Thursday, July 31, 2014
GOOOAAAAL!
Hello all,
I have a joke for you tonight. It's one of those cool, "A guy walks into a bar..." jokes. So, a man walks into a bar and meets this girl. They talk for a few minutes and she saves him from this stage 5 clinger, expecting nothing more than maybe a simple, relieved thank you in return. Later on, his friend approaches the girl and relays a message that his friend, whom she had rescued so valiantly, would like to dance...
By now, you all are probably wondering where the punch line is and might be screaming, "Get the fuck on with it," as you scan the screen of your computer for some light humor, in search of a little chuckle. Sorry, there isn't really a joke. Even if there was, I wouldn't tell it. I can't tell a joke to save my life. I always end up in tears and spastic fits of laughter before I can finish it. Everyone stares at me like I need to be committed, and the joke is usually ruined. But meeting this boy, was a joke. Surely it must be, because I am Cara Overstreet and this sort of shit never happens to me. I mean, I thought it was a joke, some sort of prank maybe. But this, this actually happened. The unbelievable part is... it happened to me.
I'll start from the beginning. I went out for an afternoon at The Beaches with my friends Destiny, Joel, and Meagan. Normally, I don't care for day drinking, but the USA vs. some European team (who's nation has somehow slipped my mind) soccer game was on. I have recently been introduced to all the awesomeness that the sport of soccer is. So, naturally, I made every effort to support my country. And by support I mean watching as many games as possible while drowning in all of the drinks and greasy popcorn that The Ritz had to offer. Matt, Mitch and Mike showed up soon before, I guess it's called "kick off," and Cassie and Matt showed up later. The gang was all here, and it was truly a party of patriotic proportions. The bar was bleeding red, white and blue (and booze). People were wearing war paint and very creative outfits made solely out of American flags. Somehow, I found myself comparing this to the Quidditch World Cup. Per usual, Harry Potter seems to find its way into every aspect of my life. Glorified nerd!
Instead of leaving after the spectacular victory that USA put on the board, we stayed and celebrated with more drinks and more popcorn. I was cuddling a beer when I heard Meagatron and Destiny talking about these two guys up at the bar. They were whispering about how they see these same two guys all the time. One was standing next to the other fellow who was leaning determinedly on the stained wood of the bar. He appeared to be ordering a beverage. He was tall, bearded, and rather gangly in his black skinny jeans and grey t-shirt (I think this is what he was wearing anyways, details are... sloppy). He looked like the classic bad boy from any 90s movie. You know the type I'm talking about; dark, brooding, a balanced combination of hipster and indie, possibly some sort of athletic skill that didn't promote bulky muscles, and obviously intellectual. I say obviously like he was wearing glasses and reading Shakespeare while swirling his long, white fingers around the rim of a glass of red wine. It wasn't like that. I just felt like I could see it in the way he was holding himself. Confidence, perhaps?
Jeez, let me stop moaning over him already. Anyways, I had finished my beer, and Destiny and Meagan were also dry. We made our way to the bar, slinking in and out of couples making out and dodging drinks held precariously in extended hands. We happened to land right next to the two men who were strangers to me.
Attempting not to creep him out, because I have a knack for doing just that, I just let my friends introduce me to him and his friend. Tommy was his name. I couldn't help thinking of a little lad riding around on his tricycle with his momma hollering after him, and a golden retriever running beside him. It was so boyish, in a cute sort of way. His friend's name was Johnny. He's the most ridiculous person I have ever met. We spoke for a few moments as we waited on drinks. As we talked, I got a closer look at him. He had these subtle blue eyes that didn't scream for attention, he was about a foot taller than me, and when I looked closely beneath his man beard, I saw two dimples right in the corner of his smile. Oh my, fuck. Game. Set. Match. I was in trouble.
But, instead of going all Jane Austen and swooning, I coolly let everything play out. I walked away after my Sweetwater was handed to me. I did, however, keep an eye out for this beautiful, bearded man. I was sitting in a chair watching Cassie tease Matt, when something set off alarm bells. A girl came walking up to him and seemed very pleased to see him. CRASH! BURN! FUCK! A GIRLFRIEND! TIME TO ORDER SOME SHOTS BECAUSE OF COURSE HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND! Something in the back of my mind whispered, "Duh, stupid, WHY WOULDN'T HE?!"
