Journey To Di Road: Day 10 | Ummm...

So, not only did I ditch my whole eating and workout plan ENTIRELY this week, I didn't blog, either. Part of me wanted to write up some stuff and post date it so that there isn't a big hole in this week, but no, I won't do that. I need to look back and remember that I went back on my word, if for no other reason than to shame myself into never doing it again.

Once a Catholic, always a Catholic...

On Tuesday, I didn't blog because Monday pissed me off; just the memory of the day I decided to stop blogging put me in the worst mood. Wednesday, I plum-forgot. I took the day off from work, did laundry, binge-watched GREENLEAF on Netflix (oh my GAWD it's such a good show!), cooked, and chilled. Blogging didn't really fit into my day, especially because I was trying to cheer myself up after realizing that the real reason I took Wednesday off--to finish and submit my NEA grant application--was for naught because I didn't meet the candidate guidelines. Thursday, I remembered, but then fell asleep, and today I was too busy at work and then too happy at home to sit at my desk and give myself 200 verbal lashes for fucking up this week.

I have the highest of hopes for next week, only because I have to or nothing is ever going to happen. Eventually, something will give and I'll take my health seriously, right?

This is Day 10.

Breakfast: slice of egg pie/baked frittata and slice of buttered toast; then I had a few sips of a nasty, bitter cup of coffee at work to wake up.

No amount of sugar + milk could save this bitter cup of trash

Snack: microwave popcorn. I regretted it immediately
Lunch: some bullshit salad (no meat) in a desperate attempt to be "healthy" which I also regretted because it left me feeling empty inside. I followed it up with one of those tiny Snickers from the work snack drawer

I wasn't meant to eat rabbit food, I was meant to eat the rabbit

Dinner: Buffalo wings and cajun fries from Buffalo's Famous, the only AUTHENTIC wing spot that I know of in NYC; it was delicious and I make zero apologies
Victories: I ate breakfast all week, which definitely helped me cut down on my snack cravings at work this week; nothing spoiled in my fridge--everything I cooked got eaten (or will be tomorrow)
WOMP Moments: I ordered takeout when I had perfectly good food in the fridge OR ate two dinners sometimes; forgot to blog; just realized I forgot my supplements today; OH and I never went to the gym this week

Today I did some computer maintenance and replaced my speakers with a much better, bass-heavy set, so I have all of the plans to blast soca tomorrow as I do my Saturday chores. Dancing helps to motivate me; bass helps me want to dance. Perhaps all of that put together will guide me towards the gym?

Or nah.

*smooches...waiting on [my] world [view] to change*
----------
my brain needs to fix itself pronto!

Journey To Di Road: Day 6 | This Is Why I Stopped Blogging

I did not love myself this weekend. I was not good to my body. I broke all the promises I made to myself. I continue feeding this cycle of unhealthy behaviors and somehow think "tomorrow will be different" without any real action on my part.

This isn't just about my health, this applies to my career, finances, relationships--you name it. One day, I was reading over my blog and realized, I hadn't grown as a person at all. I hadn't learned from my mistakes and I hadn't taken any real steps to change my situation. I was still coasting through life, and all I had to show for it was nearly 2,000 blog posts of First World Whining. So I quit. And now I'm sitting here wondering why I ever started back again--just to remind myself how dumb I am?

I mean, I could sit here and explain how the heat is sparse in my apartment and that makes me not want to do anything, but the not doing anything is why I'm still stuck in this drafty apartment 11 years later. But that's just another excuse. I did attempt to make better choices: I made oatmeal for breakfast on Saturday, and at the movies on Sunday (we saw HIDDEN FIGURES and it was wonderful). I didn't have my usual popcorn and slushie. However, that's only because we went to Bareburger first and made pigs of ourselves.

Saturday Breakfast | Sunday Lunch

Then there was a whole spaghetti and rice and garlic bread and ice cream and pound cake situation that I really don't want to get into.

