When I was about 13 or 14 years old, my Dad and stepmom sent me to Barbizon. I know that sounds cheezy as fuck, but it was actually a really great experience. It's supposed to be a "modeling school" but it was really more about etiquette, performance and self-confidence than anything. And it was incredibly fun and very interesting.
One of the activities you participated in was a work out class. When the school gave you a list of the clothing you needed for your time there, exercise clothes were on the list. My stepmother, not knowing any better, bought me this adorable leotard/stretch pants combo thingy with polka dots. I had no idea that girls were just going to be working out in straight up sweats or boxer shorts. Yikes.
I had made a friend there, and I can't remember her name now, but she was a really cute brunette. Her face reminded me of my current hair stylist; really open and kind. I remember when we were all talking about ourselves she divulged that one of the things she does daily is match her undergarments to her outfit. I thought that was adorable. She also sometimes wore violet-colored contacts and had one pupil shaped like a tear drop instead of a circle and I thought that was badass. Anyway.
It's time to "work out" and I come strolling out in this rando leotard combo. I'm a very smiley and confident person and I must have been wearing my shock and discomfort all over my face because at a quiet moment in the class, when she knew nobody could hear her, she leaned over and whispered "If you're feeling weird or uncomfortable about that outfit, you can just tie my zip up hoodie around your waist. That will look totally cute". And she handed me her zip up. And I did. And it did. I looked like when Cher and Tai work out in Clueless.
I don't know why, but that has stuck with me all these years. She was a very pretty girl and a very sweet girl and I thought it was so mature the way, even at that young age, she was able to discreetly help me out without the slightest hint of teenage snark in her voice. Just a very honest effort to make another girl feel comfortable during a weird time in their lives.
I lost track of her in high school, but I hope wherever she is, she's doing well and lighting the world up with her charm.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Taters.
My littlest little sister is in love with me.
She's not even actually my sister. By regulatory standards, she would be my niece, but her father was never legally adopted by my parents. He's so much older than me, that he had a hand in raising me, just like I had a hand in raising her, so she and I have much more of a "sisters" relationship.
She is addicted to me. Not in a way where she floods me and bugs me constantly when I'm away, but if I text our Austrian exchange sister, Hannah, she will text me no more than 30 seconds later in a fit of jealousy asking why I didn't text her. And I like that. I love when the girls need me.
If I am home with her, yes, it's a constant thing. She has to be touching me every second. If I sit, she sits next to me. Or lies her head on my lap. Or spoons me like a body pillow. She must always have a hand or a foot on me at all times. She is constantly touching my face or winding her fingers into my hair.
She's not even a little girl, she's 14. And I hope she never ever grows out of it. I love having little sisters.
I moved to California 2 weeks after she was born. I held her exactly one time and then didn't see her again until she was a year and a half old. A very different situation than I had with her 2 other sisters who I spent time with almost daily. When I did see her, I think, at first, she didn't feel the same bond that a little girl feels with you when you take care of her as a baby. A Baby knows your smell, your voice, they have a very deep sense of you. When she was 5, I moved back to Michigan briefly and I took care of her all the time so she started to develop that attachment. I think she also saw the bond between the other 2 girls and I so she just trusted deep down that we were obviously family even though she didn't see me all the time. Very much the same way I felt about her father when I was her age. He was older, he was out of the house, but there were pictures of him and when he did come around, he was my brother. I didn't know him as anything else.
Sometimes I wonder if she's making up for that lost time now when she hangs on to me so tightly. She's also a very different personality than her other sisters, she's very much like me. Very bouncy, very sassy, very giggly and pouty all at the same time. Even her father says he can't believe we're not actually related because she's a clone of me when I was her age. Maybe when I'm around, she feels that similar connection and clings to it. She loves her other sisters fiercely, more than she loves me, but you just have a slightly different feeling when a kindred spirit is around.
Its very difficult to watch her get older and talk about boys and ask me for advice on things I don't think she's mature enough to handle. It's hard to know that she's probably one day not going to want to curl up next to me and sleep with her head on my shoulder. And what will be the worst is if she really doesn't grow out of it naturally; knowing that one day the best thing for her will be to pry her arms from around my waste and encourage her to use them as wings to go to other parts of the world and love me from a far distance, just the way I loved her when she was born.
She's not even actually my sister. By regulatory standards, she would be my niece, but her father was never legally adopted by my parents. He's so much older than me, that he had a hand in raising me, just like I had a hand in raising her, so she and I have much more of a "sisters" relationship.
She is addicted to me. Not in a way where she floods me and bugs me constantly when I'm away, but if I text our Austrian exchange sister, Hannah, she will text me no more than 30 seconds later in a fit of jealousy asking why I didn't text her. And I like that. I love when the girls need me.
If I am home with her, yes, it's a constant thing. She has to be touching me every second. If I sit, she sits next to me. Or lies her head on my lap. Or spoons me like a body pillow. She must always have a hand or a foot on me at all times. She is constantly touching my face or winding her fingers into my hair.
She's not even a little girl, she's 14. And I hope she never ever grows out of it. I love having little sisters.
I moved to California 2 weeks after she was born. I held her exactly one time and then didn't see her again until she was a year and a half old. A very different situation than I had with her 2 other sisters who I spent time with almost daily. When I did see her, I think, at first, she didn't feel the same bond that a little girl feels with you when you take care of her as a baby. A Baby knows your smell, your voice, they have a very deep sense of you. When she was 5, I moved back to Michigan briefly and I took care of her all the time so she started to develop that attachment. I think she also saw the bond between the other 2 girls and I so she just trusted deep down that we were obviously family even though she didn't see me all the time. Very much the same way I felt about her father when I was her age. He was older, he was out of the house, but there were pictures of him and when he did come around, he was my brother. I didn't know him as anything else.
Sometimes I wonder if she's making up for that lost time now when she hangs on to me so tightly. She's also a very different personality than her other sisters, she's very much like me. Very bouncy, very sassy, very giggly and pouty all at the same time. Even her father says he can't believe we're not actually related because she's a clone of me when I was her age. Maybe when I'm around, she feels that similar connection and clings to it. She loves her other sisters fiercely, more than she loves me, but you just have a slightly different feeling when a kindred spirit is around.
