Jaded Photographs: December 2013 Edition

"Ride Or Die"

There's very little else that matters.

*smooches...trying to exist in a different space*
----------
how y'all been? miss me?

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?

This Is What Depression Looks Like, Too

ME: (self-medicating, again) I want Thai food but I also want nachos. UGH. Why don't they sell nachos at the Thai place?

N: (from her room) ...

ME: I CAN FEEL YOU JUDGING ME!

*smooches...waiting for one of y'all to come get her*
----------
there's a funny dynamic between us these days; a good one, though, so don't be alarmed

All The Feels

"Feelings are just visitors, let them come and go." -Mooji

I don't know who this Mooji dude is (actually I used the enemy AKA Google and so I DO know who he is), but I don't like people all up in my space. I can count on one hand the people that have been to my place (outside of family, of course. You can't keep those fools out!). I don't care for visitors; probably one of the main reasons I keep such a tiny, uninviting place. And I definitely don't want FEELINGS all up in my business, too.

My real problem, though, is that only the bad feelings seem to come more often and rarely, if ever, go.

Now, I'm going to write something here because this is my blog where I share my truths, and ask that you please, PLEASE, take several chill pills. Don't send me referrals to doctors or be glib or anything. I know this is my problem and it is I, Raquel Penzo, who will solve it. Please just accept that this is something I need to write for ME. This is where I vent. I need to release it.

More and more I find that I don't have the courage to leave my apartment. That's the best word that I could think of to describe what I'm lacking, or what I feel I'm lacking. And I find that the sofa has become this safe haven where nothing can hurt me, when in fact it's the thing that's hurting me the most. That I'm eating, not for nourishment or even pleasure, but because I don't know what else to do. That I lose myself in TV and movies because the real world has become too much. That the only thing that keeps me from shutting down is that I'm responsible for two other lives besides my own that require me to hold down a job and run a household.

That every morning when the sun shines in my face, my first thought resembles this meme:

But eventually I get up. I do things. I paint on a smile and I let words escape my mouth. I crack jokes at work. I put on makeup and comb my hair. I answer phone calls and participate in silly Twitter conversations. I write irreverent blog posts and then, when it's just me and my thoughts and my sofa and my Netflix, I'm free to feel things without judgements. Even if those feelings stay too long and tell me I'm stupid and fat and ugly and useless and lazy. I just need to feel them. In private. Without witnesses.

And then, in my own time, in my own way, I can let them go. Like Mooji suggests.

*smooches...trying to live through it*
-----------
"trying" being the operative word

We're All Women. It's Science.

You heard it here first, girlies.



*smooches...trying to erase the claymation vag-to-penis transformation from my mind*
-----------
although it was kind of funny