I did go food shopping, though, and I made a beef stew for dinner tonight (which I ate too late but still, it wasn't the pizza and wings I really truly wanted). Slow cookers are a godsend.

This is Day 6.

Breakfast: eight ounces of lobster butternut squash bisque from The Soup Bowl in Park Slope. I really wanted a bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll, but I opted for soup. I don't know which one was worse for me.
Snack: one of those Plantar's salted peanuts packets from the snack drawer.
Lunch: beef and broccoli + seltzer water
Victories: I didn't get that bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll, NOR did I get the pizza and wings I craved for dinner.
WOMP Moments: didn't go to the gym; didn't get enough sleep; didn't drink enough water; ate TWO bags of chips from the snack drawer at work. And I'm about to have some ice cream. I WON'T BE STOPPED.

Right now, besides the ice cream, I'm going to take my vitamins/supplements. Then I'm going to pack my lunch for tomorrow, right after I make an "egg pie" for tomorrow's breakfast. Then I'm going to shower, then I'm going to read, while the cast of MOANA accompanies me. Good night.

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

Journey To Di Road: Day 2 | Ain't A Damn Thing Changed

I've decided that this week is a wash. I put too much pressure on myself and that led to an anxiety spiral. [This shit is out of control; I need to learn how to chill!].

So if I end up doing anything in the gym tomorrow or over the weekend, I'll consider it a huge deal.

In the meantime...

This is Day 2.

B12, Vitamin D, Biotin, Probiotic.

Breakfast: eggs and queso frito, water to drink
Snack: one of those awful Nature Valley oats & honey bars (that is more crumb than it is bar), and a mint tea (plain)
Lunch: turkey burger (on a regular bun), sweet potato fries, pickles, water
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.

I'm headed to the movies tonight, so listen, I won't even lie: there will be popcorn and quite possibly a slushie in my future. I will try and resist, but... slushie...

However, I do have three things on my agenda for after: wash dishes, cook tomorrow's lunch and dinner, work on my novel. DASSIT. I can't promise anything beyond that, and I truly hope nothing goes down tonight to fuck up these meager plans.

It takes very little for me to give up and log on to Netflix.

*smooches...off to a ROCKY start*
----------
a ROCKY start, get it? ROCKY? Because my name is ROCKY? Eh? Eh?

Me + Idris + The PA I Almost Had To Kill: A Jaded Dream Post

It's been a long time since I've posted a dream for analyzing, but honestly my vivid dreams have been few and far between. But here's one from this past weekend that should prove quite entertaining. Ready? Ready!

So I'm dating Idris Elba (stop laughing) and he stays over my place one night. In the morning he has to get to work on a set near my apartment, and goes to use the restroom but I'm like "Noooo N's home and I don't want her to know you were here."

But he's all, "I have to meet her eventually."

So fine. They meet and it's awkward as hell. Right then some strangers try cutting through my room to leave this restaurant that is now behind my apartment attached to the buildings and I tell them "no, you gotta go around." I lock the door and Idris leaves.

Ffwd to that night, I see my door is open because people ignored me and have been cutting through my apartment all day. I go out there to talk to them and see everyone dressed in 1970s exploitation film attire and looking high as fuck. They're filming a goddamn movie at the restaurant. I tell one of the production ladies she can't go through my place but she's like, "yeah, we can and we will."

I go OFF. I say "no, you paid for use of the restaurant and alley, not my apartment."

So we argue and this production lady has a whole production team with her but I stand my ground: they CANNOT cut through my apartment to come and go. She says they spoke with my landlord and he gave permission. I say, "I doubt it" and slam the door in her face and lock it. The door has this big window in it, and don't you know this bitch threw a chair through that window? So now it's on. I reach through and slap her in the face through the broken window and when she tries to reach in and hit me I move her arm so a shard of glass slices her. It's a whole ruckus.

