think it’s time that I say something that I’ve never voiced before. Something most women never say for fear of either sounding like a narcissist or because it’s just not true.

Here I go;

I like my body. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine and I think I wear it well. I like the way my legs look when I wear a sundress. I like my long torso. I like my pale, pale (deathly pale) skin and how it freckles in the sun. I like my feet. I like my scars. I like my flat butt. I LIKE ME, DARN IT, AND I’M TIRED OF APOLOGIZING FOR NOT BEING “PERFECT.”

Because that’s what we do, don’t we? Isn’t that what it boils down to? We as females (and maybe this is true for men too, but because I am definitely a woman, that’s who I’ll speak for) see that we don’t look exactly like models (or Victoria’s Secret angels, or movie stars, etc), and we feel bad about it. But why? Why should we feel bad for not looking exactly like one another? I feel bad because I think I am visually offending you by looking like I do. Please forgive me for not being aesthetically pleasing to you.

No more. I will not apologize for how I look anymore. My body is here to serve one purpose, and that is to carry my soul around until my cells stop dividing and I drop dead. I don’t care that one of my legs is longer than the other because they carry me from point A to point B and I have yet to receive a complaint about how I look when getting there.

And while I’m on it; YOU are beautiful too. You are unique and gorgeous and STOP apologizing for what God gave you and OWN it. Girl, you got the goods, in one way or another, now enjoy being a beautiful female and stop with comparison.

This is what feminism is about; owning who we are as biological wonders and also not letting our gender keep us from getting where we’d like to be. If you’re busy apologizing for not looking like whoever the hot top model is right now, then you’re not focusing on your goals and aspirations beyond the physical. Fine, my left boob is slightly larger than my right boob, but me freaking out about that is not going to help me get that promotion or better job. The fact that I do not have a perfectly flat stomach has no relation to my goal of publishing a book.

It’s a lot easier to accomplish your goals when you like yourself. And that’s what I’m asking you to do with me from this point forward. Some days will be easier than others, obviously, but if you start each day saying that you like yourself, then that’s already one person that’s in your corner. And when you start out with one person in your corner, it makes conquering your goals and aspirations seem that much easier.

My name is Anna Kathrine Schaffer, and I like myself. I hope you like yourself too.

So, I’m not sure how people misunderstand me when I tell them that I’m pretty much the textbook definition for “quirky,” but it seems to be happening a lot lately (particularly in the dating arena), and I think it would be a good idea for me to expound on exactly HOW I am a working definition for quirk.

(And for those of you who are unfamiliar with the definition of “Quirky,” it’s simple meaning is describing something or someone who is not conventional, unexpected, out of the ordinary, etc.)

1. I am extremely honest. If you ask me what I’m thinking about at any given moment, you run the risk of learning too much about me. An example:

“Katie, why are you having a bad day?”
“Because my bra doesn’t match my panties, and it’s really throwing me off.”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
“Well, I could use a hug.”
“No.”
“Thanks for nothing.”

2. Depending on the day, I might cry about how cute puppies are. I don’t feel like I should have to explain that because puppies are cute, dangit.

3. I was homeschooled for a while. I also attended a private school for a while, and a school for the artistically gifted. Not concurrently, obviously.

4. I own two pairs of full-length overalls, two pairs of shortalls, and one jumper that looks like overalls, but it’s a skirt. And yes, I think they’re cool, and not in an ironic way. Like, I legitimately think they are the stuff.

5. Some people say I dance like a middle-aged woman, but I don’t care. I just do what’s the most fun and if I’m not the most coordinated, then oh well.

“Katie, you’re like the worst dancer ever.”
“Okay.”
“No, like, you look like a middle-aged mom when you dance.”
“Okay.”
“It’s hilarious how stupid you look.”
“Thanks. I’m going to go dance more because it’s fun.”

6. Things I am passionate about: Unicorn/s, mustaches, the Oxford Comma, music, literature, alpaca ranching, maintaining loyal friendships, cancer research, hugs, giggles, cookies, street tacos, the ocean, writing beautiful things, nail polish, snoopy, lamb chop, pepper (my dog), Jesus…I could go on, but I’m starting to get distracted.

7. I drink a lot of coffee. Like, 50 fl oz a day. Except Sundays, because I usually switch to ddp after the church service is over.

8. I always read the last page of a book first because I don’t like surprises. I need to know where the story is headed before I invest my time and energy into it. I do the same thing with plot spoilers for movies.

9. I refuse to eat the last inch of the banana. There’s something weird about that last bite and I just can’t handle it.

10. I’m an introvert who pretends to be an extrovert so I can successfully coexist with modern society. I hate watching TV to pass time. I have a few shows I enjoy, but I’d so much rather just sit in my room and be quiet, by myself, writing or reading, or just listening to music and thinking. Constantly being around others exhausts me.

Anyway, those are just a few examples of my quirks and there are tons and tons more. I get nervous when I go on dates with guys who don’t know me AT ALL because I don’t think they understand that I’m not putting on an act or am weird, I’m just different, and I’m me. I can’t help that I overshare details that probably freak most people out, but I don’t know how to keep those things to myself. And I’d rather share about my life than not give any details whatsoever.

I guess the best way to sum it up is with a hashtag or two: #overshare #dontcare

(Scene: two friends talking to each other over the phone, the audience can only hear one side)

K: Well, the reason I enjoy it is that writing can be an equation of sorts. There are 26 letters in the alphabet, and I get to decide how to arrange those letters in a way that best describes my current state of being. Even more interesting is when I have to rely on a past even to supply the emotions that help me arrange those letters in the right order. Some people like to do math problems; to figure out how to get to “x.” I think of the final draft as “x” for a writer. How am I going to arrange these 26 letters so I can get “x?” It’s an amazing feeling when not only am I satisfied in my answer, but others look at how I’ve arranged those letters and say, “Oh yeah! That’s exactly how I feel about this issue/even/emotion as well!”

