Tag Archives: self esteem

WG

Posted on by under The Crazy

So I suppose that a lot of my readers (or folks who trash this post as soon as it reaches their inboxes) don’t know that in my real life I spend time as a spoken word artist. I use the term very loosely because I low-key do not think of myself in that way. Spoken word artists are loved by all, powerful and captivating and I am just a nerdy writer girl who likes to share out of some inexplicable need to connect. When I first started sharing live poems at open mic my stage name was WG—which is for Whiskey Girl. But for whatever reason folks like and prefer to call me Whiskey. I can dig it. But the WG moniker was also an acronym for White Girl and Weird Girl. I do think the latter is probably most fitting.

Someone asked me a few days ago how I deal with stage fright and my douchey answer was that I actually don’t get it that much anymore. I really do think of WG as a separate person—it’s just an aspect of my personality that I play up but it’s not the core of who I am. So when I have a bad night I can say to myself, “Whiskey had a bad night, Naomi is doing just fine.” That mantra has not been working for me lately. I’ve been busting my ass to try to make a reputation and name for myself and it’s like running into a brick wall. In high school, I never had to bother being a cool kid, because I just knew that I wasn’t. In this community, the creative community, it’s as if I have to try to fit in with the cool kids just to be given a chance and I think it might be wearing on my mental health a little bit. For whatever reason I keep coming to the same conclusion: I am not that likeable and I’m 32 so this is it! I pretty much am who I am :-\

I had a show a few days ago. My very own show! I decided to do my own event because I just got tired of waiting around and begging for other creatives to like and accept me enough to give me a chance. Around me folks were pairing up with mentors and I was just there, alone, going from event to event trying to connect. I also had this crazy notion that the poetry community would be a world of misfits that understood what it’s like to be part of the outcasts and misfits—instead I found that it was the cool kids AGAIN. There I am assuming the position on the outside of things. So I put on my own show, just to prove to myself that I could. I gave myself my own feature because I don’t think I am the world’s greatest poet but I have something to say, and my narcissism tells me that the message is important to communicate with others. I got the flyers, paid the vendors, bust my ass trying to sell tickets, even got some other poets on board and hash tagged the shit out of my social media and the people actually CAME! I was exhausted but I felt so good and so proud of myself, in spite of what others thought, I had proven to MYSELF that I could do it.

Bullied

And it was time for me to take the stage as a headliner, and folks cheered as if I were somebody special. I had something to say and there were people that actually paid money to listen. So I spoke, and I had no trouble with the words because it’s never really me up there it’s WG. She was waxing poetic about life, and good sex and heartbreak when I kept hearing the voices of rowdy audience members override her. The voices only got louder so I watched as she moved in front of their faces and recited in front of them in an effort to bring them back in—captivate them! Because this was her show and at the very least she could pretend that she was good enough to headline it for a night. The loud voices got up and moved to the back of the room in response. Their volume increased and became more aggressive. Perhaps I, as Naomi, didn’t know how to handle it but WG did. That’s what she does, she takes the stage and she says what needs to be said in a way that compels people to listen or at least be polite. But for whatever reason, it wasn’t working this time!

That’s when I heard laughter, and I don’t know what happened to her (I am still angry at her for this) but Whiskey disappeared. It was me up there, a lowly under study that knew all the lines to the play but was almost too hysterical to perform. It wasn’t the kind of laughter that flowed out with mine until the sounds met across the room and blended into a melodious unison. No, it was the singular sound of laughter. The laughter of walking through the halls of high school in skater clothes and being made fun of for my dog collar and short hair that would just never grow. The sound of him saying that it didn’t matter how many layers of clothes I wore it was clear that I was fat underneath. It was the sound of boys laughing under their breaths, calling me sexy when just the year before I was an ugly gap toothed nobody. So WHICH IS IT? How am I supposed to gain control of my identity when people can’t even seem to decide what the FUCK it is?! Am I that loser with the clarinet and the chain around her neck and Skechers on her feet or am I Whiskey? Did you come hear to make fun or to LISTEN?

ETC - Awkward bullyingWell one thing is for sure; that night I was Naomi. This woman laughing and talking shit about me got under my skin and she triggered an old feeling inside of me I thought was long buried away. I’m never going to be the cool kid—and on some level I thought I was ok with that. I thought I had fully embraced that others were attracted to me for some indefinite reason and that I’m not going to fit into the categories they choose most often. I was a chubby girl in too much makeup and an annoying voice playing princess at my own event for the evening. I bleed on this keyboard for 4 readers and I pretend that I am making progress but I feel this event may have set me back to the beginning emotionally. I’m deciding marketing and promotional strategies—asking male counterparts for assistance and they smile and wink at me and tell me I can do the work all by myself. Because to them I am just that nerdy girl craving male attention so much that a wink and a little flirtation is supposed to be enough for me to do everybody’s fucking homework!