Its very difficult to watch her get older and talk about boys and ask me for advice on things I don't think she's mature enough to handle. It's hard to know that she's probably one day not going to want to curl up next to me and sleep with her head on my shoulder. And what will be the worst is if she really doesn't grow out of it naturally; knowing that one day the best thing for her will be to pry her arms from around my waste and encourage her to use them as wings to go to other parts of the world and love me from a far distance, just the way I loved her when she was born.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
I Honestly Go Because It Makes Me Look And Feel Awesome Naked....
Here are the facts of people, fitness and talking about it. (according to me)
1. Non-Fitness People really hate when Fitness People talk about being fit. Posting on social media, tagging themselves at the gym, mentioning a new goal, ordering a salad at a pizza party. Anything.
2. Non-Fitness People hate this for several reasons: a) they know they are unhealthy, yet they're addicted to this lifestyle but don't want to feel guilty for ruining the one body they get for this life. b) they absolutely know they should be doing a variation of fit things, but lack the proper motivation to start. c) they are gravely unhappy with the state of their health, but don't think doing anything about it will make a difference.
3. If Non-Fitness People don't hate Fitness People, I respect that shit. Everybody has their something, so if you just rock out to the fact that you eat butter with a spoon and chain smoke, yet cheer me on when I talk about almost being able to do the splits in barre class, I fucking dig you. I won't ask you to do yoga with me unless you express interest and you know that when you offer me a piece of casserole I'm probably not going to eat it.
4. If Non-Fitness People ask to go work out with me, I will hound them until they do. And they don't even have to go to Pure Barre, we can go to yoga or a beginner Zumba bullshit whatever. The first step to any destination is always the most intimidating. I'm totally willing to take that first step with anyone. You ONLY get this body for this trip. This is your vessel. Even the healthiest of people have problems so you might as well give yourself the most strength and best chances you can.
5. If Non-Fitness People go to a class with me and half ass it, they will hear about it. I will push them to do better and try harder. I can be sweating and shaking in class and my Pure Barre instructor will still sweetly smile at me like Satan while raising my leg higher and telling me not to take a break. I will also be right there telling the Non-Fitness Person all the parts they are doing really well and how I can see them getting stronger, just like my roomie (who is ridiculously in shape and flexible) does for me. Everyone needs a champion. No matter the subject. But you DEF need a champion during physical fitness.
6. Fitness people talk about it all the time because it's really hard work. It's commitment and dedication and sacrifice. And you want to be really proud of yourself when you do hard work. It's really that simple. When you watch your body change or you're able to do things you weren't before, you want to tell people "Watch me do the splits!" or "Oh, let me lift that for you so you can see my bicep". Bear with us. I know it seems self-indulgent, but we're really just proud.
7. Look, Non-Fitness People, do you know why men love strippers? It's not just because of all that ass, all that ass, and all them tits. Have you ever taken a pole class or been to a strip club? These women have incredible strength and flexibility. Go ahead and attempt to swing around a pole right now while looking sexy. Not as easy as you thought, huh? Sure, dudes love it because there's nudity, but they also love to see muscle doing it's job. Men don't like the weird strippers that stumble around the club like Weekend At Bernie's hoping they're boobs alone get them by, they love the strippers that climb the pole and twirl and slide into the splits and do rad tricks! And rad tricks take the upper body strength of a gorilla, so I totes respect them. No stripper shaming here. Well... from a fitness standpoint anyway.
I'm rambling. The moral of the story is lets try our best to champion each other and be our healthiest selves. Because even 32 year olds have heart attacks. Also, head to the strip club and the gym soon. Being fit is more fun than you think.
1. Non-Fitness People really hate when Fitness People talk about being fit. Posting on social media, tagging themselves at the gym, mentioning a new goal, ordering a salad at a pizza party. Anything.
2. Non-Fitness People hate this for several reasons: a) they know they are unhealthy, yet they're addicted to this lifestyle but don't want to feel guilty for ruining the one body they get for this life. b) they absolutely know they should be doing a variation of fit things, but lack the proper motivation to start. c) they are gravely unhappy with the state of their health, but don't think doing anything about it will make a difference.
3. If Non-Fitness People don't hate Fitness People, I respect that shit. Everybody has their something, so if you just rock out to the fact that you eat butter with a spoon and chain smoke, yet cheer me on when I talk about almost being able to do the splits in barre class, I fucking dig you. I won't ask you to do yoga with me unless you express interest and you know that when you offer me a piece of casserole I'm probably not going to eat it.
4. If Non-Fitness People ask to go work out with me, I will hound them until they do. And they don't even have to go to Pure Barre, we can go to yoga or a beginner Zumba bullshit whatever. The first step to any destination is always the most intimidating. I'm totally willing to take that first step with anyone. You ONLY get this body for this trip. This is your vessel. Even the healthiest of people have problems so you might as well give yourself the most strength and best chances you can.
5. If Non-Fitness People go to a class with me and half ass it, they will hear about it. I will push them to do better and try harder. I can be sweating and shaking in class and my Pure Barre instructor will still sweetly smile at me like Satan while raising my leg higher and telling me not to take a break. I will also be right there telling the Non-Fitness Person all the parts they are doing really well and how I can see them getting stronger, just like my roomie (who is ridiculously in shape and flexible) does for me. Everyone needs a champion. No matter the subject. But you DEF need a champion during physical fitness.
6. Fitness people talk about it all the time because it's really hard work. It's commitment and dedication and sacrifice. And you want to be really proud of yourself when you do hard work. It's really that simple. When you watch your body change or you're able to do things you weren't before, you want to tell people "Watch me do the splits!" or "Oh, let me lift that for you so you can see my bicep". Bear with us. I know it seems self-indulgent, but we're really just proud.
7. Look, Non-Fitness People, do you know why men love strippers? It's not just because of all that ass, all that ass, and all them tits. Have you ever taken a pole class or been to a strip club? These women have incredible strength and flexibility. Go ahead and attempt to swing around a pole right now while looking sexy. Not as easy as you thought, huh? Sure, dudes love it because there's nudity, but they also love to see muscle doing it's job. Men don't like the weird strippers that stumble around the club like Weekend At Bernie's hoping they're boobs alone get them by, they love the strippers that climb the pole and twirl and slide into the splits and do rad tricks! And rad tricks take the upper body strength of a gorilla, so I totes respect them. No stripper shaming here. Well... from a fitness standpoint anyway.