They walk away but I know something is up so I scoop up Naomi and leave the apartment, but before I do I see Idris left his shoes in my place, and I'm low key pissed. Who does that? This ain't your house, Idris! But I digress.

Outside, one of the actors on set is wildin' out and a PA has to tell him to chill, so I realize I'm dealing with an amped up cast and crew--what the hell kinda film is this? I'm already nervous because folks have been in my apartment and now the glass is broken so they can get in again, and now I see these ain't normal sober people. So I'm fitna call the cops and shut down production.

But guess what?

It's the movie Idris is working on!

So now I have to choose between being with Idris-fucking-Elba, or standing my ground against this feral cast and crew. I was so troubled by this that I woke up!

Kelly! I know you're reading this; tell me what it all means!

*smooches...vowing to lay off the late-night snacks*
--------------
clearly that was a buffalo wing-induced nightmare!

Lyrics To Love: I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues

Don't wish it away
Don't look at it like it's forever
Between you and me I could honestly say
That things can only get better

And while I'm away
Dust out the demons inside
And it won't be long before you and me run
To the place in our hearts where we hide

And I guess that's why they call it the blues
Time on my hands could be time spent with you
Laughing like children, living like lovers
Rolling like thunder under the covers
And I guess that's why they call it the blues

Just stare into space
Picture my face in your hands
Live for each second without hesitation
And never forget I'm your man

Wait on me girl
Cry in the night if it helps
But more than ever I simply love you
More than I love life itself



------------
I remember listening to this song on Lite FM in the late night, letting it put me to sleep, tears streaming down my face for whatever teen-angst I was feeling that day. Elton will never know how much he helped me stay on this side of sanity.


*smooches...just for Elton and our bluesy-blues*
----------
I'd totally ROCK that song at karaoke, and I loathe karaoke!

Love Is So Short, Forgetting Is So Long

Papi is dying.

And that is perhaps the hardest sentence I've ever had to write. But my Papi is dying and I'm here, again, in this place where nothing seems right and everything is unfair.

I have not become anything yet. He is leaving me before I can show him what I can become. He is leaving me before I can pay him back for giving me life. Before I can learn to be brave. Before I can learn responsibility. Before I can make it up to him and to Grandma, and I can't stop it. I have no power here.

I am still selfish. I want him here. I do not want to let him go. After him, there will be no other man that truly loves me, unconditionally. I am not ready to live in a world without him. Who am I, without him?

What happens to me on the day there is no one to respond to my pleas for bendiciones with, "Dios te bendiga, mi reina"? Do my blessings end?

I don't want him to hurt, to suffer, but I want him here. With me. So I can say, "I am here. I am yours. Don't leave me. Don't leave me."

Papi is dying and nothing seems right and everything is unfair.

I wish I'd known the last time was going to be the last time. I would have never let go.

...I would have never let go.

The TaTas Are Gonna Be Okay: A Healthy Jaded Update

Hello my darlings!

This random post is brought to you by my recent slew of doctor visits to make sure I didn't have breast cancer. Yeah, man, you read that correctly. Thankfully, everything is cool: there is no cancer in my breast meat and therefore no tough decisions need to be made. I just needed to write this out and release it from my brain. I guess that's why I maintain this URL--am I right??

Annoyed beyond belief.
But mostly scared

Anyways... so I had my very first mammogram shortly after my 40th birthday, and it wasn't so bad. They didn't squish me up as terribly as I imagined and the appointment didn't take too long. I thought it would be weird to have my breasts manhandled in that fashion, but you know what? I've been seeing an OB/GYN since I was 18; I'm used to having my parts manhandled by now.

After the exam, the technician advised me that I might be called back for a second mammogram, but that it's common so not to worry if I get that call. Of course, I got the call. My boobies were too "dense" so I needed an ultrasound + a second mammogram to see better. Annoying but I knew it was essential.