High school never ends—this is NOT the shit I signed up for! But I am in the midst of this shit so apparently I have to keep going. At the very least until I can find Whiskey again…

DoItForYou

Shattered Pieces

Posted on by under Poetry and Whiskey, The Crazy

I have a thing for broken men
I am no fixer, I just want to lay next to their shattered pieces
to worship
Cut my cheek on jagged edges
Taste blood as it runs down my face
And I tell myself this is what alive feels like
Knowing the both of us are really dead
Slow bled out a long time ago
But the truth is never real as long as you say it isn’t so
And I’ll probably never leave you if you tell me not to go
I am unhappy
But it’s my favorite dress and I tend to wear it so well
How it fits like a glove over the exaggerated swell of my hips
Just past the honey bee tattoo you used to lick and kiss
But I haven’t seen you and your tongue is fast becoming a memory
Visions of our future are slowly erasing, fading
Trading themselves in for loneliness and neglect
The irritable clench of your jaw as I pleaded and I wept
For the us that I thought we could be
Watching your passion transform into apathy
It was beautiful sad, it was just like you
It was sleeping late curled up in bed …the countless times you’ve never come through
I watch you stop caring and I withdraw further into myself
Tell me, are you so much in love with yourself you have none to spare for anyone else?
Or maybe just a little more for me
See, I’m a bit tired
Of waking up to missed text messages that I wonder if you sent because you knew I was asleep
And of leaving voicemails laced with desperation after the sound of the beep
Wishing for time and touch with abated breath
Flat lining on this table, you are the surgeon with each incision I fear you will call a time of death
Love doesn’t live here, didn’t give enough notice when it left
and I am being evicted in its wake
Let me stay, give me more pain I promise you I can take it
I am a pro, an underdog a masochistic hero
And besides, I am a lot more crazy than you know
I have  thing for you
I am obsessed with your shattered pieces
Let me lie prostrate, and let’s sit in silence as I worship
At your feet

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I’ve been reading articles lately—trying to find out what psychologists have to say about ways to love and, more importantly, ways to keep it. Something about retaining it is not my strong suit; it always slips through. Or, I hold on too long and I don’t know when to let it go and stop trying. People are hard to read these days, they don’t tell you when they’re through with you, they try to hang on to you while simultaneously reaching out to something more, something BETTER or just different. Society is insatiable and cruel. I seem to only be left with the prayer that everything will end up alright in the end—because I’m tired of spending a relationship’s duration flinging cheating accusations and keeping tally of love lost and considerations that slowly diminish with time.

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Loveland Art

I can’t stomach another break up—break apart. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this level of trial and error; the stakes are too high. I’ve given of body and time, spirit—pieces of me I won’t be quite so generous with the next time around. I’m only 32 but kind of feeling like I’m getting too old for the “next time around”. After this age it seems like we’re all kidding ourselves, arriving at the door with too much baggage and only the worst parts of ourselves to offer because we’re too beaten, broken down and plain selfish to offer up the good parts…the naked parts. Tell me, where do you hide your good parts?

 

No matter the outcome—of life and so many things— I suppose there is comfort in the possibility of finding peace within my own self-worth, and power in knowing I don’t have to force someone into validating that for me.

 

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*All artwork in this blog post courtesy of Loveland Art. Please click the link to check out more; also follow on Instagram: @lovelandart.

What You Not Gonna Do

Posted on by under The Crazy

Relationship Killers

If you are reading this, you might want to go make yourself a steaming hot cup of tea because I’m about to dish about my personal life. I always weigh these things and decide just how much I am willing to share for the overall message and purpose of the blog and my underlying thought is that it is always worth it to reveal personal things about my life if especially if it will save a another woman from having to do so. That being said, think of the title of this post as an instructional guide—and I will provide tips not only on what you’re not gonna do but what you should not do when you run into situations such as this.