I'm rambling. The moral of the story is lets try our best to champion each other and be our healthiest selves. Because even 32 year olds have heart attacks. Also, head to the strip club and the gym soon. Being fit is more fun than you think.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Banks Is Right. Love Really Is A Waiting Game
You know, one second you're trucking along in life, sending your sometimes boyfriend (for lack of anything better or more technical to call him) a text bitching at him for not texting you back, and then his response is "sorry. I had a heart attack". After the obvious responses of "What??" and "Are you serious? This isn't a funny little joke." and the return of "Yes. I'll call when I can", your mind pretty much checks out on anything else.
He's not a great texter, he constantly misspells and fat-fingers things, so there was a small part of me thinking he was referring to his mother or father because he's only 32 years old and is incredibly athletic and very in shape. He doesn't eat a ton of fat, he doesn't drink a ton of alcohol, he plays tennis and soccer and does yoga, he just ran a marathon, he lives a very carefree lifestyle, he's been a little ball of sporty, healthy energy his whole life, he couldn't possibly have meant him. So I call. And I call again. Because now I'm in full panic mode that someone I love has actually just had a heart attack at 32 years old and I have no idea what real condition he's in because if it were me, even if I were being rushed into surgery at that very moment, I'd be all "It's cool, I'm fine, call in a bit" so my mind is just fucking racing now.
He assures me that he's fine several times over text and he'll call when he can and then also reminds me "Believe it or not, this isn't about you", which felt like being verbally slapped across the face, so I attempt to pull it together and stay calm, but that just turns into me saying I'm about to drive to Detroit at that very moment. He says not to. (Now, note to self, I should remember what this medicine tastes like, because it's some of my own. Denying someone their urge to care for you and you to acknowledge that caring is about the cruelest of moves. And I know it well. It's something I practice when someone hurts me or potentially could hurt me or I'm having very prideful moments.) I know I have to listen to him and just stay put because even in my most caring moments, my energy is manic and I buzz with it and I know he doesn't need that right now. I know he's very scared and very worried about what this means and how to handle it.
I am really trying to hold it together and I know it's selfish to want to force my way into a hospital room, so I'm just here. Staring at a white screen. Writing a fucking blog because I don't know what else to do with my time or how to think about anything else but my own feelings. People breezing in and out of my office and static of their words buzzing around my head, but I am unable to focus on anything else but his face in my head and the thought of him on anesthesia and heart monitors stuck to his skin and people in the hospital making too much noise for him to sleep and him thinking about having physical limitations or not being able to do anything and everything he wants. Normally I'd hate that he does that, but now I'd literally give him money to go to the strip club as long as he can do it whenever he wants. I just want to tickle his back or get him water or switch his laundry from the washer to the dryer because he doesn't feel like going to the basement. If he lets me visit and the doctors are all "Well, he needs half your heart now, maybe all of your blood. Probably a kidney." I'd just sign the waiver and ask how quickly they can get it out of me and into him because the thought of someone so full of life that I care about so much needing anything (and apparently, not needing) from me rips me apart. Take it. Take it all. Don't deny me the cross I love to bear. Ride or die.
He's not a great texter, he constantly misspells and fat-fingers things, so there was a small part of me thinking he was referring to his mother or father because he's only 32 years old and is incredibly athletic and very in shape. He doesn't eat a ton of fat, he doesn't drink a ton of alcohol, he plays tennis and soccer and does yoga, he just ran a marathon, he lives a very carefree lifestyle, he's been a little ball of sporty, healthy energy his whole life, he couldn't possibly have meant him. So I call. And I call again. Because now I'm in full panic mode that someone I love has actually just had a heart attack at 32 years old and I have no idea what real condition he's in because if it were me, even if I were being rushed into surgery at that very moment, I'd be all "It's cool, I'm fine, call in a bit" so my mind is just fucking racing now.
He assures me that he's fine several times over text and he'll call when he can and then also reminds me "Believe it or not, this isn't about you", which felt like being verbally slapped across the face, so I attempt to pull it together and stay calm, but that just turns into me saying I'm about to drive to Detroit at that very moment. He says not to. (Now, note to self, I should remember what this medicine tastes like, because it's some of my own. Denying someone their urge to care for you and you to acknowledge that caring is about the cruelest of moves. And I know it well. It's something I practice when someone hurts me or potentially could hurt me or I'm having very prideful moments.) I know I have to listen to him and just stay put because even in my most caring moments, my energy is manic and I buzz with it and I know he doesn't need that right now. I know he's very scared and very worried about what this means and how to handle it.
I am really trying to hold it together and I know it's selfish to want to force my way into a hospital room, so I'm just here. Staring at a white screen. Writing a fucking blog because I don't know what else to do with my time or how to think about anything else but my own feelings. People breezing in and out of my office and static of their words buzzing around my head, but I am unable to focus on anything else but his face in my head and the thought of him on anesthesia and heart monitors stuck to his skin and people in the hospital making too much noise for him to sleep and him thinking about having physical limitations or not being able to do anything and everything he wants. Normally I'd hate that he does that, but now I'd literally give him money to go to the strip club as long as he can do it whenever he wants. I just want to tickle his back or get him water or switch his laundry from the washer to the dryer because he doesn't feel like going to the basement. If he lets me visit and the doctors are all "Well, he needs half your heart now, maybe all of your blood. Probably a kidney." I'd just sign the waiver and ask how quickly they can get it out of me and into him because the thought of someone so full of life that I care about so much needing anything (and apparently, not needing) from me rips me apart. Take it. Take it all. Don't deny me the cross I love to bear. Ride or die.
Friday, February 14, 2014
I Could Write An Entire Novel About My Life In The Nineties. I Shit You Not.
The early to mid 90's were amazing. Especially for music and pop culture for high school kids!
Early on, hair metal was beginning to morph and fade. We were all still listening to it because we're from a rural community where there's nothing better to do than act like a bad ass at the county fair, but it's prime was passing. This music would always stick with us through our lives, but a new genre was emerging that would take us all over for quite some time. Hip Hop.
