bag lady.
digital nerd.
beauty junkie.
shoe whore.
sucker for big words and box-fresh kicks.
know a little bit about a lot of things and have something to say about everything.
2/24/11
about me...
Thinking...
Had a talk with my college adviser today. He told me the most amazing news. I'm close. Very close. An end is in sight. I've got a full schedule for the next few quarters those but I'm actually proud of myself. Juris Doctorate is close. I'm smiling.
That's all
That's all
2/22/11
Reveal
This woman is so beautiful that I sucked in air when I first saw the commercial...truthful words
Allstar Halftime Show
So, I'm a bit of a fitness buff, but Rihanna's thighs were KILLING ME! I just kept saying, maybe I do need to eat a few more twinkies. Love the little black mini corset, not really feeling the red extensions. Obviously she realizes she's not the strongest vocalist, however, I can see improvement in her stage presence. She looks like she is having fun and not taking herself too seriously. Go momma! and again...dang your thighs is the TRUTH!
2/16/11
Of Self Love
Today’s prompt teases me at the top of the page (The One Minute Writer)
Something you love about yourself.
It makes me wonder how we define self-love these days. Is it the Me Me Me culture of social networking, where you fill photo albums with self-portraits and proclaim your awesomeness via status updates? Is it in the way we carry ourselves and perform everyday tasks? Is it the decisions we make about our lives? Or some combination of all these things?
Self-love and depression are sworn enemies. Neither tolerates the other and they’ve had some knock-down, drag out fights in my head. For every kind word I give myself is a counteractive negative thought to discount it.
Me: I love the way I look in tanks and jeans and sneakers.
Depression: Who are you fooling? No one’s checking for your whole ‘I’m so naturally beautiful I’m above being fashionable crap.’ Get you some MAC and a pair of leggings.
Me: *stares in mirror for a few more seconds* You know what? Shut up with that bull. I look good.
So yeah. Self-love can get pretty tricky around these parts.
It’s not the showy “Look at how awesome I think I am” game that it was in my early 20s, but rather a commitment to being kind, gentle and forgiving with myself and being ready to do battle with that nagging voice in my head that tries to tear me down. It’s about embracing myself as I am, respecting my limitations and building a life including people and situations that bring out the best in me.
That’s how I love myself.
Back to the question at hand: What do I love about myself?
1.I love my body. After years of wishing I had a few more pounds of this and couple more inches of that, I have finally learned to love what I’m working with. I spend an extra five minutes in the mirror every morning after my shower and now and then comes that nagging "eewww, too boney". Then I think of what some other folks I know are working with and smile. It’s probably the most vain act of my day, but with poor body image being a nationwide epidemic, I figure I’ve earned these five minutes of daily conceit.
2.I love that I’m a survivor. For every fall I’ve endured, a great comeback has accompanied it.
3.I own my flaws. A practice I learned from Marshall Mathers. Now tell these people something they don’t know about me.
4.I love my writing. I have an intense love/hate relationship with my pen. I try not to absorb critiques or praise too much and just keep the pen moving, but occasionally, I’ll look at something I’ve written and say “Damn. I am kinda good at this.”
That's all for now. I've got a 5 page paper on Aristotle that I've been procrastinating on for 2 months...it's due, tomorrow at noon!
Something you love about yourself.
It makes me wonder how we define self-love these days. Is it the Me Me Me culture of social networking, where you fill photo albums with self-portraits and proclaim your awesomeness via status updates? Is it in the way we carry ourselves and perform everyday tasks? Is it the decisions we make about our lives? Or some combination of all these things?
Self-love and depression are sworn enemies. Neither tolerates the other and they’ve had some knock-down, drag out fights in my head. For every kind word I give myself is a counteractive negative thought to discount it.
Me: I love the way I look in tanks and jeans and sneakers.
Depression: Who are you fooling? No one’s checking for your whole ‘I’m so naturally beautiful I’m above being fashionable crap.’ Get you some MAC and a pair of leggings.
Me: *stares in mirror for a few more seconds* You know what? Shut up with that bull. I look good.
So yeah. Self-love can get pretty tricky around these parts.
It’s not the showy “Look at how awesome I think I am” game that it was in my early 20s, but rather a commitment to being kind, gentle and forgiving with myself and being ready to do battle with that nagging voice in my head that tries to tear me down. It’s about embracing myself as I am, respecting my limitations and building a life including people and situations that bring out the best in me.