Back Story

About a year ago I wrote a tongue in cheek blog post about an altercation I had with my boyfriend’s upstairs neighbor called The Price of Slapping A Bitch. The post was basically a tale of one of those frustrating situations of not getting along with someone and wanting badly to invoke the spirits of violence but knowing that you can’t because jail time. Anyway, referenced in the post is the fact that his neighbor left a cheerfully hateful note on the windshield of my car the next morning—and in the post I didn’t reveal all of what she said but I hit the highlights that really irritated me (and was the most fun to write about and rebut). What I did not reveal is that in the note she referred to the boyfriend as “Community dick” and claimed that there was a lazy susan of women rotating in and out of his apartment quite often.

Reasons for not revealing this information:

  • This is the jugular that every woman goes for when they have beef! Second to commenting on how ugly they think you are, they always accuse your man of either cheating in general or cheating with them. The beauty of not being defined by looks or romantic relationship with a male is that these things don’t hold as much weight. As a woman who has been cheated on in EVERY RELATIONSHIP EVER, yes that is my worst nightmare but at the end of the day, you do some yelling and confronting and if there’s no concrete evidence you let it go. Paranoia cannot dictate a relationship.

 

  • Because I’m the fucking police and I know the importance of not releasing all the damn details to the public. I spill lots of tea—who am I kidding, it’s raining tea all over these pages—but believe it or not, I keep some things to myself in an effort to be considerate of privacy.

But I digress, the note was ultimately ignored and forgotten; the relationship continued. Fast forward to January of this year I received a comment on the aforementioned post in the middle of the morning and I go to give it a look. (It’s still there if you want to take a peek). It is supposedly the cousin of the upstairs neighbor who recognized the scenario and then proceeds to warn me of two things: 1. Her cousin will crush my life if she reads the post and 2. That I should pop by the boyfriend’s house to see for myself that he was cheating because I was being played.

NO. THANK YOU.

I was going to save a list for later but I can’t hold it in. WHAT YOU NOT GONNA DO is tell me that someone is going to do me bodily harm over something I’ve written on my blog. If you don’t like it don’t read it, and who the fuck are you that you are going around threatening folks? Because as much as I would love to slap a bitch, there is a lot more value in waiting for a bitch to hit me first so I can sue the shit out of her and pay for my children’s college. Also what you not gonna do is suggest I pop by a nigga’s house to catch him in the act of cheating. To be frank, pop-ups are for losers. Once you’ve reached that point in your relationship you are losing and I refuse to be Nancy Drew over any of this shit. I have things to do, and if he’s cheating he’s cheating and I will either eventually find out OR he’ll do something reckless and I’ll get a horrible STD. Who knows? This is what life and relationships are—you take the risk of loving and trusting someone and you stick with it until proven otherwise. Rude notes and blog post comments are not going to motivate suspicion within me. (Also, fun fact: if you are a first time commenter on the blog I am given the authority to approve or reject your comment; I chose to approve this particular comment because yolo, or whatever…)

Let Me Tell You What A Bitch Did

Fast forward to yesterday I am playing on my cell phone, exhausted from the day’s activities and fantasizing about skipping out on what I had planned for the evening, when I get a request that someone on Instagram wants to send me a picture. Sure! (I was secretly hoping it was my very first dick pic. Disgusting I know, but I feel like there’s some sort of rite of passage in getting your first random dick pic on the internet…anywho). What it was…a screenshot of the boyfriend’s picture on a dating site with a message from a random IG user (hard to trace and private, I tried!) with the message that simply read: FYI.

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Is it obvious this is my favorite meme?

I had so many questions! I didn’t get the immediate visceral reaction of “omg he’s cheating” I just kind of wasn’t surprised because the picture was from the dating site we had actually met on and I know my profile pic is floating out there on the same site. Only because it was nearly impossible to deactivate my account so I just hid my profile. Someone could easily screenshot my shit and send it to him and it would look bad but there would be an explanation. I needed more information.

So I requested it. And was immediately given the “What more evidence do you need? If you feel in your heart that maybe he is cheating here is your proof. Pay attention be smart about it and love yourself enough not to be played.”

What You Not Gonna Do

…is drop me a random screenshot of the boyfriend, try to plant a seed of discord in my life and drop the mic. I got questions! First of all, how do you know me? How do you know that this is my dude? It’s not impossible to figure out who the boyfriend is—but it is difficult since we don’t follow or have any links to each other on any social media. So you either have to do some digging or you have to know me personally. What’s your backstory?

