I spent Halloween with my friend and her two daughters, giving out candy and attempting to bring back the innocence I once associated with this day. Halloween's fall from grace began sometime after the French Maid (or Playmate) costume began popping up (I want to say 2004) and has since landed somewhere near Stripper Appreciation Day. Halloween (as celebrated in LA) now manages to demean both strippers, professional women, and the very notion of a "dressing up." I'm no prude, but I do know the difference between a costume and lingerie. And I know that female policewomen, nurses, and even leprechauns never wear bustiers...

One year, after I first moved to LA, I and some friends dressed as piñatas. Ok, maybe a little strange considering what people do to a piñatas, but the emphasis was on creativity and ingenuity. We fulfilled the function of this weird holiday and went to a party confident in our clever use of paper mache. Fifteen years later (ok, a few more) hundreds (possibly thousands) of women throughout Los Angeles deprive themselves of the opportunity to excavate their imaginations and resources because some salivating over-sexed guy paid tribute to their sexy doctor costume.

Just for today, I miss the old Halloween.

...unless she's raising his children and decorating the White House.

Warning: Rant-ish blog, possibly tied to my issues, approaching.

First, let me say (again), that I never drank the Obama Kool-Aid. I don't drink Kool-Aid. It's full of sugar and still reminds me of the creepy pitcher character who smashed through walls (I'm sure most of the world has no idea what that guy is). I also don't take charming, good-looking people who make nice speeches too seriously, without a few glasses of wine and a reckless attitude. I prefer who make sense and ruffle feathers and understand that in the world we live in somebody always takes it in the rear. Always. In a good world, that's not 99% of the population.

Here's my (main) gripe...

First he disses Hilary as his running mate, a fact which I, for one, have - clearly - not gotten over (yes, I hold long term grudges). Then he disses Elizabeth Warren by not appointing her to head the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, an agency that she built from the ground up. This is becoming a pattern. Perhpas, the guy has issues with smart, powerful (and white) women. Ok, so who can blame him for the last part. But, seriously, work it out in therapy...the country is waiting for you to get your act together and deliver on that whole HOPE concept.

Elizabeth (we're very close), I'm sure ruffled some feathers, but that's what happens when you refuse to take it in the rear. It's just harder to hear women say, "Hell no, motherfucker!"...than, say, Tuco from Breaking Bad. But when women are really smart, educated and, yes, it helps to be white, they eventually get that.

I've dated guys like him. Actually, I've dated many. Men who want and need smart women, but...make them a little too uncomfortable. The "I love you, I think you're awesome," even "You have a REALLY GREAT FUCKING PERSONALITY." But at the end of the day...go be awesome somewhere else. You're not the boss of me. I'd rather you go away than have to sit in therapy and talk about my mother's controlling nature. [I'm not saying that I have it all worked out, but I have spent a used Audi (maybe a 2009) in therapy)]

Ok, Hillary (we're also very close) and Elizabeth just happen to be my idols. They work hard, have super high powered brains, and degrees, but they make the kind of sense. Women in politics get villified for speaking brilliance or stupidity. We can't win. Ever.

Just for today, I'm really annoyed.

Now that I'm no longer having my soul suctioned out on a daily basis by working for The Man or the MadMen or the Madvertising Industry, I'm realizing the cost of ignoring my integrity. I feel cleaner, like I don't need to shower everyday. My current gig is in-house at a mostly Latino-run company. I guess, technically, I'm still working for The Man, but he's got more women and brown skinned people running the show, and less douchey slime balls. (Should I hold back?)

That said, I was up till 4:00 am last night with the awakeness of a double espresso shot of jet fuel. And I don't think it's because I watched an entire marathon season of "The Walking Dead," (ok, maybe a little). Rather, with the advent of integrity, comes more getting-super-real-with-yourself moments and realizing that Denial is starting to overstay his (yes, it's a man) welcome.

The purpose of denial is self-preservation. If we saw reality clearly every day, we would surely never get out of bed. Let's face it, denial and fun have a lot of overlap. I love to blanket the harsh edges of life with shopping trips and wine and flakey men who don't burden you with anything so unromantic as Reality..

But at a certain point in life (like right before you turn 40), integrity starts to less messy.

Ok, so back to the The Walking Dead this weekend. Zombies are really fucking scary. Vampires? Meh. Kind of cheezy. Werewolves. Take them to the dog park. But zombies...they have no brain. They don't think. They just consume.

Zombies also don't come back to their humanity. And that's what's really scary.

Just for today, I want to walk amongst the living.