My first year of high school, 1991/1992, was a rough one as my body went through a HUGE change while I fatted up for surgery and then had said surgery, then lost weight accordingly and shot up 4 inches in height. I had to wear a lot of stretchy fabrics, and there was no better time! But my style was still trying to evolve from middle schooler to high schooler all while being intensely small! I was still hanging on to the pulled up sweats of the 80's, possibly topped off with a B.U.M. Equipment hoodie or Hypercolor long sleeve t-shirt. But then next day, actual stirrup stretch pants with a long sweater and long necklace with pendant of planet earth with a ton of people holding hands like I was a human rights activist dressed for an office job. Imagine EnVogue doing an interview at a nice restaurant. Loving some Bel Biv Devoe, New Edition, Boyz II Men, just making mix tapes left and RIGHT. The go to "hot girl" stuff to wear was a tight black skirt with black nylons and black stilettos. You could put a Cosby sweater on top as long as you had that combo on the bottom.
Heading into Sophomore year, more of the same. Hip Hop was SWEEPING the nation. Even the preppiest of prepsters was rocking a Starter jacket or an NBA jersey at some point. Jeans were beginning to come un-tight-rolled and get a little baggier, the bigger the sweatshirt you were wearing, the better. We were ALL starting to look like human rights activists, race relations counselors or hood rats. Watching Do The Right Thing, Boyz In The Hood, New Jack City. Disney movies were also popular. If you could mix a giant Mickey Mouse hoodie with your hilariously baggy jeans and Addidas, you were so fucking cool. It seems every single part of any media was touched with an Afrocentric vibe. I had to get a whole new wardrobe because I grew so much and I really couldn't decide what culture vibe I wanted to be a part of, so I was picking out Cross Colours Jeans and then understated Esprit sweatshirts....and wearing them together. Hip Hop Prep? Whatever, I digress. I was listening to so much TLC, De La Soul, Tony Tone Toni, Shanice, basically anything with black people at the time, you wouldn't believe it. Seriously so glorious! My winter formal dress was skin-tight, off the shoulder, dark green crushed velvet. With black stockings and shoes, of course. You're welcome for that image. Top it all off with a French twist, please.
When Junior year came along, I was sort of in flux. Alternative music was beginning to emerge bringing it's huge change in style along. Stripped down make up, button-fly CK jeans, flannels were now tied around the waste instead of inside-out sweatshirts, I had a thing for silk blouses. Especially ones with ruffles (but lets be serious, my whole life I have loved ruffles, ribbons, satin things, it has never gone away). Ace of Base and Lisa Loeb were rocking my world. Reality Bites showed me that alt girls could be cute too. Delia's catalog was showing me all about spaghetti strap tanks and that I didn't need to wear a bra all the time. I was still enjoying some hip hop because Salt-N-Pepa released Shoop and Whatta Man and I couldn't stop singing that shit, but it wasn't completely dominating the scene like before. I wore a cream, halter-neck, fit n flare brocade dress to prom that I REALLY still wish I had. Hootie and the Blowfish were about to release the CD Cracked Rear View and I was about to have one of the greatest summers ever known to a teenager. The summer before Senior year. So many damn parties in super questionable locations. I can't even express. Just sooooo many parties.
Senior year. 1995. The year of zero fucks given. I don't even remember a trend to what I was wearing. My black suede Puma's replaced my beloved canvas K-Swiss. I think I had totally worn out 2 different pairs of white canvas Polo boat shoes AND my blue Eddie Bauer ones as well. My bestie and I were partying so damn much that we would take showers after getting into the house well after curfew, then dress for school, literally have all of our clothes already on, then get up, do our hair, put shoes on and bounce to school. I was just CRANKING the Hootie, Garth Brooks, Sheryl Crow, and assorted hip hop. Gangsta's Paradise was considered so cool, but Notorious BIG was coming in and making hip hop and rap more legit gangster and fewer and fewer Keith Sweats were hitting it big. The East Coast/West Coast rap war was in full swing, but you probably couldn't hear it over how loudly I was still jamming Mr Big and Blessed Union of Souls. I was sneaking into over 18 clubs called terrible names like Bourbon Street and Stingers on Thursday nights thinking I was so damn cool all while ordering a sex on the beach. (barf). There was still a little of that Freshman girl wanting to be a grown ass business woman in me though as I wore a floor-length, black velvet, off the shoulder dress for homecoming that had gold beads hanging from the neckline and a side slit that left little to the imagination. I won Homecoming Queen in that mofo, so I care not.
It was a really great time. The song Beautiful by Miguel and Mariah Carey just came on and it's a perfect current song to hear while reflecting on those times. It was so carefree and though people told me, I had no idea that I'd never feel that free again. Never are you that void of responsibilities. I was safe and sound within the popular group inside my little school in my teeny-tiny town. Elementary school was great, sure, but there's something about the increased self-awareness combined with the lack of responsibility of high school that is so much sweeter. Wrap that up with falling in love, kissing, having sex for the first time and it's just so magical.
It's almost 20 years later and I still get a huge smile on my face every time I think about it.
Early on, hair metal was beginning to morph and fade. We were all still listening to it because we're from a rural community where there's nothing better to do than act like a bad ass at the county fair, but it's prime was passing. This music would always stick with us through our lives, but a new genre was emerging that would take us all over for quite some time. Hip Hop.
My first year of high school, 1991/1992, was a rough one as my body went through a HUGE change while I fatted up for surgery and then had said surgery, then lost weight accordingly and shot up 4 inches in height. I had to wear a lot of stretchy fabrics, and there was no better time! But my style was still trying to evolve from middle schooler to high schooler all while being intensely small! I was still hanging on to the pulled up sweats of the 80's, possibly topped off with a B.U.M. Equipment hoodie or Hypercolor long sleeve t-shirt. But then next day, actual stirrup stretch pants with a long sweater and long necklace with pendant of planet earth with a ton of people holding hands like I was a human rights activist dressed for an office job. Imagine EnVogue doing an interview at a nice restaurant. Loving some Bel Biv Devoe, New Edition, Boyz II Men, just making mix tapes left and RIGHT. The go to "hot girl" stuff to wear was a tight black skirt with black nylons and black stilettos. You could put a Cosby sweater on top as long as you had that combo on the bottom.