You also not gonna condescend to me like you are a loving mentor or big sister. You are a complete stranger and I have no context about your intentions whatsoever. Being smart is not accepting a public photo of your s/o with no other explanation or background about how the pic was obtained, etc. Screenshots of explicit conversations (with number displayed) and dated dick pics are acceptable along with further explanation about who you are. This humanizes you and at the very least makes me more willing to believe this random ass information that you’re supplying me. In 2016, side bitch culture has become the norm, there are plenty of women that have been scarred by the horrors of cheating and are simply waiting on the next ball to drop. Accusing a man of cheating is the easiest thing to do and something you really don’t need a lot of supporting evidence to prove anymore. A woman on the receiving end of the non-information usually just flies off the handle and starts making a list of names of people she wants to fight. As for me and my house, you need more people and more facts.

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There are women that forgive after cheating, and good for them! As for me…

And lastly, what you not gonna do is assume that I don’t love myself because you think and/or know that my man is cheating on me. Holy accountability, Batman! If a man cheats that’s on him, that shit is his choice and my ignorance of the fact does not make me a walking pile of low self-esteem. Furthermore, self-respect and choosing to forgive a partner for infidelity is not mutually exclusive. Women choose to forgive and work on their relationships with cheaters everyday—it is up to the people in the relationship to decide how they will handle such a situation. My eyes were opened to this fact just before my divorce—I thought I was the type of woman to stay in spite of infidelity and work on the relationship but then I slowly came to the realization that it’s not really the type of woman I am. That is my choice and in turn, I don’t look down on the women who decide to stay and work it out. God bless ‘em!

What You Should Do

I write this because the sad reality of life is that people—and dare I say, women specifically (sorry feminists)—are petty and vindictive and some actually want to see you completely fail at life. Revenge is a thing and arch nemeses are no longer just the stuff of comic books. I was driving around a crowded parking lot just the other day and I thought I happened upon an empty space. I darted over to claim it and just before pulling in I noticed an SUV hovering nearby. Not wanting to be the douchebag to steal his space I hesitated to allow the SUV the opportunity to claim it. About three seconds later I heard an angry voice yell “I DO NOT WANT THE FUCKING PARKING SPACE!” And there you have it…

People are assholes that don’t give a shit about politeness your feelings or anything of the sort. And the harsh reality is, if people are given the opportunity to be mean and shit all over your feelings they will choose to do so more often than not. I don’t automatically assume that strange women who approach me are good Samaritans worried about me and my self worth. On some level I believe that these incidents are related to the upstairs neighbor, but when I think about it all it honestly makes my brain hurt. I’m a regular ass woman, I don’t have time for sleuthing I have shit to do—but I will make time to share my experience and leave these thoughts with you.

If you are on the receiving end of this kind of thing my only advice would be for you to think before you act. It has nothing to do with trusting your intuition because when folk are coming at you sideways it fucks your intuition all the way up. You are not acting on a gut feeling but reacting to feelings of anger, hurt and maybe a little bit of embarrassment. No matter what you post on social media, in a blog or tell to friends—no one knows the inner workings of your relationship, how you choose to function, what you will and will not put up with and the reality behind appearances. I reject embarrassment and choose to put my business out there in moments like these in order to connect with others dealing with similar situations. Are there folks reading this shaking their heads and thinking “oh yeah she’s getting played” OF COURSE—but who cares? Those opinions, shaking heads and sounds of sympathy do nothing for my everyday life. I will handle as I see fit and I recommend the same for everybody because in the aftermath of it all the person bringing forward this juicy information never has to deal with the consequences of the events that unfold after the fact.

For those of you on the giving end of this kind of thing, I get it! A man is out there cheating and you are a super hero called to right the wrongs and bring a motherfucker to justice! However, do it like a lawyer and not a superhero. Provide the evidence, statistics, facts and be available to answer follow up questions—my GOD! You are a random woman coming out of the woodwork and accusing someone’s intimate partner of foul play, you are never going to be well received. Do yourself a favor and it keep it short and be precise and exact with how you choose to present the information. Realize that you are not this woman’s friend—this is not the movies and it will not be a meet-cute about how you met your future bff. You are coming in as the enemy by default so be cognizant and respectful of the fact. Wave the white flag of irrefutable evidence because planting a seed of doubt with faulty information is bullshit and will only be seen as shade and sabotage.

By that same token, there is also the option of not saying anything. What’s done in the dark comes to light—trust and believe. Whether you are involved as whistleblower or not that relationship will take the course it is supposed to and that will be that.

This isn’t my first rodeo.

Life goes on.

Cheating is not the end all be all.