My little heart drooped as I sank down over the brim of my mug. Of course, of course he was with someone. That sort of laid back, moody attractiveness had caught my attention, so it was obvious that someone else had discovered it. I was nursing my wounds when something told me to look up again. I did, and to my surprise, he seemed very disgruntled by the girl's arrival. In fact, he looked positively mortified and seemed to be trying to dodge her.
Sorry y'all, it gets slightly fuzzy here. I was not hammered by any means of the word, but I just can't seem to remember if he came over towards me or if I came over to him. Tommy is of no help either. I asked him how this whole rendezvous went down the other night and his recall was, "I walked up, and hollered. Then we danced."
But I ended up in his bubble again, and somehow the girl came up in our little talk. He was in fact trying to avoid her. I guess they had something at one point, not for positive what it was and how long ago it was. "Fuck the details," the positive part of my brain said. So, I decided to save him.
I saw her lurking in the corner ready to pounce once more. Too bad I was poised and quicker than she was. I reached him just as she got there, casually slipping my arm around his back and hooking my pinky through one of his belt loops. I made an overzealous, flirty gesture by placing my hand on his bicep as I told him I had been looking all over for him. The arch in her eyebrows told me she had definitely noticed. I laced my fingers through his and pulled him to safety. He thanked me graciously. I had to save his ass like two other times. Determined is not adequate to describe this girl. My heart almost twinged with guilt; I felt bad for her. Y'all know I have been super Girls Rule, Boys drool lately. But I didn't get that asshole vibe from him, and her body language and continuance in her pursuit of him put me off about her feelings.
We parted ways once more. But, shortly after, his friend Johnny approached with a royal invitation for a dance with Sir Tommy. Well, I don't dance. At least, not the way they do it today. The whole sex with your clothes on thing with twenty other sweaty people grinding and humping all around you, possibly making accident babies, never really took hold of my fancy. I look absolutely ridiculous doing it anyways. Like a llama with three legs, on roller blades, who had recently consumed hallucinogenic drugs, sort of ridiculous. On the rare occasion that I indulge in too much alcohol and catch the jitterbug, my lawyer advises that I make everyone within twenty feet of me sign a release form, as dancing with me may cause bruises, scrapes, spinal injuries, and in severe cases: death.
However skeptical I was of this Johnny, who looks uncannily like Slim Shady, I called his bluff. I told him his friend could ask me to dance if he wanted to dance. To my shock, he strolled over in a ridiculously cool air about him. That 90s bad boy undertone that I was speaking of earlier was practically radiating. I pictured him in this black leather jacket with some sort of helmet to a dangerous death machine under his arm (serious role play issues). Today, people call that air swag. I think that sounds like bullshit, so I just call it poise.
We attempted to dance for all of two seconds. Like I said, I am awkward as hell and did not want to scare this rare creature away. Instead, I attempted to converse with him, as talking is my one true gift from God. We spoke for a few minutes, but he said he had to leave soon. He told me to put my number in his phone. I did as I was told. Then he told me to call myself from his phone, so that he would "know it was real." I tried to stifle a giggle, he was really adamant about this. So, I called him right there so he'd have my number.
I didn't really expect to hear from him, but later, as I rode Cassie and Matt back to Destiny's apartment, I checked my phone and there was a message from Tommy. It said, "Testing, testing." Between the warm afterglow of a few beers and that text, I melted.
We've been out since, and he's awesome. I can't seem to formulate a better ending. I think the reason I cannot come up with one is because I am hoping there is more to come. So, come on.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
A Promise after a Proposal
When you gain weight to the point where you are considered (and truthfully) are fat, nobody tells you that it is going to be so much more than not being able to fit into your cute, high-end-retail jeans. I have this pair of Express jeans that were my all time favorite pair of jeans that I owned. They are a dark wash, boot cut (which is weird, because I really don't wear boot cut jeans), size 4, and they are fabulous. I used to wear them like a sexy, second skin. Now, I just stare at them like someone I used to know, like someone I used to love, but we had a huge falling out and now we are disgusted strangers who stare vaguely across the room at each other at a forced get together. I look at them in my closet and wonder how I ever fit into them. Now, they wouldn't even fit over one of my legs, and probably not all the way up it either.