Heading into Sophomore year, more of the same. Hip Hop was SWEEPING the nation. Even the preppiest of prepsters was rocking a Starter jacket or an NBA jersey at some point. Jeans were beginning to come un-tight-rolled and get a little baggier, the bigger the sweatshirt you were wearing, the better. We were ALL starting to look like human rights activists, race relations counselors or hood rats. Watching Do The Right Thing, Boyz In The Hood, New Jack City. Disney movies were also popular. If you could mix a giant Mickey Mouse hoodie with your hilariously baggy jeans and Addidas, you were so fucking cool. It seems every single part of any media was touched with an Afrocentric vibe. I had to get a whole new wardrobe because I grew so much and I really couldn't decide what culture vibe I wanted to be a part of, so I was picking out Cross Colours Jeans and then understated Esprit sweatshirts....and wearing them together. Hip Hop Prep? Whatever, I digress. I was listening to so much TLC, De La Soul, Tony Tone Toni, Shanice, basically anything with black people at the time, you wouldn't believe it. Seriously so glorious! My winter formal dress was skin-tight, off the shoulder, dark green crushed velvet. With black stockings and shoes, of course. You're welcome for that image. Top it all off with a French twist, please.
When Junior year came along, I was sort of in flux. Alternative music was beginning to emerge bringing it's huge change in style along. Stripped down make up, button-fly CK jeans, flannels were now tied around the waste instead of inside-out sweatshirts, I had a thing for silk blouses. Especially ones with ruffles (but lets be serious, my whole life I have loved ruffles, ribbons, satin things, it has never gone away). Ace of Base and Lisa Loeb were rocking my world. Reality Bites showed me that alt girls could be cute too. Delia's catalog was showing me all about spaghetti strap tanks and that I didn't need to wear a bra all the time. I was still enjoying some hip hop because Salt-N-Pepa released Shoop and Whatta Man and I couldn't stop singing that shit, but it wasn't completely dominating the scene like before. I wore a cream, halter-neck, fit n flare brocade dress to prom that I REALLY still wish I had. Hootie and the Blowfish were about to release the CD Cracked Rear View and I was about to have one of the greatest summers ever known to a teenager. The summer before Senior year. So many damn parties in super questionable locations. I can't even express. Just sooooo many parties.
Senior year. 1995. The year of zero fucks given. I don't even remember a trend to what I was wearing. My black suede Puma's replaced my beloved canvas K-Swiss. I think I had totally worn out 2 different pairs of white canvas Polo boat shoes AND my blue Eddie Bauer ones as well. My bestie and I were partying so damn much that we would take showers after getting into the house well after curfew, then dress for school, literally have all of our clothes already on, then get up, do our hair, put shoes on and bounce to school. I was just CRANKING the Hootie, Garth Brooks, Sheryl Crow, and assorted hip hop. Gangsta's Paradise was considered so cool, but Notorious BIG was coming in and making hip hop and rap more legit gangster and fewer and fewer Keith Sweats were hitting it big. The East Coast/West Coast rap war was in full swing, but you probably couldn't hear it over how loudly I was still jamming Mr Big and Blessed Union of Souls. I was sneaking into over 18 clubs called terrible names like Bourbon Street and Stingers on Thursday nights thinking I was so damn cool all while ordering a sex on the beach. (barf). There was still a little of that Freshman girl wanting to be a grown ass business woman in me though as I wore a floor-length, black velvet, off the shoulder dress for homecoming that had gold beads hanging from the neckline and a side slit that left little to the imagination. I won Homecoming Queen in that mofo, so I care not.
It was a really great time. The song Beautiful by Miguel and Mariah Carey just came on and it's a perfect current song to hear while reflecting on those times. It was so carefree and though people told me, I had no idea that I'd never feel that free again. Never are you that void of responsibilities. I was safe and sound within the popular group inside my little school in my teeny-tiny town. Elementary school was great, sure, but there's something about the increased self-awareness combined with the lack of responsibility of high school that is so much sweeter. Wrap that up with falling in love, kissing, having sex for the first time and it's just so magical.
It's almost 20 years later and I still get a huge smile on my face every time I think about it.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
TURN DOWN FOR WHAT
This morning I woke up to a friend texting me Happy Birthday, but also alerting me that one of our archnemesis was posting on facebook again about our hometown's summer festival. In a burst of sheer joy and curiosity I threw open my laptop to see what this nutbar said. Then I saw messages and remembered it was my birthday and felt as giddy as a little kid.
As I was getting ready for work and fielding sweet messages and texts, I heard a bird singing. I was so shocked and excited I actually put down my make up brush to close my eyes and listen. It has been so cold and bitter that the sound of a bird felt like a heat lamp.
Listening to the bird reminded me that I had been dreaming it was a warm spring day right before waking. I was wearing an orange sun dress and I was stopping at a store to pick up beer and snacks for CC and Kathy. It was a happy, relaxed dream and so bright and the grass was all so green. It made me so hopeful and anxious for warm days and good times ahead.
I opened my eyes and kept listening to the bird, who despite the cold, just continued singing the entire time I was painting my face. I thought of what a sweet surprise that is. No reason to sing, very cold outside, I'm sure there's not much food around, but still a song to belt out.
As I left for work, I couldn't believe the sun was already rising. I looked at my phone to make sure I wasn't late. I realized it's just that time of winter, when mother nature starts to give you glimmers of hope that spring is really coming. It totally felt like that little bird was singing just for me. And the sun showed her face a little earlier just for me. Maybe it's because I have enough grateful, thankful, happy energy to turn the earth a little faster toward warmth. Maybe it's because I'm a super-delusional egomaniac. I don't know! But, either way you're all welcome!
I just bopped to work with that little bird's song in my head and the sun rising in front of me and thought about how rad it is that we're all alive and sharing this time; I really thought 37 would feel so much older or just very different than it does. 37 feels great. It feels sexy and wise and honest. I always thought I would be having to act a certain way to be "ok" at 37, but really, all I feel about 37, and what I imagine that adorable little bird was singing this morning is....... TURN DOWN FOR WHAT?!
TURN DOWN FOR WHAT?! Lil Jon
As I was getting ready for work and fielding sweet messages and texts, I heard a bird singing. I was so shocked and excited I actually put down my make up brush to close my eyes and listen. It has been so cold and bitter that the sound of a bird felt like a heat lamp.
Listening to the bird reminded me that I had been dreaming it was a warm spring day right before waking. I was wearing an orange sun dress and I was stopping at a store to pick up beer and snacks for CC and Kathy. It was a happy, relaxed dream and so bright and the grass was all so green. It made me so hopeful and anxious for warm days and good times ahead.