And don’t forget punctuation as well. I’ve not only got letters, but symbols as well, and putting those letters in the appropriate order won’t matter much if you don’t understand what symbol goes where. English is one of the most intriguing puzzles I’ve ever encountered, and I love it.

(In a society where math and science seem to be more highly valued than the arts, it’s easy to feel less intelligent if you’re not the best at solving for the literal “X.” Don’t ever undervalue yourself. Every brain has its own brilliance, and if you let society dictate what is intelligence, you’re not using your smarts at all. End Scene)

(Scene: a dialogue between two friends about the horrific practice known in western civilization as “dating.” One is lamenting her love life, or lack thereof, and the other is providing a shoulder to lean on…Let’s listen in, shall we?)

K: Hey, Ali? Which of your cats would you not really mind suddenly disappearing?

A: Well, let’s see…Honey is pretty sweet, and R loves Rudder…but Pentillo is a real pain in the ass, so I guess if I had to choose one of them, I wouldn’t mind AS MUCH if it were him.

(Pause…)

A: Wait…why are you asking me this?

K: Well, I’ve decided to get a jump start on my life goal of becoming a crazy old cat lady, and to do that, I kind of need to obtain some cats. You have three, so I figured you wouldn’t mind if I took your least favorite.

A: Oh…okay. He’d be the cat best suited to help you toward crazy cat lady status because he “talks” a lot and claws at your face while you sleep.

K: Oh perfect! So I’d get used to muttering to him and I’d have a ton of scratches on my face?

A: Yes. I’m still confused about something though…

K: And that is…?

A: Why are you becoming a crazy old cat lady?

K: Because I suck at dating and understanding non-verbal cues, so I’m going to be alone forever.

A: Is this because you haven’t heard from that guy in a couple days?

K: Maybe.

A: I think you’re over-reacting.

K: I THOUGHT HE ENJOYED MY QUIRKS.

A: He’s a guy…why do you think he didn’t?

K: Because things were going pretty good and then, poof, NOTHING.

A: Maybe he’s busy? Like, with work or something?

K: I don’t know…I’m not saying I wanted long-term commitment, but I enjoyed hanging out and he seemed pretty cool.

A: Okay, I really think you’re over-reacting.

K: I’m pretty sure he hates me and I’m ugly and life sucks and I’m going to die alone.

A: If my cats are gone when we get back next week, I know you have them.

K: You don’t know that for sure.

A: You just told me you were going to take at least one of them.

K: Now you’re treating me like I’m the Jodi Arias of cat-napping.

A: OVER. REACTING.

K: Maybe a little.

A: I love you. Calm down. It’s going to be fine.

K: I’m going to change my name to Haversham and only eat cake.

A: Well, then, you’re going to die, because that much gluten will kill you and it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

K: Make sure they bury me in my overalls.

A: I take it back…you could very well die alone.

(Love is a brutal game, especially for those of us who are hopelessly quirky and impossibly dramatic. End scene.)

*this post is mostly true, but if you’re a guy and reading this and thinking that no one should date K because she sounds insane and really co-dependent, you should probably rethink your life. K is hilarious and kind of weird (in a quirky/fun way) and makes really (REALLY) damn good chocolate chip cookies (from scratch). Long-term commitment freaks her out, but she would like a boyfriend because, let’s face it, kissing is fun and she needs someone to argue with about which movie to watch on any given Saturday night.

Ten years ago, I graduated from high school. What’s funny is that had you asked me ten years ago where I’d be at 28, I’d have told you that I’d be on my way to a successful career in the medical field  and engaged to a brilliant, handsome lawyer and we’d be planning the wedding of the decade.

Maybe I’d have told you that I finished my Masters degree at Oxford and am currently publishing my third novel, you know, the one they’re predicting to be the NEXT GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL (or something equally as dramatic).

Or maybe I’d have told you that my career as a brilliant comedienne/actress/Broadway star was really hitting the big time and that I was due for an Oscar/Tony/Emmy any day now.

But I don’t think I would have ever thought to tell you that I’d go to community college for a couple years, then a moderately-priced state school. I don’t think it crossed my mind that I’d be a cancer survivor instead of a doctor working to cure cancer. I didn’t plan on staying in Tulsa, but that’s what happened. Very single, working a very 8 to 5 job, not following my dreams, but definitely working on new ones.

At one of the many graduation celebrations they had for us ten years ago, the speeches were very much the kind that make you feel empowered, and that you can do anything you set your mind to. I don’t think they lied to us, but I don’t think they prepared us for what was coming. I mean, how can you. I think they hoped the best for us, knowing that it would be hard, but really hoping we’d be okay and successful.

So, maybe I didn’t end up where I thought I’d be, but that’s okay. Dreams and goals change, My one-time dream of being successful hasn’t disappeared, it’s just evolved. Success to me now means something entirely different than it did to my 18 year old self.

Success to me is being able to survive really hard things without having a complete breakdown. Maybe that’s what all those graduation speeches ten years ago were about. Maybe our teachers weren’t hoping we’d become astronauts and poets, but that we’d become well-adjusted adults.

Well, I’m not sure how well-adjusted I am, but I know that I haven’t gone completely mad as of yet. And that has to count for something, right?