Nobody tells you that every time you gain a few pounds, the harder it gets to sleep. You can't get comfortable and all that fat on your belly and chest crush on your lungs making it difficult to breathe. Nobody tells you that you will start to sweat all the time. I don't mean like normal sweat either, I mean sweat in places that you really didn't know you could sweat, and that you will need to shower like twice a day because deodorant just doesn't work the same and isn't made for those certain places. Nobody tells you that when you do decide to go exercise because you have a random and rare burst of energy, that your ass cheeks will chafe to the point of it being painful. It also happens between your legs. And let's be honest, are you going to let a guy in between them if your thighs look like raw meat? No. Fuck no. It is so unattractive. Nobody tells you how much wearing heels hurts. Even more so than usual, because all that weight is pressing down on a little tiny spike. I used to wear heels all day in school. I never walked very well in them, but they didn't hurt me like they do now. I won't wear my super cute black and beige wedges with a black bow ankle strap out to The Beaches, because I can't stand to stand on them longer than ten minutes. All my friends are wearing heels, but not me. Well, everyone except for Destiny, because she is tall and uncoordinated as shit. Nobody tells you how exhausted you are going to feel all the time, and how all of a sudden you need naps that aren't really naps, but more like second full night sleeps. Nobody tells you how everything about you will slow down. I used to walk so fast that my friends would get irritated with me when we went to the mall because I was too all over the place. Nobody tells you that when you breathe, you will make an audible sound. Like you just ran a mile, but really you are just sitting at your desk listening to lecture, as if note taking is suddenly a marathon (actually, it is a marathon. Those bastard professors at FSU acted like we all had Spidey Senses and could write at the speed of light. Assholes). And then there is that one skinny girl sitting beside you with her platinum blonde hair and she's breathing all normal and shit and you suddenly hate her and envy her all at the same time. OVER BREATHING!!!! WHAT A HORRIBLE THING TO BE JEALOUS OF! Nobody tells you that when you have sex, you don't and can't move as much, meaning it doesn't feel as good, meaning your special friend might just fall flat. Sadly, literally. Certain positions are no longer an option because all of you is all in the way.
Nobody tells you that being fat is more than having to buy more clothes, and that these new "fat" close are more expensive because it takes more material to make those jeans fit around your ass. Nobody tells you that suddenly, you don't want to go to church because you look like a pig in a bonnet and gown, (I won't use that as my full reason, because I would be lying if I was). Nobody tells you that when you do your hair in the morning, you look specifically at your hair because you cannot stand to look at your double chin. Nobody tells you that you won't want to walk at your graduation, because you don't want to look back on the best four years of your life and see yourself as a complete stranger in a different body. Or how you don't want to take senior pictures because you don't want to see yourself like this and show this you to your children one day. Nobody tells you any of this maybe because it's sad or embarrassing or gross or you don't want to admit it to yourself.
But I will.
It has been well over a year and a half since that one asshole told me the truth about what I was. I was fat. I am fat. Like I said before, I wasn't hurt that he said it, I was hurt that he didn't love me enough to stick around and help me get back to that sexy, fit girl I used to be. I used to cheer, tumble, and do drama and I even attempted to play tennis, of course I was in shape. I remember thinking a size 4 was fat. Ha! Fucking hilarious.
But what have I done about it? What have I done since that day that I swore he was going to eat his words like a delicious cheesecake laced with cyanide? Not a damn thing. Sad, but true.
Sure, I have gone on little fitness kicks where I was exercising twice a day, once in the morning before class and once in the evening. And I really did enjoy that! I loved it so much and I was getting results! But I quit before I had lost enough to be noticeable to others. I'd eat better, or swear I was going to after downing a Chik-fil-a vanilla milkshake with a side of nuggs. But what have I really done persistently, continuously, dedicated myself fully to? Not a damn thing.
Until right now.
A few weeks ago, I got in touch with my ex ex stepmom (doesn't that sound like something out of a soap opera?) and implored her to help me. I can't do this on my own, I am at the point where I need expert professional help! Jamie is amazing at what she does, and she is the ultimate result of hard work. Her body is tight, toned, and bangable, the ultimate goal of what I am trying to transform back into. I never really considered myself to be beautiful, though I did applaud myself on my good qualities, and one of them was being fit. Anyways, Jamie writes a section in our paper called The Fit Girl Chronicles. I knew if anyone could pull me from this vat of fat that is myself, it would be her.