I opened my eyes and kept listening to the bird, who despite the cold, just continued singing the entire time I was painting my face. I thought of what a sweet surprise that is. No reason to sing, very cold outside, I'm sure there's not much food around, but still a song to belt out.
As I left for work, I couldn't believe the sun was already rising. I looked at my phone to make sure I wasn't late. I realized it's just that time of winter, when mother nature starts to give you glimmers of hope that spring is really coming. It totally felt like that little bird was singing just for me. And the sun showed her face a little earlier just for me. Maybe it's because I have enough grateful, thankful, happy energy to turn the earth a little faster toward warmth. Maybe it's because I'm a super-delusional egomaniac. I don't know! But, either way you're all welcome!
I just bopped to work with that little bird's song in my head and the sun rising in front of me and thought about how rad it is that we're all alive and sharing this time; I really thought 37 would feel so much older or just very different than it does. 37 feels great. It feels sexy and wise and honest. I always thought I would be having to act a certain way to be "ok" at 37, but really, all I feel about 37, and what I imagine that adorable little bird was singing this morning is....... TURN DOWN FOR WHAT?!
TURN DOWN FOR WHAT?! Lil Jon
Monday, February 10, 2014
Everything Is Awesome
When I was younger, my thought process was so much more chaotic, but with creation and learning instead of self-doubt and insecurity.
I didn't yet feel or understand or regard with much care the opinions or judgments of others which allowed me to be more creative, and I believe, ultimately happy. I focused very little on my outward appearance and so much on what my brain was telling me and the results were fantastic. My knowledge was almost exclusively for me.
The older I get, the less I care about the opinions of others and it allows a creativity and a silliness to come out of me I haven't felt since childhood and I love that.
It helps to have amazing people in my life who champion this kind of free and individualistic thinking. I mean, one of my dude friends is an Emory/Harvard educated doctor and we had a morning filled with brunch at the good gay bar, copious amounts of laughter, air drum solos, figure skating and early 90's hip hop, which we then followed up with watching the Lego Movie. Then after that, we grabbed lunch and had an amazing discussion about selecting thoughts and whether positive self affirmations work or if it's all a matter of time. Such fun mixed with such smarts. Very brunch. So Lego. Just a really good day.
Really reminded me of childhood, but so much better as I have my health and a bank account.
I didn't yet feel or understand or regard with much care the opinions or judgments of others which allowed me to be more creative, and I believe, ultimately happy. I focused very little on my outward appearance and so much on what my brain was telling me and the results were fantastic. My knowledge was almost exclusively for me.
The older I get, the less I care about the opinions of others and it allows a creativity and a silliness to come out of me I haven't felt since childhood and I love that.
It helps to have amazing people in my life who champion this kind of free and individualistic thinking. I mean, one of my dude friends is an Emory/Harvard educated doctor and we had a morning filled with brunch at the good gay bar, copious amounts of laughter, air drum solos, figure skating and early 90's hip hop, which we then followed up with watching the Lego Movie. Then after that, we grabbed lunch and had an amazing discussion about selecting thoughts and whether positive self affirmations work or if it's all a matter of time. Such fun mixed with such smarts. Very brunch. So Lego. Just a really good day.
Really reminded me of childhood, but so much better as I have my health and a bank account.
Friday, February 7, 2014
Be Present. Especially At Traffic Lights.
Don't you guys think it's an amazing time to be alive???
Is it because I'm in my 30's and I had always been told that these would be the most important years of my life physically, sexually and mentally? Is it because I'm surrounded with friends and love and beauty? Is it because I work out so often I have constant endorphins pumpin'? I have no idea, but my little brain and heart runneth over with joy. I'm about to turn 37 and I honestly feel happier, smarter, stronger and healthier than I did at 27. Benjamin Button much?
Even in this shittiest of winters I can remember since being a small child, I'm not even really grumpy about it. I just strap on the Uggs every day and granny-drive my way to work at 30mph max. #goaroundmefucker. Maybe because snow falling is beautiful. Maybe because the cold, brisk air feels shocking and fresh and empowering. Maybe because it's fun to picture that first day in spring when I'm muddy and dirty on the Prairie with the animals and there's sunshine on my face and the smell of growing grass in my nose and the taste of cheap beer in my mouth.
Maybe it's being surrounded by wonderful, smart, diverse, hilarious friends both new and old that make me feel so loved and special and present. Maybe it's that smile he gives me in the middle of the night when he wakes up and realizes I'm still in bed and I haven't gone to work yet. Maybe it's being in my office with my candle burning, getting stuff done (or blogging).
Maybe it's shedding the past and not worrying about the future, but soaking up every second of the present.
Maybe it's the fact that a truck blew through a red light this morning and almost smashed into a bus which would have then smashed into me. Live in the moment.
Is it because I'm in my 30's and I had always been told that these would be the most important years of my life physically, sexually and mentally? Is it because I'm surrounded with friends and love and beauty? Is it because I work out so often I have constant endorphins pumpin'? I have no idea, but my little brain and heart runneth over with joy. I'm about to turn 37 and I honestly feel happier, smarter, stronger and healthier than I did at 27. Benjamin Button much?
Even in this shittiest of winters I can remember since being a small child, I'm not even really grumpy about it. I just strap on the Uggs every day and granny-drive my way to work at 30mph max. #goaroundmefucker. Maybe because snow falling is beautiful. Maybe because the cold, brisk air feels shocking and fresh and empowering. Maybe because it's fun to picture that first day in spring when I'm muddy and dirty on the Prairie with the animals and there's sunshine on my face and the smell of growing grass in my nose and the taste of cheap beer in my mouth.
Maybe it's being surrounded by wonderful, smart, diverse, hilarious friends both new and old that make me feel so loved and special and present. Maybe it's that smile he gives me in the middle of the night when he wakes up and realizes I'm still in bed and I haven't gone to work yet. Maybe it's being in my office with my candle burning, getting stuff done (or blogging).
Maybe it's shedding the past and not worrying about the future, but soaking up every second of the present.
Maybe it's the fact that a truck blew through a red light this morning and almost smashed into a bus which would have then smashed into me. Live in the moment.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
I'm Still Not Sure I've Sobered Up Completely...
Ok, so, my thoughts are still not organized enough on the Ski Sesh to make a blog that reads well, so I'm just going to start blurting shit out. I have a lot on my mind, ok?? I have a masquerade ball at the Detroit Institute of Art on Saturday and I just now selected a dress that is neither a ball gown nor has even a centimeter of room to spare. Then I just proceeded to eat a burrito and a piece of cherry pie for lunch. Shit is going to get so real so fast if my dress rips. Good thing I'll be wearing a mask.
