Journey To Di Road: Day 3 | McDonald's...

Yesterday did not go as planned, again.

At the movies (PS- MOANA is freakin' awesome and if you haven't seen it, whether or not you have a lil one, please get your life!), I told myself "order the ginger ale; it's gotta be better than the slushie." But then I promptly reminded myself to shut the fuck up because blue raspberry slushies were sent from the gods for us to enjoy here on earth. This was my actual thought process. I'm trying to help y'all understand how I ended up 55lbs overweight.

So I got the slushie. Plus a popcorn (to share!) and, well, a hot dog. As I was buying it, I told myself that this was my dinner. It was a crappy one, but I wasn't going to go home and cook so late at night and then eat and then go to sleep with that full belly, no way. Might as well just eat a crappy frank and call it a night.

But after the movie, and after traipsing through the Disney Store buying some MOANA merch, N and I made a fatal decision: we hopped on the D train instead of waiting for the F. Why is this important? Because the walk home from the D puts us in the line of fire of the Golden Arches. And we SURE DID GO IN THERE AND ORDER FOOD. She, a Big Mac meal; me, three-piece chicken strips and a medium fry (no drink, like it mattered at that point, but I just wasn't in the mood for a soda, and I can drink water at home for free).

And after I got home and shoved my face with all that salty goodness (LISTEN. McDonald's fries will NOT be defeated!), I half-heartedly worked on my monthly newsletter (due out this morning; Spoiler Alert: it was late!), then proceeded to play Panda Pop on my phone until I passed out from a sodium-induced coma. I'm failing at life so desperately, it's not even funny.

This is Day 3.

Breakfast: some trash-ass oatmeal from the cafe at work in an attempt to be healthy; I didn't even finish it
Snack: nothing today; I ate breakfast rather late
Lunch: something called a "Wild Chicken Bowl" from one of those fancy-schmancy health food/juice bars near work (of which I only managed to eat half because I swear they put a whole forest of kale in the bowl); it had CASHEW NUT CHEESE, which I consider my punishment for last night's debacle

The Wild Chichen Salad from Fuel Juice Bar, BK

Victories: took my supplements/vitamins; did not have candy from the work snack drawer; actually wrote this blog
WOMP Moments: didn't go to the gym; didn't get enough sleep; didn't drink enough water; don't have solid plans for dinner.

Are you seeing the pattern? Yeah, me, too, also, as well.

Tonight I will likely hang out with a friend, but it's the kind of friend that, if I say DO NOT LET ME EAT THAT SHIT, they, you know, won't let me eat that shit. I have high hopes. I might also get some food shopping done. I might also cook. I might also write.

I might also say FUCK IT ALL and lay around watching IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA all night. Who. Knows.

But let's all say a collective prayer that I love myself enough to be kind to my body, mind, and soul, instead.

*smooches...with a headache creeping, threatening the night*
----------
look at that; I'm already thinking up an excuse to be a sloth tonight

Musical Interlude For Sanity's Sake

Because if I don't dance these feelings out, you're going to see me on the six o'clock news, atop the clock tower downtown, picking off cops one at a time. Real talk.

Yeah I said it.



Play this on repeat and dance with me.

*smooches...trying to release this negative energy*
----------
I got nothing, man. just let me dance in peace.

I Prefer A Far-Away Crush

That unattainable man in a picture somewhere that I don't know and will never meet? The one with the messy beard and long dreads? With the washboard abs and chiseled everything else? The one who loves to paint and dance and cook and travel the world? Who loves sports and the arts equally? Who cares about me and my work and my family?
 

SOURCE: beardedandblack

 We're perfect for each other in my head.

All others need not apply.

*smooches...indulging in some internet eye candy*
----------
and don't even bother telling me if you know this guy. It ruins the fantasy if I actually have access to him!

Because Bad Credit Isn't Embarrassing Enough

Tonight I met the most beautiful man.

Wait- let me back up a bit and go on a tangent.

Recently, I decided I was done dating. I don't really like myself right now and I REALLY don't like other people, and the thought of a first date makes me want to burrow INTO my sofa instead of just laying on it. And TMI but it has to be said, I don't enjoy sex. It's messy and my fibroids make the act rather painful. The thought of having to fake it YET AGAIN with someone new is too much for me right now. I don't want to. So I decided to just be done with dating because I know how you men are; no sex is a dealbreaker, right? Right.