We sat down and went over a meal plan, my goals, what would work and what fallacies and lies were lurking out there in skins of "Get-fit-quick" schemes and diet books. Her methods are simple, and as she read them out to me, a light suddenly clicked on above my head and a flame ignited in my heart, setting it on fire. I could, would and was going to do this!
Today was day one of Jamie's Bootcamp. I was terrified as I walked out onto the muddy expanse that was the Duck Pond field. I looked around me at all the other ladies and one dude there and felt a little better. Everyone there needed to be there. I talked with my mates and learned that they all had areas they wanted to fix, but most of them, like me, wanted to shed weight all over. Or at least maintain where they were now, to avoid becoming a sad story like myself.
For the next hour, I hurt, sweat, stank, hurt some more, watched little specks of black glitter flutter across my eyes warning me that I was going down soon. I blinked them back determined to not pass out. The workout was intense, but more so because I have not done that sort of exercise in at least....forever. After just one round of different exercises, I felt the bile rise in my throat. Another obstacle, another reason to quit. I simply refused to puke behind one of the picnic tables in front of all of these strangers. I choked it down and continued.
My way of getting through it was doing what I always do in any undesirable or tough situation, I pretended to be a character from a book. I find it extremely useful to empathize with someone you admire from a story or movie when presented with a tough situation. When I study for finals, I pretend to be Hermione Granger. When I write my blogs and work on my other projects, I try to channel Carrie Bradshaw. When my boss schedules me for "Facilities" which is just a nice way of saying, "Clean the shitter," I imagine that I am Cinderella or Snow White and that later on that day, my prince is going to come sweep me off of my feet from behind the cash wrap and carry me through the glass doors, if I could just get through changing the trash in the women's bathroom. When I have to clean up the Loft before my Papa comes up here to turn down the A.C. or make sure the doors are locked and sees my mess, I pretend to be Rapunzel. I look over my balcony and imagine flinging my hair down to the ultra sexy Flynn Rider and letting him climb up to my now spotless keep for some tea and trash tv. It may seem silly, but it really does work.
My latest read was the first book in the Divergent series. I pretended that I was Tris, training for the Dauntless initiation. At the start of the story, she was weak, just like I am now. But hard work, a few tears, and determination made her strong, just like they will make me. I embraced the mud and the stitch in my side and thought how I would love to be strong enough to whoop some dude's ass if I ever needed to, and this was the start of that training.
After that super intense, stomach churning, amazing work out, I felt so accomplished. It was great to hurt, to feel my lungs burn, to finally have a reason for audible raspy breathing. It was great to feel pain, just to know that I am alive. It means that I do have a chance to change, that there is still time to avoid all the horrible health hazards that come with gaining an unsavory amount of weight.
My sudden motivation has come from my best friend. That's right, Cassie is finally getting married!!!!!! Matt proposed to her two weeks ago. There are things that I would not do for myself, but that I would do for her. So, when I was lacking motivation to do it for myself, suddenly I found it in her. I would do anything for her, she is my heart and soul (most days). And I will be damned if I stand next to her as her overly honored and way too excited Maid of Honor at the size I am now. I refuse to let her down in photos by saying, "Please edit my arms in this,", in searching for the perfect dress that fits all of the bridesmaids and asking her secretly for something different because it doesn't flatter me, and all that is getting married. She would never say anything to me, because she loves me, but I cannot bear to have to take pictures standing next to someone so beautiful, so serene and perfect. Also, I just had a holy shit moment as I realized that her extremely handsome cousin, Ben, is the best man. Meaning, he will be the one escorting me. And when he does, I am going to look stunning. He is a great guy and deserves a little slice of arm candy. Even if it is only for a minute, because sadly, I am pretty sure he looks at me like family. Which is okay, because he lives clear across the country. And just like that, I am daydreaming.
I want people to know, you can do this! If you are reading this right now and you are not happy with your body and health, know that you can change! It is not about being stick skinny, it is about being healthy. My goal is to get back down to the weight I thought I looked best at, 125-135 lbs. If you can do the math and add 80 lbs to that, you know where I am now. There is no bow to put on that to make it look pretty, there is no hiding it beneath a big shirt, because soon it is going to be in a fitted chiffon gown. It is there, it is all there, but not for long. I swear. It is not about being skinny, or if it is for you great, do your thing. It is about being the best you can possibly be. I know where my best Cara is, she is here, underneath all this. I am going to find her.