On my second exam, which consisted of a long ass wait and repeat visits to the mammogram room and an ultrasound, the doctor says, "There's a few spots we can't identify. We're going to need to do a needle biopsy. This is common and I'm sure it's nothing." CHILD. I hate when medical professionals say that shit: I'm sure it's nothing. Like, maybe to YOU because this is what you do all the live-long day. But this is all new to me. Save the platitudes for your momma.

So then came the needle biopsy last week. It's exactly what it sounds like (especially if you have your MD from TV dramas like I do): the doctor goes in through a tiny incision with a needle to biopsy whatever the spots or masses in my breasts are/were. There was Novocain involved. I was awake. I felt nothing and everything. It was preceded and followed by a few additional mammograms. I was cold, annoyed, and on the verge of tears.

The other women in the waiting area with me were split between survivors and women just there for routine mammograms. I just didn't want to be there among the women who'd lost their hair to chemo, and maybe even lost some parts to cancer. It was all too much. I can't even imagine what I would have done if it had gone the other way.

I started thinking about my breasts a lot. About how much I've defined myself by them. How their size has always been a running gag among family and friends. How the insecure teen in me always thinks that's the only attractive part of me: whatever my size I can always count on them to bring the boys to the yard.

And MY HAIR! I didn't want to lose not even a strand of my beautiful, messy, greying hair! It's just as much of an identifier for me as my breasts are, and it was breaking me down to think I could lose both. And then I started to feel petty and stupid and beat myself up for thinking of such trivial things in the face of cancer. But you know, it's not trivial. These things ARE important. These are MY breasts. This is MY hair. And it's not fair to lose it to stupid ass cancer.

Fast forward to now, I can count myself among the fortunate who are breast cancer-free. It doesn't run in my family and my mom and aunt had already reassured me that they've also had needle biopsies that turned out to be nothing more than calcium deposits or something like that, so there was an excellent chance I would be fine, too. But there's always that lingering doubt when you have an important test like that.

And you know, looking over all this I just read, I realized that none of my worries included how I would pay for any of this, because I have great insurance. My doctors are amazing. I can see specialists whenever for whatever for free. But what about women who can't afford private doctors? How can our elected officials think it's OK to defund such an important institution like Planned Parenthood, when those offices are sometimes the ONLY resources women (and men!) have for annual screenings?

I don't know, I'm rambling at this point. I'm just feeling a lot of things and I wish I had a bigger platform to spread awareness and encourage women to get annual checkups and look after their whole self: mind, body, and soul. Maybe one of you reading this have that kind of platform. Maybe you can spread the word on my (our) behalf. Keep your doctor appointments. Take care of yourself. Take care of your sisters. You're not alone.

*smooches...with a set of healthy breasts, thank goodness*
----------
and now I can proceed with dressing inappropriately while I re-learn to appreciate my fun bags. OWWW!

#JadedTurns40

Y'all. It's been about 10 years since I got my first tattoo. Since I decided to become a full-time writer. Since I told my then-husband to get the fuck on up out my momma's house with his bullshit. Since my return to my Brooklyn roots. Since I first connected with most of you.

And now I'm 40!

I mean, I don't look it, so it's all cool. But my brain knows its age, as does my eyes, back, knees, feet, and uterus. And The Voices. They're all very aware.

Here are some reflections I've had and continue to have as I think about this milestone birthday:

1. I miss having my extended family in my daily life. I miss my Grandma, still, always. I hope that, if her essence or spirit is really among us, she's more proud than ashamed of the choices I've made. "Sorry about the body art, divorce, excessive drinking, and indiscriminate 'dating'. You definitely raised me better than that."

2. It's OK to be selfish, especially as my kids get older. It was a blessing in disguise that I had them so young; it means I'm still young enough to enjoy my kid-free years now that they're pretty much grown.

3. The more Brooklyn changes, the more at home I feel in the Dominican Republic. In fact, when I travel there to visit family, I refer to it as 'going home'.