I digress....
So, ski sesh starts with BMO making the list of a lifetime that has ALL of our meals and food on it. We girls gather early to Starbuck and Shop and gossip. We pack her Jeep so damn full, that my head is literally resting on a bag of tortilla chips. I'm planning to zone out and sleep anyway, so this fact does not bother me. I never do get to zone out or sleep, because in true fashion, we gab and laugh the entire trip up north.
Upon arrival, there's one car of people behind us and they help us unload and set up. It works out well and we are ready to receive everyone!! I decide it's important to make a drink. I literally still can't remember what we cooked for dinner night one. I know I helped make a Caesar salad... but lights went out pretty fast so I could save up for Friday and Saturday. Black out and then black out. That's my thing. Great night of boozing and fun and meeting anyone I didn't know. The last thing I remember is the hot tub being full of people and me yelling at them in jest. Not sure why I didn't get in, I must have been preoccupied.
Friday morning. The skiers get ready to shred and get out the door fairly early. The rest of us mill about after group breakfast and make mimosas. I decide this is when I shall hot tub. I get immediately drunk. I'm happy about it. We decide to go to Nub's to shop and eat at the pub and watch the shredders shred. I continue to drink booze in hot cider. I almost buy a hat with neon squirrels on it and a shirt for JD that reads #OutOfTheOffice. I don't buy either because I wander back to my drink and forget. Upon arrival back at the table, I learn that one of our skiers barfed off the chair lifts resulting in what our friends in the lift behind him called "Vomit Rain". I laugh uncontrollably. BMO decides that peeling out of the parking lot is the best way to let everyone know we've started partying/make me piss my pants. She slides around all the way back and I am clutching Nick's arm and hiding my eyes, praying I get another night of drinking before my imminent death at her hands (one way or another). We get back, take short naps and start prepping for dinner, which I remember this time, is grilled meets and they were the TITS. Some groups are playing cards, some are playing pool and watching the game downstairs, everyone is having a blasty blast. I decide it's time for hot tub again at this point. I have not stopped drinking. I have already emptied a bottle of Svedka and we've been there just over 24 hours. We pile in the hot tub where a spirited game of Truth Or Dare ensues resulting in me getting to see Rob very naked, me kissing Lindsey on the mouth, and Jules YOLOing another girl in the only bathroom in the house that locks. I would call this a raging success. There is also a video online of this blessed event where we bully a girl into claiming that "Sacajawea was a badass motherfucker and so liberated". Yes. That happened. But I only remember now because it's documented. After this, I'm very unsure what happens until it's time to go to bed and BMO and I laugh until my throat hurts. I eventually sleep. Around 2-3am.
Saturday morning is rough. People aren't moving as fast. Mimosas are going down slightly slower. The shredders aren't as excited to get to the slopes. I drink a mimosa right away to hold off the hangover I know is coming for me. We go into town exploring. I drink a glass of wine and eat some veggies to prepare for the heavy raging I plan to do later. Upon return, we immediately take naps while the skiers are still out and they wake us up as they arrive home. More drinks. So many more drinks. Moscow Mules. It's time for the sweater party. We are all drunk. There is so much booze flying everywhere I can almost not remember much of anything. BMO gets naked and takes her champagne bath. I stay in the room with her to make sure she doesn't accidentally drown. She shakes one bottle up and sprays it everywhere while screaming "DO WHAT I WANT". I fall down laughing. As soon as she gets a few Ambien in her and into bed for her night nap, (She awoke later for the rally of a lifetime) I go dominate flip cup. Like, I saved a struggling team. I wore a 3 wolves t shirt. I give out a lot of hugs. I ask Rob to get naked again, and he immediately complies. I tell him to strip down to only the wool socks and too-small ladies cardigan he's wearing and lift the kegs for a photo shoot. He happily agrees and there are at least 250 pictures of this on multiple phones complete with passers by. It is heavenly. Oh, I forgot, we had Mexican night and the meal was delish. So, then we just booze and booze and yell and sing and dance and love each other and the last thing I remember is being curled up, head on chest, in the club chair getting snuggled. I am told it's time to go to bed. I agree. But while he's changing into PJ's, I decide to have an in depth conversation about my Austrian little exchange sister with the German guy in our group. I'm doing a fantastic impression of her when my friend CB comes down stairs, starts rubbing her ass all over the German's crotch without saying a word and leads him away. It was beautiful. I then get an arm around me guiding me to bed as I have gained a second wind and he likes to squash those before they really get going. I am snuggled and smooched to sleep somewhere around 4:30am. (the next morning I try to say I was only up until midnight. Everyone just shakes their head at me and informs me otherwise)
The next morning is a nightmare. I forget to have any alcohol, so by the time my hangover sets in, it's too late. Many people are consoling me and attempting to help, but I just want to hurry out of there. About half way home, I try to sleep away the shakes and spins. It pretty much works. With the help of Pringles and Vernor's. Once home, I load my car up and wait for him to be done with his Super Bowl party. I think "man, we're both just too partied out and tired to have a sexy night, I'm probably going to fall asleep". I head to the house anyway because its the good girl thing to do. Upon arrival, it's 9:30, I've just eaten a turkey sandwich, I'm struggling to plug my phone charger in, he's laughing at me and I think I'm just done son. But then he kisses me. And oh man. Next thing I know, I'm bruised, we've showered twice, he's attempting to hug me to bring my heart rate down and calm my senses, we're cleaning up all the things we wrecked and putting the laundry on and it's 2am. We lie down and debrief as we watch the cinematic masterpiece Showgirls and I tickle his back. As I wake up 3 hours later to go to work, he does his best baby talk and snuggle smoke show to get me to call in sick, but too much of a good thing is too much of a good thing and I kiss his forehead and escape his clutches just in time. Because I was already thinking of excuses for my boss. whew.
All in all. A rager of a weekend. Honestly, one of the most fun times I can remember with an insanely fun, smart, social group of people. And it most definitely went out with a bang. My neck still hurts.
I digress....