I swear.
Nobody tells you that every time you gain a few pounds, the harder it gets to sleep. You can't get comfortable and all that fat on your belly and chest crush on your lungs making it difficult to breathe. Nobody tells you that you will start to sweat all the time. I don't mean like normal sweat either, I mean sweat in places that you really didn't know you could sweat, and that you will need to shower like twice a day because deodorant just doesn't work the same and isn't made for those certain places. Nobody tells you that when you do decide to go exercise because you have a random and rare burst of energy, that your ass cheeks will chafe to the point of it being painful. It also happens between your legs. And let's be honest, are you going to let a guy in between them if your thighs look like raw meat? No. Fuck no. It is so unattractive. Nobody tells you how much wearing heels hurts. Even more so than usual, because all that weight is pressing down on a little tiny spike. I used to wear heels all day in school. I never walked very well in them, but they didn't hurt me like they do now. I won't wear my super cute black and beige wedges with a black bow ankle strap out to The Beaches, because I can't stand to stand on them longer than ten minutes. All my friends are wearing heels, but not me. Well, everyone except for Destiny, because she is tall and uncoordinated as shit. Nobody tells you how exhausted you are going to feel all the time, and how all of a sudden you need naps that aren't really naps, but more like second full night sleeps. Nobody tells you how everything about you will slow down. I used to walk so fast that my friends would get irritated with me when we went to the mall because I was too all over the place. Nobody tells you that when you breathe, you will make an audible sound. Like you just ran a mile, but really you are just sitting at your desk listening to lecture, as if note taking is suddenly a marathon (actually, it is a marathon. Those bastard professors at FSU acted like we all had Spidey Senses and could write at the speed of light. Assholes). And then there is that one skinny girl sitting beside you with her platinum blonde hair and she's breathing all normal and shit and you suddenly hate her and envy her all at the same time. OVER BREATHING!!!! WHAT A HORRIBLE THING TO BE JEALOUS OF! Nobody tells you that when you have sex, you don't and can't move as much, meaning it doesn't feel as good, meaning your special friend might just fall flat. Sadly, literally. Certain positions are no longer an option because all of you is all in the way.
Nobody tells you that being fat is more than having to buy more clothes, and that these new "fat" close are more expensive because it takes more material to make those jeans fit around your ass. Nobody tells you that suddenly, you don't want to go to church because you look like a pig in a bonnet and gown, (I won't use that as my full reason, because I would be lying if I was). Nobody tells you that when you do your hair in the morning, you look specifically at your hair because you cannot stand to look at your double chin. Nobody tells you that you won't want to walk at your graduation, because you don't want to look back on the best four years of your life and see yourself as a complete stranger in a different body. Or how you don't want to take senior pictures because you don't want to see yourself like this and show this you to your children one day. Nobody tells you any of this maybe because it's sad or embarrassing or gross or you don't want to admit it to yourself.
But I will.
It has been well over a year and a half since that one asshole told me the truth about what I was. I was fat. I am fat. Like I said before, I wasn't hurt that he said it, I was hurt that he didn't love me enough to stick around and help me get back to that sexy, fit girl I used to be. I used to cheer, tumble, and do drama and I even attempted to play tennis, of course I was in shape. I remember thinking a size 4 was fat. Ha! Fucking hilarious.
But what have I done about it? What have I done since that day that I swore he was going to eat his words like a delicious cheesecake laced with cyanide? Not a damn thing. Sad, but true.
Sure, I have gone on little fitness kicks where I was exercising twice a day, once in the morning before class and once in the evening. And I really did enjoy that! I loved it so much and I was getting results! But I quit before I had lost enough to be noticeable to others. I'd eat better, or swear I was going to after downing a Chik-fil-a vanilla milkshake with a side of nuggs. But what have I really done persistently, continuously, dedicated myself fully to? Not a damn thing.
Until right now.
A few weeks ago, I got in touch with my ex ex stepmom (doesn't that sound like something out of a soap opera?) and implored her to help me. I can't do this on my own, I am at the point where I need expert professional help! Jamie is amazing at what she does, and she is the ultimate result of hard work. Her body is tight, toned, and bangable, the ultimate goal of what I am trying to transform back into. I never really considered myself to be beautiful, though I did applaud myself on my good qualities, and one of them was being fit. Anyways, Jamie writes a section in our paper called The Fit Girl Chronicles. I knew if anyone could pull me from this vat of fat that is myself, it would be her.