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I have dealt with worse drama and yes I’m too old for this shit but that’s life. Bring it and I will handle it. I’m that bitch, and I won’t be harassed or passive aggressively bullied about no dumb shit.

 

 

 

Milk

Posted on by under The Crazy

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In my observation, one of the hardest things about modern dating, modern falling in love, modern commitment…is that there is no way of knowing how it’s all going to come to an end. With today’s technologies, attention spans and general cold attitude toward the feelings of others you just never know when your partner is going to send you that fateful “We’re done” text, then proceed to post pics of themselves on social media with the new bae. It sucks, and it kind of makes you not even want to bother with relationships in the first place.

What About Bob?

Before I go any further with this, I have to make the confession that I’m not quite as gangsta about this as I would like to be. Especially when I was in the online dating world I was a savage…ghosting people and not returning calls on a daily basis. I still feel only mild guilt about this because I hardly knew these people and I’m positive they’re over it by now. However, in an effort to not become a total douche bag I told myself I would officially break things off with anyone I had been dealing with for longer than a month.

Just last year as the holidays were around the corner and I was nearing the decision to close up my online dating account, I met a nice man (let’s call him Bob) that seemed pretty decent (meaning not a serial killer). As it turned out, he liked to go on dates, go for walks, talk on the phone and all that other stuff that most online dudes don’t like to do. He had just moved back to the area after living out of town for years so of course he had no car or job. However, none of this bothered me as I hopped in my car and traipsed across town to pick him up for dates.

Meanwhile, enter current beau JW, who I held no interest in whatsoever but just so happened to reach out to me during an open moment. As gorgeous as he was, I wasn’t interested in pursuing yet another dating dud so after meeting him I had no real plans to continue correspondence. I continued to date Bob, and while I wasn’t quite head over heels, I figured he was a genuinely nice guy that had begun to grow on me. However, JW showed persistence, I increased the time of day alloted to him and after more conversations I realized that I liked JW and wanted things to progress in his direction. But what about Bob?

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Well this is the part where I tell you that I told Bob I was seeing someone else, gave both Bob and JW equal quality time until my heart could decide which to keep. (I mean, technically it was perfectly ok for me to continue dating them both until one committed to make me girlfriend but that’s only something I recommend doing if both are equal contenders. If one guy is the clear front runner why not drop the other guy and try to add someone who can make it a healthy competition to the roster? That is, if you’re ok with the idea of dating multiple men…) But, nope! Bob pretty much got dumped via a slow fade out that I thought was classy and gracious but I looked back at my old text messages and realized that I was quite insensitive. Of this, I am not proud.

#WastingTime2016

We all know the right thing to do; if you’re not feeling someone anymore let them go. For the love of God, end it! 

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A few weeks ago, the hashtag #WasteHisTime2016 was trending on social media, and I believe it will probably be the most misunderstood trending subject of the year. I saw it simply described on Twitter as “…made by feminists to describe different ways to waste men’s time” but it is was much more than that. I don’t understand how when men post jokes about cheating on girls, having hoes and finally giving up hoes to settle down with wifey, collective humanity is supposed to jump for joy and shower them with “likes” and accolades. Women everywhere either have the sense of humor and give it a thumbs up, or we smile because we get it, its hilarious …but it also reflects a dating cruelty that’s been done to us and it feels awful to see it play out as some sort of joke on the internet. Waste his time 2016 was our time as women to finally to crack the jokes and have everyone laughing with us and not at us. For me, it was great testament to how strong women can be in spite of how we’ve been shitted on in our romantic lives. We aren’t always the weak ones; more often than not we are strong enough to heal, move on from losers and dare to love again.

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I am definitely an advocate for dating multiple people, keeping it casual, etc—but I do not condone disrespect. There is a way you can date around with no commitment without treating the women you are dating like a smorgasbord of hoes that deserve your inconsistent behavior and ambiguous communications. Why do you have to have a main bitch if you have side bitches? Why not just level with every woman in your life, date casually and if you then want to commit choose ONE and be about that life! If you don’t want to commit then continue on with your lazy susan of women as you please…but it’s just plain wrong to have one woman, that you supposedly like the most, thinking she is your one and only when she is not. If you are treating her like spoiled milk, pour her out. There’s plenty of new milk for you to drink.