On another tangent, having to deal with Ks tuition bills and my own suffocating debt has forced me to really face the music about my finances and crawl out of this broke-ass sinkhole once and for all. I have a great job that pays me super-well. There's no reason why I should be emptying out piggy banks at the local CoinStar machine just to buy groceries. At work, I heard about a free service offered by the City to meet with a financial counselor one-on-one and I jumped at the chance. FREE is my favorite word these days, and frankly, all I can afford until I snag up three more jobs like the third cousin twice removed of the Hedleys.



This is where both tangents meet up and give birth to the first sentence of this post.

Tonight I met the most beautiful man. He was tall, brown skin, bearded, fit, smart, well-groomed, funny, charming, and possessed the sexiest pair of lips I've seen in a very long time. He plays football, y'all. FOOTBALL. He owns his own home and other properties. He's so "good on paper" I'd sign off on a myomectomy so fast, just so that I could give him a million babies.

People, he was EVERYTHING in my imagination, at least.

Tonight I met the most beautiful man. But, because my life is a motherfucking sitcom, that man just happens to be the person who is now privy to my atrocious credit score, terrible spending habits, and irresponsibly out-of-control debt.

Touché, Jesus. I see what you did there.

*smooches...losing miserably at life*
-----------
I've never really been good at chess but I do believe this is a checkmate situation, no?

"Kind Naked Feet Pic: Bitch Please, I'm Dominican!"

Let me tell you what happens when you press the statistics tab on blogger: you find out the weird and fabulous ways people end up on your site. Someone actually looked up "kind naked feet pic" and was directed to my site. WHY? I hate feet- everyone knows that. I don't like looking at them, I don't like mine, I don't even like to measure things in "feet"!

Another bunch of crazies typed "bitch please, I'm Dominican" and was directed here and, umm, I don't recall ever writing something like that. SkyNet has clearly developed some sort of technology that reads minds via keystrokes. CLEARLY.

If you ask me this is more proof that Google has waged war with me because I know it's already become self-aware, and that the Robot Apocalypse is near.

I'm on to you, GOOGLE. You won't win. YOU WON'T WIN!

*smooches...thinking that my meds have stopped working*
----------
oh wait, I'm not taking any meds...

Pausing

"Did you say it? 'I love you. I don't ever wanna live without you. You changed my life.' Did you say it? Make a plan. Set a goal. Work toward it. But every now and then look around. Drink it in. 'Cause this is it. It might all be gone tomorrow." -Meredith Grey, "Grey's Anatomy"

A few months ago, I found out a family member, barely 40 years old, had open-heart surgery. Say WHAT, now? Yeah, if anything will make one stop and smell the roses is coming face-to-face with mortality and possible loss... Then there's my impending visit to see what changes, if any, have occurred in Uterine Fibroid Town.

Everyone keeps telling me, "stop with the What-Ifs until you get results" but you know what? I have kids. And debt. And many pending projects. I need to have a plan A, B and C at the ready. If my fibroids have gotten significantly bigger, I will most likely have the myomectomy. Just typing that makes me sad, especially when thinking of the money I spent on naturopaths and holistic counselors to avoid that fate. But I need to be prepared for that outcome; that's how my brain works. I need worst-case scenarios planned out to help me sleep at night. I just need to lose my shit before I can make myself feel better.

So for the next few weeks, if I seem a little less accessible or enthused with what's going on in your life, you'll know why.

Now, please excuse me while I go eat my feelings...fuck a bikini summer: I want empty calories NOW!

*smooches...wishing the weather would get better & fix my mood*
----------
the sun would definitely lessen my stress levels. BLERG.

Things That Are President Obama's Fault, Vol. 1

• My depression
• The car accident that killed Sen. Robert McCallister on "Brothers & Sisters"
• The U.S. men's gymnastics team losing the gold at the London Games
• "Call Me Maybe" being stuck in my head all the time
• iPods' short shelf-life
• Mr. Marcus knowingly spreading syphilis to other porn actors
• People who speak loudly into their cellphones on the bus
• Cloudy days
• The new Barclay's Center at Atlantic Terminal
• Snookie

*smooches...scapegoating like a mofo*
---------
when in doubt, blame the Black man; isn't that how it goes? 