We sat down and went over a meal plan, my goals, what would work and what fallacies and lies were lurking out there in skins of "Get-fit-quick" schemes and diet books. Her methods are simple, and as she read them out to me, a light suddenly clicked on above my head and a flame ignited in my heart, setting it on fire. I could, would and was going to do this!
Today was day one of Jamie's Bootcamp. I was terrified as I walked out onto the muddy expanse that was the Duck Pond field. I looked around me at all the other ladies and one dude there and felt a little better. Everyone there needed to be there. I talked with my mates and learned that they all had areas they wanted to fix, but most of them, like me, wanted to shed weight all over. Or at least maintain where they were now, to avoid becoming a sad story like myself.
For the next hour, I hurt, sweat, stank, hurt some more, watched little specks of black glitter flutter across my eyes warning me that I was going down soon. I blinked them back determined to not pass out. The workout was intense, but more so because I have not done that sort of exercise in at least....forever. After just one round of different exercises, I felt the bile rise in my throat. Another obstacle, another reason to quit. I simply refused to puke behind one of the picnic tables in front of all of these strangers. I choked it down and continued.
My way of getting through it was doing what I always do in any undesirable or tough situation, I pretended to be a character from a book. I find it extremely useful to empathize with someone you admire from a story or movie when presented with a tough situation. When I study for finals, I pretend to be Hermione Granger. When I write my blogs and work on my other projects, I try to channel Carrie Bradshaw. When my boss schedules me for "Facilities" which is just a nice way of saying, "Clean the shitter," I imagine that I am Cinderella or Snow White and that later on that day, my prince is going to come sweep me off of my feet from behind the cash wrap and carry me through the glass doors, if I could just get through changing the trash in the women's bathroom. When I have to clean up the Loft before my Papa comes up here to turn down the A.C. or make sure the doors are locked and sees my mess, I pretend to be Rapunzel. I look over my balcony and imagine flinging my hair down to the ultra sexy Flynn Rider and letting him climb up to my now spotless keep for some tea and trash tv. It may seem silly, but it really does work.
My latest read was the first book in the Divergent series. I pretended that I was Tris, training for the Dauntless initiation. At the start of the story, she was weak, just like I am now. But hard work, a few tears, and determination made her strong, just like they will make me. I embraced the mud and the stitch in my side and thought how I would love to be strong enough to whoop some dude's ass if I ever needed to, and this was the start of that training.
After that super intense, stomach churning, amazing work out, I felt so accomplished. It was great to hurt, to feel my lungs burn, to finally have a reason for audible raspy breathing. It was great to feel pain, just to know that I am alive. It means that I do have a chance to change, that there is still time to avoid all the horrible health hazards that come with gaining an unsavory amount of weight.
My sudden motivation has come from my best friend. That's right, Cassie is finally getting married!!!!!! Matt proposed to her two weeks ago. There are things that I would not do for myself, but that I would do for her. So, when I was lacking motivation to do it for myself, suddenly I found it in her. I would do anything for her, she is my heart and soul (most days). And I will be damned if I stand next to her as her overly honored and way too excited Maid of Honor at the size I am now. I refuse to let her down in photos by saying, "Please edit my arms in this,", in searching for the perfect dress that fits all of the bridesmaids and asking her secretly for something different because it doesn't flatter me, and all that is getting married. She would never say anything to me, because she loves me, but I cannot bear to have to take pictures standing next to someone so beautiful, so serene and perfect. Also, I just had a holy shit moment as I realized that her extremely handsome cousin, Ben, is the best man. Meaning, he will be the one escorting me. And when he does, I am going to look stunning. He is a great guy and deserves a little slice of arm candy. Even if it is only for a minute, because sadly, I am pretty sure he looks at me like family. Which is okay, because he lives clear across the country. And just like that, I am daydreaming.
I want people to know, you can do this! If you are reading this right now and you are not happy with your body and health, know that you can change! It is not about being stick skinny, it is about being healthy. My goal is to get back down to the weight I thought I looked best at, 125-135 lbs. If you can do the math and add 80 lbs to that, you know where I am now. There is no bow to put on that to make it look pretty, there is no hiding it beneath a big shirt, because soon it is going to be in a fitted chiffon gown. It is there, it is all there, but not for long. I swear. It is not about being skinny, or if it is for you great, do your thing. It is about being the best you can possibly be. I know where my best Cara is, she is here, underneath all this. I am going to find her.