That’s how I love myself.
Back to the question at hand: What do I love about myself?
1.I love my body. After years of wishing I had a few more pounds of this and couple more inches of that, I have finally learned to love what I’m working with. I spend an extra five minutes in the mirror every morning after my shower and now and then comes that nagging "eewww, too boney". Then I think of what some other folks I know are working with and smile. It’s probably the most vain act of my day, but with poor body image being a nationwide epidemic, I figure I’ve earned these five minutes of daily conceit.
2.I love that I’m a survivor. For every fall I’ve endured, a great comeback has accompanied it.
3.I own my flaws. A practice I learned from Marshall Mathers. Now tell these people something they don’t know about me.
4.I love my writing. I have an intense love/hate relationship with my pen. I try not to absorb critiques or praise too much and just keep the pen moving, but occasionally, I’ll look at something I’ve written and say “Damn. I am kinda good at this.”
That's all for now. I've got a 5 page paper on Aristotle that I've been procrastinating on for 2 months...it's due, tomorrow at noon!
2/15/11
Mental Demons...
[To keep my pen moving, I’ll be using the 30 Days of Blogging as writing prompts. Today’s prompt: “Something you hate about yourself.” ]
I hate that I’m mentally ill.
I became aware of my illness before I knew how to label it. I was 16 years old, my boyfriend's family had just been transferred to another base and I felt like the lonelist person in the world. One afternoon, as I sat alone in the bedroom laying in my bed with the tv turned on its side so I could watch it the correct way as I layed in my bed I burst into tears. I took an entire bottle of vicodine and went to sleep. God said "not so" and sent a friend over to hang out. We went walking and I walked in a fog the entire time, for hours. I never told anyone. When I got home, I cried again. I cried everyday after that no matter what. I hadn’t hurt myself. I wasn’t watching a sad movie or television show. Out of nowhere, I was overcome by a wave of melancholy that forced my small body into the fetal position each day and leaked down my face. At one point I even had a new boyfriend and still I cried everyday and I had no idea why I cried, In the which scared me and thus made me cry more hysterically. This was not normal. I was crazy.
I wouldn’t acknowledge my depression until just last year. I constantly would go in and out of it. I was fine for months and then it would hit me and I literally had days when I couldn't get out of bed. After delivering my third child I almost lost it completely and the doctor medicated me. The thought that I was nursing, frightened me to not taking it so I MADE myself put on a happy face. I was failing miserably at being a wife, mother, friend, person but I pushed through each day and sometimes cried at night despite being told all my life wha a great job I was doing. I was clueless and crippled by feelings of panic regarding the state of my future. Stopped eating and sleeping. Alienated friends. Considered running away, quitting and suicide. After my second child I found out my tolerance to alcohol had suddenly increased and tequilla numbed the pain enough for me to go to sleep each night. I laughed and joked about two shots of patron, but literally, it helped me get to sleep until 2am, then I would be up for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling and pacing the floor. Anything to stop the pain. This was more than a hard time. I was sick. Last year, I finally battled back from where I started. I turned to Jesus, layed face in the floor and pleaded for his mercy and to save me from all of this. Turned Marvin Sapp "The best in me" on repeat to ward off whatever evil was trying to attack me. Crawled into bed and slept. I woke up with a new start and I've done my best to give it to him now whenever I feel under attack.
Through all of my depressive episodes I always believed that clinical depression was a phase. A demon, that I’d one day defeat and be rid of for the rest of my life. Following my rededication to the Lord Jesus Christ, my recovery made me feel unstoppable. Depression? It is no match for me.
So I thought. I've had my battles and somedays I fight and plead and tell God to handle this.
Some days to fight it off I am forced to self-evaluate. I've discovered there are behaviors I’d blamed on depression, that were actually just my personality traits. Introspection and emotional intensity weren’t symptoms of an illness, but rather aspects of my personality that made me more vulnerable to the illness. Often it's a daily balancing act. Defeating the illness ultimately meant managing it, and managing it meant accepting that it wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
Honestly, I hate my depression. I hate that it sometimes gives me limitations that I have to respect for the sake of my well-being. Deep down, there is an ambitious, competitive, take the world by the balls girl who wants to conquer everything. I’m stuck with this mental bully who manipulates that drive and turns it into self-loathing. A mental bully that can kill me. I have to temper my approach to life to protect myself. I wouldn’t run a marathon if I had arthritis in my knees. I can’t rush toward huge life challenges with a mental illness.