4. My Black Is Beautiful. And it's OK if my shade of Black is a little bit lighter than other folks' Black. And I don't care if you have a problem with that, or anyone else's Blackness. I don't have to overcompensate for that, or even explain it to you. Plus my 'fro is the truth and the light, so there's that. #BlackGirlsAreMagic #BlackLivesMatter

5. I can only be held responsible and accountable for MY actions. DASSIT.

What can I look forward to in my 40th year of life? My 2015-16 Bucket list includes finishing up my first novel, plus starting on a few other book projects I have in the works; traveling; growing my Pluma y Tinta family; reaching my health and wellness goals; mastering the art of frying chicken; redecorating my apartment; Becoming Queen Copywriter of the Marketing Department at work. Because why not?

My year starts now. I'm excited for it and all the changes that are in store.

With my grown ass babies. Ay!

Except that mammogram my doc says I need to start getting now that I'm entering the grandma years. Y'all can keep that shit. I don't wanna!

*smooches...for me and my fabulous 40 years of life*
----------
and I'm still accepting gifts well into the summer, so don't feel bad if May 23 came and went and you didn't get me anything :)

I Guess That Makes Me Michael Bivins.

Two posts in one week? Shocking! Someone call the tabloids!

But I have something that needed to be written out, because y'all know that's how I solve things best, and I'm trying to depend less on The Facebook (even though engagement is BETTER there than here).

So I've been in a writing group since about October, and there were five of us. For the past few months we've taken turns submitting stories for feedback and giving feedback on others' work, combined with weekly meetings to discuss said feedback. Easy-peasy.

Well last night, sort of out of nowhere (and I'll explain the sort of later), the guy who organized the group, let's call him Ralph (Tresvant), told one of the other members, we'll call him Bobby (Brown), that he had to go. The actual equivalent of "You can't sit with us!" except among a bunch of nerdy, writing grown-ups. Before he handed down his edict, Ralph had started building his case against Bobby, asking him accusatory questions about the revision he had submitted, questioning his commitment and seriousness and work ethic. From what I gathered, Ralph implied that Bobby wasn't pulling his weight, and was mostly half-assing his writing and editing efforts, and Ralph feels it's a waste of the group's time.

You could have cut the tension with a knife last night.

And listen, those are legitimate concerns to have whenever you're in a group like this. If you feel one member is a weak link, address it before the whole group suffers. I get that. Where this went left is that, right before my eyes, Ralph channeled Rafael Leónidas Trujillo Molina, made an executive decision, and told Bobby to step. Another member, we'll call him Ricky (Bell), tried to intercept and asked Ralph, "Are we going to discuss this?" but Ralph was all "Nah. Bobby gotta go. And y'all can stay or go, but Bobby GOT TO GO." And I'm sitting there, locking eyes with the other member, Ronnie (DeVoe), who happens to be Ralph's partner, wondering if suddenly I had to prove I could properly pronounce perejil or risk getting chucked into Massacre River.

Y'all. I don't need this stress. I just want a safe space to share my work and get honest feedback so that I can get my work published. DASSIT. How did my life become fodder for a "Behind the Music Writing" episode?

And regarding the sort of, Ralph and Bobby have been clashing since Day 1, and I could see that their personalities didn't match up. And frankly, a lot of times Bobby needs to be wrangled and reigned in, and yes, if the personalities don't mesh in a group then YES, changes need to be made.

However, the way Ralph pulled rank and refused to discuss his decision, and basically implied that Ricky and I don't have a say--the equivalent of "If you don't like it, you can leave, too!"--did not, DOES NOT, sit well with me. Yes, he organized the group, but we're a group. Why can't we discuss this? Why can't you approach Bobby on your own with your concerns? Why the blow up at the table in front of god and everyone at the coffee shop? Child. I mean, is it me, or does that speak to an issue with Ralph's personality, as well as coping and leadership skills?