I swear.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
A Ray of Sunshine
I think what scares me most about death is that it is uncontrollable. It is this tidal wave of black that we can't predict coming; who it will take, what day it will happen, where you will be standing whenever it washes over you. Death is unpredictable. It is an invisible, mobile force that sneaks around kicking people's legs out from under them, making them fall back into the Earth in which we were created from.
Is it just me or does it always seem to be the good ones? The beautiful ones? The young ones? The sweet ones who deserved so much more? It always seems to be the ones who you would never expect. When Brooke died, I remember thinking of names of people from my class who I could have pictured dying before I saw her dying. Not because they were bad people and "deserved" to die, but maybe because they jumped off of roofs into pools for fun, or drove like a maniac. I drove like a maniac. I could have seen myself going before Brooke did. It was a sadistic thought. She was a beautiful bride with a full bodied laugh. She was young and timeless. But there she was on that December day, a girl I could not recognize.
I remember gathering strength as we moved through the line at the viewing to look upon her beauty one more time. I remember taking steadying breaths because I was going to make myself look at her. It would bring me closure, or whatever it was that I needed to feel. It came my time to pass her by. I gulped, looking down to see a face. It was her face, but then it was not. Something was missing. It was the light.
The thing that really makes a person, is the light that lives inside their eyes. Having them open you can see this light, when they laugh, when they cry, when they look at someone who they love, when they talk about something they are passionate about, it really shines. Even when the eyes are closed at night, you can see the light dancing beneath the eyelids. Dreams are the light of the eyes playing back events or making up new ones, playing them on the back of your eyelids like a projector would on a screen. Your eyelashes flutter and you look so young when you sleep because of this light. It is trying to escape and shine for the world on the things you care about, the things you love.
Everyone tells you the horror stories of when you grow up, there is always one person from your graduating class. One person who was too good, too unsuspected of being taken early gets snatched up by death. Brooke was ours, Ray is my brother's class. I knew him. He played ball and I cheered, he weight lifted and I, well I more so watched and flirted with boys and just wanted to be there than I actually participated. His size would have made him intimidating, except he had this youthful face with a button nose. The light in his eyes shown because he was in his home, the gym, the field. He was a gentle giant, lumbering around making everyone with a good sense of people his friend.
Ray messaged me one night, after I had graduated from high school and had been gone for a while. It was Christmas a few years ago.I was home for the holiday and was at my mom's. I rarely stay the night at my mom's house, but I always stay a few days around Christmas time. Mom was sleeping and I was left to my own feelings and crazy. I was feeling really down about some boy, the boy. This boy was mean and I couldn't understand what I had done to suddenly make his demons appear, because he wasn't always like that. Or maybe he was and he was just trying to change for me.
I was on the verge of tears when Ray said he was coming over. I didn't need to tell him I was miserable, that I was in love with someone who didn't love me back anymore. All of the dramatics were unnecessary to pull him from his home miles and miles away, he just came to hang out and keep me company. Ray asked me what I wanted to do, towering over me. I could have said anything, but my mind settled on what I was going to do that night with or without a large man sitting on my couch. I wanted to watch Pitch Perfect I told him. I expected some groan of resistance, but none came. We watched the movie and eventually I laid myself across him in his arms. He stroked my hair and laughed with me at the movie. He swore he liked it, and I believed him. Well, I believed he liked most of it.
We kept in touch. He always reached out to me first. Or well, he did most of the time. A few weeks ago he was at his aunt's house housesitting. He texted me to see what I was up to. I sent a few halfhearted replies, not really interested in talking to anyone that night. Now he is gone, and there are people who knew him better than I did, people who loved him who are all going crazy. I wish now that I had talked to him and actually listened. Like maybe if I did these events wouldn't have unfurled so mercilessly. I remind myself that it isn't up to us though, who He takes. Nothing you do can stop it. You could jump on a grenade for someone and if He chooses for the other person to go, that person is going and you are living with a new hole. Ray was a sweet, good, young, beautiful boy making the "only the good die young" saying horrifically true. I am so sorry you are gone. I know, I have to believe, you are somewhere magnificent. They call it Heaven and I know you are there.