So I play the balancing game. Constantly adjusting my responsibilities. Pacing myself in achieving my vision. Analyzing my every thought to differentiate those that push me forward from those looking to bring me down (you’d be shocked at how similar they sound sometimes). I accept that this is who I am and eventually, I will learn to totally love it.
I’m praying that day comes quickly.
I hate that I’m mentally ill.
I became aware of my illness before I knew how to label it. I was 16 years old, my boyfriend's family had just been transferred to another base and I felt like the lonelist person in the world. One afternoon, as I sat alone in the bedroom laying in my bed with the tv turned on its side so I could watch it the correct way as I layed in my bed I burst into tears. I took an entire bottle of vicodine and went to sleep. God said "not so" and sent a friend over to hang out. We went walking and I walked in a fog the entire time, for hours. I never told anyone. When I got home, I cried again. I cried everyday after that no matter what. I hadn’t hurt myself. I wasn’t watching a sad movie or television show. Out of nowhere, I was overcome by a wave of melancholy that forced my small body into the fetal position each day and leaked down my face. At one point I even had a new boyfriend and still I cried everyday and I had no idea why I cried, In the which scared me and thus made me cry more hysterically. This was not normal. I was crazy.
I wouldn’t acknowledge my depression until just last year. I constantly would go in and out of it. I was fine for months and then it would hit me and I literally had days when I couldn't get out of bed. After delivering my third child I almost lost it completely and the doctor medicated me. The thought that I was nursing, frightened me to not taking it so I MADE myself put on a happy face. I was failing miserably at being a wife, mother, friend, person but I pushed through each day and sometimes cried at night despite being told all my life wha a great job I was doing. I was clueless and crippled by feelings of panic regarding the state of my future. Stopped eating and sleeping. Alienated friends. Considered running away, quitting and suicide. After my second child I found out my tolerance to alcohol had suddenly increased and tequilla numbed the pain enough for me to go to sleep each night. I laughed and joked about two shots of patron, but literally, it helped me get to sleep until 2am, then I would be up for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling and pacing the floor. Anything to stop the pain. This was more than a hard time. I was sick. Last year, I finally battled back from where I started. I turned to Jesus, layed face in the floor and pleaded for his mercy and to save me from all of this. Turned Marvin Sapp "The best in me" on repeat to ward off whatever evil was trying to attack me. Crawled into bed and slept. I woke up with a new start and I've done my best to give it to him now whenever I feel under attack.
Through all of my depressive episodes I always believed that clinical depression was a phase. A demon, that I’d one day defeat and be rid of for the rest of my life. Following my rededication to the Lord Jesus Christ, my recovery made me feel unstoppable. Depression? It is no match for me.
So I thought. I've had my battles and somedays I fight and plead and tell God to handle this.
Some days to fight it off I am forced to self-evaluate. I've discovered there are behaviors I’d blamed on depression, that were actually just my personality traits. Introspection and emotional intensity weren’t symptoms of an illness, but rather aspects of my personality that made me more vulnerable to the illness. Often it's a daily balancing act. Defeating the illness ultimately meant managing it, and managing it meant accepting that it wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
Honestly, I hate my depression. I hate that it sometimes gives me limitations that I have to respect for the sake of my well-being. Deep down, there is an ambitious, competitive, take the world by the balls girl who wants to conquer everything. I’m stuck with this mental bully who manipulates that drive and turns it into self-loathing. A mental bully that can kill me. I have to temper my approach to life to protect myself. I wouldn’t run a marathon if I had arthritis in my knees. I can’t rush toward huge life challenges with a mental illness.
So I play the balancing game. Constantly adjusting my responsibilities. Pacing myself in achieving my vision. Analyzing my every thought to differentiate those that push me forward from those looking to bring me down (you’d be shocked at how similar they sound sometimes). I accept that this is who I am and eventually, I will learn to totally love it.
I’m praying that day comes quickly.
What! What did they say?
That's What She Said?
Some people have WTF moments. Me? I more frequently have “Wait!What did they say?!” moments. Times when I’m only half-paying attention to what’s going on around me, then suddenly pick up on a small piece of something that sounds funny, interesting, or just flat out foolish. I will be randomly documenting my Wait! What did they say?! moments on this blog. You know, to give you folks something to read when I’m not in personal crisis and whatnot.