So, ski sesh starts with BMO making the list of a lifetime that has ALL of our meals and food on it. We girls gather early to Starbuck and Shop and gossip. We pack her Jeep so damn full, that my head is literally resting on a bag of tortilla chips. I'm planning to zone out and sleep anyway, so this fact does not bother me. I never do get to zone out or sleep, because in true fashion, we gab and laugh the entire trip up north.
Upon arrival, there's one car of people behind us and they help us unload and set up. It works out well and we are ready to receive everyone!! I decide it's important to make a drink. I literally still can't remember what we cooked for dinner night one. I know I helped make a Caesar salad... but lights went out pretty fast so I could save up for Friday and Saturday. Black out and then black out. That's my thing. Great night of boozing and fun and meeting anyone I didn't know. The last thing I remember is the hot tub being full of people and me yelling at them in jest. Not sure why I didn't get in, I must have been preoccupied.
Friday morning. The skiers get ready to shred and get out the door fairly early. The rest of us mill about after group breakfast and make mimosas. I decide this is when I shall hot tub. I get immediately drunk. I'm happy about it. We decide to go to Nub's to shop and eat at the pub and watch the shredders shred. I continue to drink booze in hot cider. I almost buy a hat with neon squirrels on it and a shirt for JD that reads #OutOfTheOffice. I don't buy either because I wander back to my drink and forget. Upon arrival back at the table, I learn that one of our skiers barfed off the chair lifts resulting in what our friends in the lift behind him called "Vomit Rain". I laugh uncontrollably. BMO decides that peeling out of the parking lot is the best way to let everyone know we've started partying/make me piss my pants. She slides around all the way back and I am clutching Nick's arm and hiding my eyes, praying I get another night of drinking before my imminent death at her hands (one way or another). We get back, take short naps and start prepping for dinner, which I remember this time, is grilled meets and they were the TITS. Some groups are playing cards, some are playing pool and watching the game downstairs, everyone is having a blasty blast. I decide it's time for hot tub again at this point. I have not stopped drinking. I have already emptied a bottle of Svedka and we've been there just over 24 hours. We pile in the hot tub where a spirited game of Truth Or Dare ensues resulting in me getting to see Rob very naked, me kissing Lindsey on the mouth, and Jules YOLOing another girl in the only bathroom in the house that locks. I would call this a raging success. There is also a video online of this blessed event where we bully a girl into claiming that "Sacajawea was a badass motherfucker and so liberated". Yes. That happened. But I only remember now because it's documented. After this, I'm very unsure what happens until it's time to go to bed and BMO and I laugh until my throat hurts. I eventually sleep. Around 2-3am.
Saturday morning is rough. People aren't moving as fast. Mimosas are going down slightly slower. The shredders aren't as excited to get to the slopes. I drink a mimosa right away to hold off the hangover I know is coming for me. We go into town exploring. I drink a glass of wine and eat some veggies to prepare for the heavy raging I plan to do later. Upon return, we immediately take naps while the skiers are still out and they wake us up as they arrive home. More drinks. So many more drinks. Moscow Mules. It's time for the sweater party. We are all drunk. There is so much booze flying everywhere I can almost not remember much of anything. BMO gets naked and takes her champagne bath. I stay in the room with her to make sure she doesn't accidentally drown. She shakes one bottle up and sprays it everywhere while screaming "DO WHAT I WANT". I fall down laughing. As soon as she gets a few Ambien in her and into bed for her night nap, (She awoke later for the rally of a lifetime) I go dominate flip cup. Like, I saved a struggling team. I wore a 3 wolves t shirt. I give out a lot of hugs. I ask Rob to get naked again, and he immediately complies. I tell him to strip down to only the wool socks and too-small ladies cardigan he's wearing and lift the kegs for a photo shoot. He happily agrees and there are at least 250 pictures of this on multiple phones complete with passers by. It is heavenly. Oh, I forgot, we had Mexican night and the meal was delish. So, then we just booze and booze and yell and sing and dance and love each other and the last thing I remember is being curled up, head on chest, in the club chair getting snuggled. I am told it's time to go to bed. I agree. But while he's changing into PJ's, I decide to have an in depth conversation about my Austrian little exchange sister with the German guy in our group. I'm doing a fantastic impression of her when my friend CB comes down stairs, starts rubbing her ass all over the German's crotch without saying a word and leads him away. It was beautiful. I then get an arm around me guiding me to bed as I have gained a second wind and he likes to squash those before they really get going. I am snuggled and smooched to sleep somewhere around 4:30am. (the next morning I try to say I was only up until midnight. Everyone just shakes their head at me and informs me otherwise)
The next morning is a nightmare. I forget to have any alcohol, so by the time my hangover sets in, it's too late. Many people are consoling me and attempting to help, but I just want to hurry out of there. About half way home, I try to sleep away the shakes and spins. It pretty much works. With the help of Pringles and Vernor's. Once home, I load my car up and wait for him to be done with his Super Bowl party. I think "man, we're both just too partied out and tired to have a sexy night, I'm probably going to fall asleep". I head to the house anyway because its the good girl thing to do. Upon arrival, it's 9:30, I've just eaten a turkey sandwich, I'm struggling to plug my phone charger in, he's laughing at me and I think I'm just done son. But then he kisses me. And oh man. Next thing I know, I'm bruised, we've showered twice, he's attempting to hug me to bring my heart rate down and calm my senses, we're cleaning up all the things we wrecked and putting the laundry on and it's 2am. We lie down and debrief as we watch the cinematic masterpiece Showgirls and I tickle his back. As I wake up 3 hours later to go to work, he does his best baby talk and snuggle smoke show to get me to call in sick, but too much of a good thing is too much of a good thing and I kiss his forehead and escape his clutches just in time. Because I was already thinking of excuses for my boss. whew.
All in all. A rager of a weekend. Honestly, one of the most fun times I can remember with an insanely fun, smart, social group of people. And it most definitely went out with a bang. My neck still hurts.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
"Vomit Rain Happened Off A Chairlift"
I have been trying now for over 24 hours to gain the strength to write about Epic Ski Sesh 2014 and the sexcapade hijinks that ensued directly after, but honestly, my neck is still too sore (I'll leave it up to you to guess from which) and I still feel incredibly sleep deprived.
I'll try again later. Basically, we laughed, one girl cried, we raged, we shredded, and there was a lot of nudity.
I'll try again later. Basically, we laughed, one girl cried, we raged, we shredded, and there was a lot of nudity.
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