I've already discussed this with 2/3 of the Jaded Advisory Board, so now I guess I'll see what y'all think; I'm about 82.7% sure of my next move, which starts with contacting both Ralph and Bobby, and letting them know I won't be participating in a tug-o-war. Le sigh.

And quietly, I'm starting to feel more like Tamar Braxton, in that scene of "Braxton Family Values" when her sister Towanda yelled, "Every group you've ever been in has failed!" Every writing group I've been in fizzled. Is it me? IS IT ME?

What say you, lovelies?

*smooches...wondering if I should just create in a bubble*
----------
I like collaborating, but these hos ain't loyal... and sorry about the mixed analogies, by the way

So This Is Mavi, My iPhone.

I know, I know, you're reading that title like "OH MY GOD, THE WORLD IS ENDING, RAQUEL HAS AN IPHONE!" but relax. I've not been fully infiltrated by the Robot Army just yet.

Of course my lock screen features my babies!

Let me explain how this all happened...

A few months ago I went into the Verizon store because I wanted to get a tablet or something like it, that I could use when hosting events in order to update various social media platforms with information about said events. The sales rep looked at me all crazy and was all "Why don't you just get a smartphone?" I, in turn, listed all the reasons I didn't want one, including cost (which was my number one reason!).

The rep proceeded to lay out all the costs for me, and it turned out the iPhone he was offering wouldn't cost me more than what I was already paying with my regular phone, plus the phone itself was free. "And why carry three different devices (iPod, phone, tablet) when you can just carry one?"

He was making so much sense; how could I pass up the deal?

So now I have an iPhone. And an Instagram account. And game apps that suck the battery life out of my phone. I can never leave the house without a charger. And the amount of selfies saved in my camera is almost criminal. But I promise, I'm not one of these phone-obsessed zombies; I put mine away and just LIVE sometimes.

At least for now.

*smooches...checking IG as I type*
----------
I'm so fascinated by what people upload to Instagram. Sometimes it's cool, but sometimes, SOMETIMES you hit gold and find that person who is posting pure trash. I live for that person!

"Why It Happen?"

Mari pointed out that I, yet again, have let this blog fall to the wayside. But first...ratchetness...


(Did you ever think you'd live to see the day when a song about oral sex would be allowed in your life?)

Anywhores...

I don't keep a regular blogging schedule anymore. I know. I'm sorry if you were still looking forward to reading this on a regular basis, but, well, life got in the way.

First- there are family things I'm dealing with that are weighing on me, but I was asked not to share one of them publicly, and the other is a rather sensitive topic, so there go those blog posts. Look at me being all appropriate n shit!

I'm also dealing with yet ANOTHER huge financial burden and struggle, but listen--y'all are tired of hearing me complain about my lack of funds, so I won't bore you with it. It's boring. I'M bored with it. Let's move on.

Finally, my weight & health continue to be a huge struggle for me, and that's another topic I'm sure y'all are tired of reading about. I understand now how someone can't quit drinking or shooting up: food is a helluva drug, and I've not found a good enough treatment for my addiction.

So please excuse me if my fat ass chooses to steer clear of your inbox on the regular. I'm not especially proud of my personal life right now.

Professionally, though? I was just published again, so, you know, #WINNING.

*smooches...with a few things to say for now*
----------
will I make it to the end of summer, posting regularly? keep checking to find out :)

"Another Door Closes"

One of the hardest life lessons, for me, is accepting that things come to an end: relationships, lives, TV shows, and even access to your favorite Buffalo wing joint. A huge part of me wants to shrink into myself and wallow in it. Cry. Curse. Hide.

I've had to learn that my hesitation to accept these ends is just fear of the unknown. How will I go on if I can't run off to my grandma, sit at her feet, and lay my head on her lap? Or if I can't watch Tessa and Ryan find true love on "Suburgatory"?