One of my favorite ways to pass the time when I’m at home is to download and Youtube 90s R&B tracks. Aside from 90s R&B being one of my two favorite music genres, it’s just flat out fun to re-evaluate some of the lyrics to these songs from an adult perspective. I often discover that I either a) had no business listening to and singing some of this stuff or b) didn’t realize how ridiculous some of the lyrics were until I had the wisdom and experience to match them.
Last night was a case of the latter.
After downloading Blackstreet’s “Another Level” album, I wanted to hear the remix of “I Can’t Get You Out of My Mind,” which was featured on the soundtrack to Hav Plenty (a horrible, yet incredible dope indie film from the late 90s). I recalled that I loved the song when it was originally released and couldn’t wait to hear it again so I fired up YouTube in search of the video.
I cranked up and I sang along, I found myself thinking “Wait! What did he say?!” as soon as I hit the second verse.
Um. Excuse me sir. Did you just bang your girl’s best friend? And your only defense is that she was so fine and willing that you just couldn’t resist? What?!
Oh, but it gets better folks. Much better.
So now, you’re picking up random women in random cars? And your woman was crazy to think that you didn’t have a Grade A pimp game. But that’s all out of your system and you want her back. Oh. Ok.
What’s bad is that even though the lyrics of this song are straight foolery, it STILL jams. I found myself playing it back at least five or six times before I was tired of it. Damn you Teddy Riley for your hypnotic production and proper use of that vocoder.
And um speaking of Teddy Riley… what was with folks sitting in empty bathtubs in videos for sad love songs? When I was younger, I assumed this was normal behavior. At 27, I’ve been through a good amount of breakups and can’t recall any desire to sit in an empty bathtub in my sorrow. Or do you only get this urge if you play guitar? Any guitar players reading this? Please advise.
That’s it for today’s installment of Wait! What did he say?!
Some people have WTF moments. Me? I more frequently have “Wait!What did they say?!” moments. Times when I’m only half-paying attention to what’s going on around me, then suddenly pick up on a small piece of something that sounds funny, interesting, or just flat out foolish. I will be randomly documenting my Wait! What did they say?! moments on this blog. You know, to give you folks something to read when I’m not in personal crisis and whatnot.
One of my favorite ways to pass the time when I’m at home is to download and Youtube 90s R&B tracks. Aside from 90s R&B being one of my two favorite music genres, it’s just flat out fun to re-evaluate some of the lyrics to these songs from an adult perspective. I often discover that I either a) had no business listening to and singing some of this stuff or b) didn’t realize how ridiculous some of the lyrics were until I had the wisdom and experience to match them.
Last night was a case of the latter.
After downloading Blackstreet’s “Another Level” album, I wanted to hear the remix of “I Can’t Get You Out of My Mind,” which was featured on the soundtrack to Hav Plenty (a horrible, yet incredible dope indie film from the late 90s). I recalled that I loved the song when it was originally released and couldn’t wait to hear it again so I fired up YouTube in search of the video.
I cranked up and I sang along, I found myself thinking “Wait! What did he say?!” as soon as I hit the second verse.
Baby girl/What can I do/I told you once before, yo’ girl playa hatin’ on you/She played me close/one too many times/I had to put it on her/she was so damn fine
Um. Excuse me sir. Did you just bang your girl’s best friend? And your only defense is that she was so fine and willing that you just couldn’t resist? What?!
Oh, but it gets better folks. Much better.
Well what about the girl in the 64/She didn’t mean a damn thing to me, babe/She needed a ride from the gym/and being the man that I am/I said ‘you can.”/And what about the girl in the drop top/with the lollipop/at the light by the bus stop/You must’ve been fooled into thinkin the kid would slack/but I did my thang and now I want my baby back
So now, you’re picking up random women in random cars? And your woman was crazy to think that you didn’t have a Grade A pimp game. But that’s all out of your system and you want her back. Oh. Ok.
What’s bad is that even though the lyrics of this song are straight foolery, it STILL jams. I found myself playing it back at least five or six times before I was tired of it. Damn you Teddy Riley for your hypnotic production and proper use of that vocoder.
And um speaking of Teddy Riley… what was with folks sitting in empty bathtubs in videos for sad love songs? When I was younger, I assumed this was normal behavior. At 27, I’ve been through a good amount of breakups and can’t recall any desire to sit in an empty bathtub in my sorrow. Or do you only get this urge if you play guitar? Any guitar players reading this? Please advise.
That’s it for today’s installment of Wait! What did he say?!
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