I live in a studio. I drive a 9-year-old car. And I'm feeling guilty for wanting to buy another pair of jeans and some better heels. How does the Louis Vuitton collecting class look in the mirror and not see Cruella De Ville?

I always felt ashamed of having grown up on K-mart and Ross and thought I could hide it with the American shopping dream (which sort of works), but I, eventually, figured out that ghetto never really leaves your system. But I never thought I'd see the day where class warfare came out in the open...

Just for today, I support the revolution!

Sometimes, in the blur and rush of perusing my chaotic Facebook newsfeed (which, thanks to some odd choices in user experience design resembles the digital equivalent of the Tea Cup ride at Disneyland), I will find myself free associating various status updates with the wrong friend (not the status-er).

For instance, I'm friends with rap artist Lyrics Born (we went to King Junior High school together). I'm also friends with an Animal Intuitive Healer who goes by the name of Indigo Rhythms. Recently, I confused her status with Lyrics Born's identity and, for a split second, believed that my rap artist friend had become an animal psychic. (For some reason, this seemed perfectly feasible).

This happens at least once a day. Who is having a baby?...a wedding?...barbecue?...promoting a one woman show....working with whales at Sea World?

Is it a good thing that all my connections in the world speak to me from the same web page? Or will this make me crazy(er).

Just for today, I see the end of Facebook.

I really want to be part of the inspiring Occupy Greedy Corporate Territory movement to bring these spoon fed banker D-bags to justice and begin regulating the banks and health care industries. I went to college with some of these guys (and girls) and they really believe in their hearts being that they are somehow exempt from cleaning up after the party is over. That's what maids are for. I never felt so Mexican as I did in college and I do not look the slightest bit indigenous.

But now that I'm working (thank God), Saturday is my only day take my car in so that the air conditioning system doesn't blow some smokey substance (we're going to call it coolant) into my lungs and my remote lock system functions so my car resembles an automobile made in this century (I do have some pride). And Sunday I need to wash my clothes, sweep, and try to sleep so I don't have to adopt the "blousey" (puffy eyed) look. (Note to self: buy some better eye gel).

I just the movement had started in July or August when I was unemployed.

Just for today, I support Occupy Wall Street!!!!!

In the past few weeks, I have, against my wishes and, yet, possessed by the spirit of lost consciousness made the following items dissappear:

1) My watch
2) My debit card
3) My lipstick
4) My car's remote lock battery
5) Many receipts
6) A bra
7) This really ghetto plastic chipped cup from the $.99 store that I kept on my desk and I swear someone stole (why?).
7) Some other things I can't remember but which make me spend hours of my life digging through my purse, desk, laundry, jackets, etc. like a crazy lady.

Sometimes said item will be in my hand one moment and then "Bam!" it's dissappeared into the ether. This has got to be a talent.

Just for today, I feel insane.

I recently stumbled across Julie Klausner's Valentine to Maturity and had a moment of soul mate connectivity that seems to get rarer and rarer on this Google/Facebook real estate that once seemed as expansive as the ocean, but now feels like a children's book.

In case you don't feel like reading it, her piece summarizes the many ways in which women aspire to look and act like little girls. Generally speaking, I've never been one to really hate on women. For whatever reason, I was never the girl caught up in the narrative of women resenting each other or competing for the attention of The Dude. Ever Since high school, I maintained the worldview that women are essentially victims of a system that pits them against each other. Sort of the like the Cuba Gooding character in "Boyz n' the Hood." In high school, my friends all sort of rolled their eyes at me before prancing off with a guy who treated them like an accessory. Everyone, including myself, decided that I must be weird. But I'm cool with it now.

However, after reading Julie's call for women to dress like people who pay their own bills and read about world events, I realized that I'm not alone in feeling that things haven't changed since the Wet n' Wild days (we bought that make-up, too). It's not just through fashion that women demonstrate to the world how girlish they can be. How many shaved hooches do I need to see in the shower at the gym? How many pony tails on grown women? How many times do I have to hear women cry and whine about aging, as if it were a terminal disease? And the worst, how many more times will I hear an 35-year-old women talk in a baby voice? (I'd rather listen to a hundred acrylics on a chalk board in surround sound).

Sure, acting like a grown woman, owning and demanding accountability, may not strike some men as "hot." But turning such dudes into daddy isn't going to move any relationship forward, forget about the status of women in the world.

Look, I never wanted to grow up, either. But now that it's happened, I'm not going to bury it beneath Forever 21 (one day at a time). Doesn't mean I have to age into Miss Blankenship...

Just for today, I'm proud to act like a grown woman.