I mean, I did stay in a dead-end marriage because I was afraid to tackle this life by myself, but look at me, coming up on eight years as head of household, rocking the hell out of this shit. I'm teaching myself that's OK to feel sad and still leave the house, face the day, have a good time with friends, and enjoy the air that I breathe. It doesn't mean I don't feel what I feel.

Every end and change is going to hurt--it's going to hurt deep--and I will want to cry, curse, and hide, but it will not kill me if I don't let it.



Every day I will make a conscious effort to keep going. Not dwell. Move forward. I'm like a shark in this world, and if I stop I know I will truly die. And frankly that's an end I'm not trying to see any time soon (or ever!).

In the meantime, I'll just find peace in the sweet breeze from an open window.

*smooches...practicing my yogic breaths*
----------
"we're here for a good time, not a long time."

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!

It's Not About The Hair

So if we're friends on The Facebook, you saw me complaining about how short my hair is when curly. Yes, the very haircut I was just in love with made me miserable when I tried to 'fro-out. It's so fucking short, y'all. I almost cried real tears. And it was hard for me to understand at first.

Until K was born, I'd always worn my hair short, about ear/chin length. Always. That was just my preference, my look. Short, bouncy hair. Then I stopped relaxing it and grew it out, sometimes down my back, sometimes just to my shoulders, but always long, whether curly or straight. It became my thing. I didn't think it would be a huge deal to go short again, until I stepped out of the shower after my first shampoo since the haircut, and looked in the mirror.

It wasn't until I was getting ready for work that it really hit me, though. It's not about my hair being short--my hair grows fast and I'm sure it will be back to it's regularly-scheduled length by Christmas. It's about my face. My face is different than it was when I used to wear my hair short. Different in a bad way. I came to realize that I just don't like my face.

I don't like the shadows under my eyes or the old blemish scars or that if I stare long enough, one eye is smaller than the other. I don't like this weak-ass chin that is now accentuated by my short-ass hair. I don't like that the weight I've gained has made my cheeks look puffy. I JUST DON'T LIKE MY FACE. I can admit that and still go on with my day, live my life, pay my bills.

Only thing that has my panties in a bunch is that now I don't have all my hair to hide behind.

*smooches...avoiding mirrors these days*
----------
whooo it feels good to let that out...how long til December?

Voy A Reir, Voy A Gozar

So listen. This writing life gets more frustrating by the minute. I keep thinking I'm doing something amazing, and then the support is not there.

I just re-read that line and it sounds like a refrain I've sang before. I have sung this song before! I must be crazy thinking, "This time will be different. This time I will get them to come out and support. THIS TIME FOR REAL."

And then nothing.

I don't even know what I'm doing wrong. Except maybe expecting too much from the same group of people that have already proven to not give a rat's ass for what I do. I need a new song.



That said, I truly appreciate those who do make an effort to support me. I see you! I barely remember what I had for dinner last night but I will always remember who was there for me and who wasn't.

And this isn't me putting a gypsy curse on anyone, this is just me speaking my truth.

*smooches...dancing my troubles away*
----------
I wish it was last year and I was at Wolf Trap with Mari waiting for Marc Anthony to take the stage. that concert was everything!

FML: A Healthy Jaded Update

So real quick because I'm SICK of my body being sick... the latest BS my body is putting me through is a vitamin B₁₂ deficiency, which is baffling my doctor because I eat animal protein all day, every day, and supposedly that's where we naturally get this particular vitamin from.

Of course I look up what could happen if I just WELPSIES this information away, and WebMD was all

Apparently a severe deficiency can lead to deep depression, paranoia and delusions, memory loss, incontinence, loss of taste and smell, and more, according to this article. CHILD, why am I ALREADY suffering from most of those things?!?! I swear, someone is playing a cruel, cruel joke on me...

Next stop on this crazy train I call the Jaded Health Express: an upper endoscopy. More on that hot mess later.

*smooches...wondering how long 'til BETTER*
----------
it has to be soon, right?

Alien Abductions Are Real

WHO BELONGS TO THESE SHOES? 