Irrational Thought Of The Day: Fuck Matt!

So I'm on the phone catching up with a friend and he mentions a news article about an Olympic archer named Matt Stutzman...who just happens to have been born without arms. The normal person would, of course, hear about Matt and think, Wow! That's so inspirational. He's amazing!

Well I'm Raquel. I'm not normal. And FUCK MATT!

Why? Because I was born with all my necessary parts in perfect working order, brain firing on all cylinders and above average beauty and intelligence (SHUT UP!!). And what have I done with my 37 years on this planet? A whole lot of motherfucking NOTHING!

"Raquel, you haven't made your first million yet? Well did you hear about this dude, Matt Stutzman, he's an archer with NO ARMS and he's going to the Olympics! Fuck you doing with YOUR life?"

Matt, you make me sick!

*no smooches today...go ask MATT to kiss you*
----------
I can't explain why this was my reaction; it just was.

Turning Up The Mommy Dial

I think I've been doing a pretty good job raising K & N almost-kinda by myself since I left their father in 2005. At first I was all, "What do y'all eat for breakfast?" and "Why are you waiting for ME to cook dinner?" but now we're pretty much comfortable in a chaotic routine that works for us.

There are a few things I wish were different, though, and never were they so evident and in my face than this weekend.

C went ahead and married his girlfriend in a private ceremony, and then called K to inform her. Yeah, go ahead and let that marinate for a minute...

...
...
...

Right. K came out of her room and said, "Daddy just called. He and B got married this weekend," and then went back to her room. Needless to say I was seething, and began tallying up the million trillion ways he's been pissing me off all summer:

1- quitting his job w/out having a new job in place
2- moving in w/his fiance; a home w/no extra room for my daughters
3- mouthing off to me when I demanded he give me his DEFINITIVE plan for providing support and a place to live to my babies
4- making ME out to be the bad guy here for not understanding his decisions
5- marrying his fiance in a private ceremony that DID NOT INCLUDE HIS DAUGHTERS.

Of all the asinine moves he's made to date I take THAT ONE personally. So, what... my kids aren't good enough to be a part of your wedding? WHAT THE FUCK??? So I discussed it with a few people, just to gauge if maybe I was overreacting, as I'm wont to do. But everyone I mentioned it to was also pissed and disgusted. I was then ready to retaliate, but first I thought I'd check on my babies.

I asked K if she was alright with her dad getting married without her, and that's when she dropped the bomb on me: he'd already told her he was planning a small, private wedding in early July instead of the big wedding they had initially planned in September (one guess as to WHY!). K also informed me that when he told her she was very upset because she (and rightly so!) felt it was going to upstage her 15th birthday, and that's probably why he waited until the end of the month.

Then she uttered the words that really broke me, "I already talked about it with my friends and I'm over it."

Her friends?!?!?! What about ME?? Her MOM?????

It felt like she'd turned my own machete against me when she said that. What is it about me that she feels she can't come to me about this stuff? I was (and still am) so hurt by this slight that I really had to reflect on it that night. Clearly I dropped the ball along the way, but I don't know where and I don't know how to fix it. ME. El Generalissimo Mommy of Brooklyn. Having parenting problems.

Perhaps she thought I'd go off on her dad and was protecting him against my wrath? Or maybe I really am the LAST PERSON she'd ever confide in. I don't know. But during my self-reflection I decided that maybe I need to be more accessible to these girls. Be home more. Not so attached to my computer/blackberry/cellphone/iPod and spend some real time with them. Reinstate our family cooking nights and take more day trips with them. Just be PRESENT when we're together.

Especially because I'm getting this nagging feeling that their father is ever-so-slowly becoming more and more absent.

I will NOT have my daughters turn out to be anorexic, meth-head prostitutes because they weren't parented properly. Not MY babies!

*smooches...looking for mommy and daughters activities in the city*
----------
I'm on a new mission. get on board or move out of the way!