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Things I Should Have Never Said and Did When I Expired

I’ve been a sidechick before. I found out after the fact and I truly felt that I was beyond the point of no return and I had no idea how to escape it. My subconscious thought literally was, “I’m in this. I am in love with him now, I can’t leave.” But of COURSE I could! I eventually lived up to the sidechicks dream and became a main but it was the most unhappy, paranoid and insecure time of my life. I didn’t deserve to be with an asshole with a proclivity toward cheating; always worried about who he was texting or what he was doing. Fuck that dude, I was a strawberry kiwi Starburst being treated like lemon!

Ironically, HE broke up with ME…poured me out and allowed me to be free. It was a long time coming but in retrospect I am grateful he let me go. I’m not sure that I ever would have done so myself. I beg of you, when your time comes, when relationship behavior changes and the writing is on the wall, do not be afraid to end things. Also, try not to do or say dumbass things that do absolutely nothing to help your healing process.

Famous Last Lines

-No one will ever love you like I do

Totally not true! Someone probably is currently loving all of my exes better than I could right now at this very moment. The beauty is I don’t care…and I never thought I would even get to that point.

-Social media stalking

Just don’t. I had a huge fight with the boyfriend just the other day and the first thing I did was unfollow him on Facebook. Once things go south in a relationship for me its morphing time and I literally turn into a Power Ranger with a special knack for jealousy and pettiness. So before I lit up his page with immaturity I recused myself. If you break up UNFRIEND (although I really think you shouldn’t follow each other on social media in the first place; do as I say not as I do!)

-I will never fall in love again

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I did; and were my relationship to end I probably would again. Falling in love is easy, remaining in love is the hard part. Trying and working and perseverance is the hard part and the part I think we mourn once relationships end. We resent all that hard work and effort we put into it. The romantic in me believes that someone worth fighting for is always bound to come along if I  am open and free myself from the thought that I am bound to the last person I was with. The practical part of me also knows that there is fulfillment outside of romantic relationships so if I never fall in love again maybe I’ll be a little saddened by that fact but overall I will be just fine.

Relationships from beginning to end are unpredictable. Lets remember to treat each other well, even if it means setting someone free, or making the courageous decision to free ourselves.

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6 Reasons You Can Totally and ABSOLUTELY Wear A Crop Top (if you want to)

Posted on by under The Crazy

**This is a sneak peak into my open mic set tonight!**

C Top

Even I absolutely and totally wear a crop top (when I want to)

 

6. Spanx (for that under belly action)

5. Men (if you care about their opinion at all) have short attention spans. They pay attention to the best parts of you and tend to ignore and forgive for the rest. Perk up the girls in a revealing top and fully enjoy that plate of nachos!

4. Flowy sweaters are equally forgiving of any weight transgressions and/or body flaws. If you’re not comfortable in your skin just YET and want to try the new crop top trend flowy sweaters are your friend!

3. You are not Kim Kardashian—you are You Jones (or whatever your last name is), your body is not your money maker (unless you’re a stripper then you are probably wearing a lot less than a crop top…)you don’t have to worry about being criticized and/or living up to the impossible beauty standards of some rich person married to Kanye West. You can’t afford surgery, and do you really want to do 2,000 sit ups a day when you can watch Love and Hip Hop while eating nachos? (Especially, the supreme kind with all the sour cream…)

2. Winnie the Pooh  has slayed in a cute little crop top with no pants for years.

1. The number one reason you can totally and absolutely wear a crop top (if you want to) is because life is best lived when you give less than (but not equal to) two shits about what anyone thinks about you and your body. Love it, dress it well, and be happy in it, dammit 🙂

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Nutrisystem Diaries

Posted on by under The Crazy

LOGO LEAF

My nutrisystem was delivered last night! I ripped open the box and quickly selected a few menu items to take with me to JW’s house. I was excited—and he was excited for me in the most diplomatic way possible.

I told him the news through the curtain in the bathroom as he showered. “That’s great, baby. You’re going to lose a lot of weight and feel good.” Kind of a slippery slope thing for him to say (for any man to make any comment about any woman’s weight EVER), but I feel like I know him well enough to realize that he likes me as I am and just wants me to feel the same. Later as I attempted to climb into bed while still wearing my shirt, he flashes me a flirty grin and softly suggests I take it off. The thought, to me, is horrifying. I don’t want my belly flip flopping in bed as we lay together and I don’t want to have to worry about jiggling or moving too much in general—but what baby wants, baby gets. We’ve been together long enough, but I still feel shy in those moments…the shirt came off.

He rubbed my back and said, “Look at you…” Feeling slightly more at ease I lay down on the pillows. He leaned over me and cupped my face. “You are so beautiful,” he said.