WHERE DID THEY TAKE HIM???

The Lonely Shoes (c) 2014 The Jaded NYer

*smooches...getting my aluminum foil hat ready*
----------
this is not a drill, ladies and gentlemen!

Back In The Saddle Again: A Healthy Jaded Update

I was tempted to not label this a Healthy Jaded update, because I'm anything BUT healthy. As I type this, my chair is struggling to hold up all 200lbs of me. Yes, 200lbs. Remember when I was so happy to have finally reached the 170s? It feels like eons ago that I wore a two-piece for the first time since my teen years. And now, now I look as if Mari and Irene should be throwing me a baby shower next month.

How did I get here (again)? So many little reasons that basically add up to: I have no healthy coping skills for stressful situations and life's disappointments. For me, it's always food that soothes me, and that can be as addictive and dangerous as whatever the drug du jour is that kids are stockpiling.

I've been here before. 200lbs is always my "rock bottom" where I realize that this could easily double if I don't do something right this minute. I don't want to be featured on "My 600lb Life" or have to show my gut on "The Biggest Loser." I think it really hit me when a certain gentleman caller asked me out and I told him I was too fat to be seen.  Ridiculous, right? But this is where I am.

So now it's time to take action before I end up as the obese, bitter, crazy old lady at the end of the block that kids try and mess with on Halloween. I'm a bit more limited in what I can do physically these days, but my favorite activities are still okay, like dancing and swimming. Yoga...well, my PT was on the fence about yoga, and that made me sad. However, if I can strengthen my core some then MAYBE I'll get the green light to go back in the studio and downward dog my stress away.

In the meantime, I will take advantage of the people around me who live, breathe and eat FITNESS and WELLNESS, and start back on a better path. Forty is too close for comfort; I can't greet it with this fake baby belly.

*smooches...hoping this is the last time I start over*
----------
my poor body can't take much more abuse!

I Saw My Ex's Wedding Video On YouTube

No, not my ex-husband--don't nobody give a rat's ass about that marriage (which, by the way, is already over!). But rather the ex that launched me into the blogosphere in the first place. The one I dated the minute after I ended my marriage. The one responsible for The Breakup Heard Around the World.

I won't sit here and lie and say I was devastated or anything, but there was a sense of melancholy. I wasn't sure why at first. As I watched it I smiled and laughed and was genuinely moved by the video, but then I got in my feelings.

I don't miss him. I don't want him. And when he contacted me a couple of years ago to "get coffee" I gave my phone a side-eye and brushed him off. I made a conscious choice not to engage in whatever that cup of coffee was going to entail. Not because I was still mad or bitter but because what would have been the point? We weren't great friends or anything. Nothing was lost after we split.

Now, I will always remember that he was the best lay EVER. As in EVER. As in NO ONE I've slept with before or since him has measured up. He has the game on lock. The rest of y'all should take lessons from him. Seriously. But that wasn't enough then and now, when I really couldn't care less about carnal activities, it's definitely not enough. So it's not about him. I wish him well and hope he'll be happy with his wife (and new baby boy...yes, my stalker skills are top level).

It's more about me being in the same place where he left me--literally. Same apartment. Same financial status. Same health issues and fatness. Same attitude problems and same issues with men and sex. Watching his wedding video and knowing who he was and how much he's (seemingly) grown makes me feel stunted and unaccomplished. Like I didn't deserve the pedestal he had initially put me on. Like I don't deserve the praise and accolades a lot of you bestow upon me today. I HAVEN'T REALLY DONE ANYTHING BUT SURVIVED. And maybe that's enough for some, but it makes me feel like a failure at life.

Everything around me changes and me? I'm still here, googling shit I know I shouldn't be googling, and then getting in my feelings when I find it.

*smooches...deciding not to look up any more exes*
----------
child if I find out that Mr. Baseball has a wife and baby you may have to come over and sedate me...