THIS is the moment I will use to propel me forward in my weight loss efforts.

 

Also, I took 3 shits today………

Instagram Pretty

Posted on by under The Crazy

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Going through some things and scrolling through social media is NOT helping. Why is everyone on everything every where just so fucking hot? Am I the only one that has to take like 40 selfies with specific lighting before I find one that’s just kind of decent enough for me to dare posting?

Maybe I need to hire a make up artist that does contouring,  or quit the open mic stuff and do the introverted writer thing full time. I don’t know,  I’m still mulling it over.  I think the last time I tried to send a sexy pic to my man I ended up using a filter so dark I’m sure he could barely make out my facial features. Anyway, it’s definitely not a good time in the world to have low self esteem because the hot bitch cup runneth over. Advice for the regular ass looking chicks out there? Flaunt your personality like a big booty ho and no one will even notice the difference. Worth it once you learn to perfect it…but still haven’t figured out how to capture all that personality in a Facebook profile pic.

Plus-sized Fun! Embrace the Crazy Vacation

Posted on by under The Crazy
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After chillin on the nude beaches of Lake Tahoe beach day with the kids was a piece of cake.

A few weeks ago I looked over the shoulder of one of my guy friends watching as he used his phone to lurk on the social media pages of pretty girls. One women was gorgeous in the face but as we scrolled through her Instagram page it became obvious that we weren’t going to find any full shots of her body (obviously much more his concern than mine). “Oh, you know what that means?  She’s a plus-sized woman.” He said matter of factly.

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Needless to say, this bothered me and thus the idea to exploit myself during my own vacation was born. I knew that I was finally going to visit some friends in a warm climate where I couldn’t avoid the ugly truth of hot weather clothes and bathing suits. On top of this, these friends had less than a year ago won a fitness contest and have nearly perfect bodies so there was a considerable amount of anxiety and body self-consciousness starting to creep up in the back of my mind. How had I gotten myself into this one?

Based on the way I dress and the sometimes outrageous way I carry myself, most people assume that I have confidence leaking out of my pores. The absolute truth– obvious if you read the blog– is that I’m the largest I’ve ever been in my entire life (size 14/16) and definitely not happy about it. Shit,  I wasn’t happy when I was at my smallest because compared to all those other compact women with the shapely booties I was still missing the mark and I felt it. It was only recently that I adapted the attitude that it’s important for me to always aspire to reach my weight goals but in the meantime there is nothing wrong with learning to appreciate and present my body for what it is. So in the spirit of my newfound philosophy,  she who does not take pictures (my tribal name) decided to stop being so self conscious for once and go out there and live without comparing myself to other women for once. The end result: I had a blast!

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Hanging out at the Jurassic 5 show. I danced sooo much and for once wasn't shy or self-conscious about taking pictures

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On top of being hyper aware of my body I lost my entire makeup bag and had to deal w wearing the bare minimum. Not gonna lie I felt super exposed without my layers

I received a lot of support posting some of these random pics on social media and I was glad. Aside from the flattering feeling it brings when people “like” your posts and show you their approval–my main reason for doing this is because I never would have in the past. I found vacation pictures from years ago and I flipped through each image lamenting the fact that I looked so fat and ugly. This time around I just wanted to be able to look through my old pictures and remember that I had an awesome time.

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The beautiful and peaceful Lake Tahoe

Something about living carefree and even spending time on the nude beaches of Lake Tahoe taught me that life is about enjoying each moment and not being so fixated on the thoughts of others. My body is far from perfect and I find that society is usually receptive to body types that are smaller thus more pleasing to the eyesight but until I get to the size I want to be it certainly doesn’t mean I have to cover up like a nun and be ashamed. I can only hope that one other person sees this and identifies with my common struggle. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I definitely feel that I should be among the people that holds myself in high regard no matter what size I wear and if I’m wearing makeup or not. There are enough people in this world to tear me down over shallow matters– I refuse to join them.

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My last night of dancing

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Hanging w the gorgeous fitness girls. We had so much fun I was able to forget about my size anxiety and focus on goofing off and enjoying myself

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Fin

I Hate People/ Why I Stopped Following Rihanna on Instagram

Posted on by under The Crazy

The truth of the matter is that I hate people. I probably shouldn’t say that—and there really is no way to say that without sounding like a douchebag but I really and truly do. The world is in competition with you whether you like it, or even notice it or not. Driving on the highway every morning is not me commuting to get to work—it is a race with everyone on the freaking Interstate—and it doesn’t seem to matter that we are all going to separate locations.

Perhaps the thing I hate most about people is that I am just like them. I am a people, too. I take the same amount of selfies, I care too much about what others think, I suck up to the boss, I laugh at things that more mean than they are funny, I am judgy, I lie, cheat and steal. Barf—I’m just really not feeling myself these days…or ANYONE for that matter (except maybe the boyfriend because he provides me with sexy time).

Love Yourself

Anyway, the absolute worst enemy to the  low self-esteem, self-hate, phoniness  movement that exists in the millennial world today is: social media. People want you to admire, to be envious, to hate, love, CARE—all of that—and usually I am ok but I can’t help but to find myself caught in a downward spiral of depression about it sometimes. Her abs, his shoes, their relationship, their car, house, dog, cat, hair, job STOP!!!!!! As an empath I find myself desperately wanting to be happy for others and their lives and accomplishments but deep down I’m just like, “Shut. the fuck up.” Do we really have to brag about EVERYTHING? It’s to the point where so many people are always boasting about SOMEthing it makes me only want to share my small wins and moments of happiness with a small and very select group of friends. Happiness is not happiness anymore—it is a competition. Keeping your strategies to yourself is  by far, the best way to “win”.

I’m sick of writing this, though so…to make up for this ramble; here’s a post from a couple of years ago about some other shit I don’t like…

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Look at her– absolutely gorgeous, right? She wears awesome clothes, has a great body and seems super self-assured: FOLLOW.

I made the decision to follow Rihanna on Instagram because of the reasons listed above. I know she’s a celebrity but something about her seems a little trashy and believable so in my book, kinda cool. However, day after day of scrolling down my timeline and seeing various super fun pics with hashtags like “look at you, now look at us” and “my, insert whatever it is here, is better than yours” just left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I hate that we are at the point in this world where we can’t even pretend to have humility! If I had a body like hers I would post a half naked pic of myself on IG every single day– but I would not hashtag it with #sexygirl or #youcanthavethis. With all due respect, shut the fuck up!

It is her instagram and she certainly has the right to put whatever she wants on it, but I don’t understand why looking at YOUR page has to be a humiliating experience for ME. Yes, you are rich and gorgeous. Oh cool, look at all the free stuff big name fashion designers have given you. What’s that? Oh, a pic of your grandpa AND for whatever reason he’s better than my grandpa. Oook, my grandpa is not alive so you win that contest by default but when did it become a competition? Can’t I just see you enjoying your shit without comparing it to mine…we are completely different people!

And now, of course, I see my friends doing it and I can’t scroll my IG or Facebook page without making the (-_-) face. I am happy that you are happy and have a lot of stuff. I do not want your fiancé, your new shoes. Ok your daughter is prettier than mine, you have longer hair, your cousin is the best cousin– GOOD FOR YOU!!! I think I’m going to start instagramming my past due utility bills: #poorerthanyou #mycreditscorelowerthanyours. Sighhh, yet another thing in society I really don’t get. The minute I do get it, I’m sure a light will go off in my brain (that is no doubt smarter than yours) and I will decide to “follow” Rihanna again.

Until then,  UNFOLLOW!

Why Don’t You Love Me

Posted on by under The Crazy

I usually make it a point to hate on Beyonce, for no other reason than the fact that it’s so unfair that she’s so freakin beautiful and talented. Life is just so awesome for pretty chicks, right? Maybe not so much. Watching her flawless face crying prettily and lamenting “Why don’t you love me?” endeared me to her and made me realize that we are not that different from each other.

What she expressed in this song is a sentiment that can bring even the hottest of bitches to their knees. Everyday I hear beautiful women talk of loneliness and sharing messages of longing on social media trying to satiate some need of being wanted. It’s not unheard of to seek out the validation and approval of others, and it’s nothing to be ashamed about. It’s a message; a generic message to reach just the one. The one who snuck underneath your skin and permanently resides in the fold beneath your heart. The one that makes your pulse rate quicken in reaction to an innocent thought, and the one you dare to dream about although you know that life is not made of fairytales and it will only ever be a fantasy. You look in the mirror and your eyes aren’t as bright as before, your smile no longer alluring, your body no longer shapely. People may look at you in desire and envy while you’re out and about, but you know in your heart that you’re ugly, because that one person can’t see just how beautiful you are.

There’s nothing not to love about me… I’m lovely.

(Video Courtesy of BeyonceVEVO)