Find a green field and paint some white stripes on it. Turn it into a field. Find the greats in sports from generations past and start up a game. When the thunder crashes in the sky, we will know it is you thundering around and tackling anything that stands in your way.
Class of 2011, I know this has been a kick to the gut and a shot through the heart. He was the one you never ever would have guessed, never ever would have even crossed your mind, but he is. For some of you, it is your first loss, your first tragedy.Brooke was mine. I am so sorry he was taken from you. From all of us. In times of great sadness, you find friends you forgot you had, friend who you haven't seen or thought about in years. Lean on them. When Brooke was taken from us, I kept thinking this is a class reunion under miserable circumstances with nobody spiking the punch. It was horrible that we all had to be there together, but we were there. Together. Brooke brought friends back and mended relationships that had fizzled out or gone out with a dramatic bang. That night after the viewing we all went to Woody's, the only restaurant in town. They had to pull four or five huge tables together to accommodate all of the suddenly reunited friends. There were people sitting beside me and in front of me who I never would have imagined sharing a meal with since graduation, but there we all were. Find these people, find your friends, reconnect and live together for someone who no longer can. Love each other and remember the times when you were all gathered in the courtyard or around a lunch table spitting gossip, laughing at each other. Remember what it is like to be 16 or 17 and know that you can be there in that time forever young, because these people make your heart ageless. Remember Ray together. Pull each other from the depths of this black wave and hold on until the sun breaks back through. It will break back through. And each cloud that the sun shines through at sunset, each color, you will know it is the work of angels, and you will know that Ray is one of them.
Is it just me or does it always seem to be the good ones? The beautiful ones? The young ones? The sweet ones who deserved so much more? It always seems to be the ones who you would never expect. When Brooke died, I remember thinking of names of people from my class who I could have pictured dying before I saw her dying. Not because they were bad people and "deserved" to die, but maybe because they jumped off of roofs into pools for fun, or drove like a maniac. I drove like a maniac. I could have seen myself going before Brooke did. It was a sadistic thought. She was a beautiful bride with a full bodied laugh. She was young and timeless. But there she was on that December day, a girl I could not recognize.
I remember gathering strength as we moved through the line at the viewing to look upon her beauty one more time. I remember taking steadying breaths because I was going to make myself look at her. It would bring me closure, or whatever it was that I needed to feel. It came my time to pass her by. I gulped, looking down to see a face. It was her face, but then it was not. Something was missing. It was the light.
The thing that really makes a person, is the light that lives inside their eyes. Having them open you can see this light, when they laugh, when they cry, when they look at someone who they love, when they talk about something they are passionate about, it really shines. Even when the eyes are closed at night, you can see the light dancing beneath the eyelids. Dreams are the light of the eyes playing back events or making up new ones, playing them on the back of your eyelids like a projector would on a screen. Your eyelashes flutter and you look so young when you sleep because of this light. It is trying to escape and shine for the world on the things you care about, the things you love.
Everyone tells you the horror stories of when you grow up, there is always one person from your graduating class. One person who was too good, too unsuspected of being taken early gets snatched up by death. Brooke was ours, Ray is my brother's class. I knew him. He played ball and I cheered, he weight lifted and I, well I more so watched and flirted with boys and just wanted to be there than I actually participated. His size would have made him intimidating, except he had this youthful face with a button nose. The light in his eyes shown because he was in his home, the gym, the field. He was a gentle giant, lumbering around making everyone with a good sense of people his friend.
Ray messaged me one night, after I had graduated from high school and had been gone for a while. It was Christmas a few years ago.I was home for the holiday and was at my mom's. I rarely stay the night at my mom's house, but I always stay a few days around Christmas time. Mom was sleeping and I was left to my own feelings and crazy. I was feeling really down about some boy, the boy. This boy was mean and I couldn't understand what I had done to suddenly make his demons appear, because he wasn't always like that. Or maybe he was and he was just trying to change for me.
I was on the verge of tears when Ray said he was coming over. I didn't need to tell him I was miserable, that I was in love with someone who didn't love me back anymore. All of the dramatics were unnecessary to pull him from his home miles and miles away, he just came to hang out and keep me company. Ray asked me what I wanted to do, towering over me. I could have said anything, but my mind settled on what I was going to do that night with or without a large man sitting on my couch. I wanted to watch Pitch Perfect I told him. I expected some groan of resistance, but none came. We watched the movie and eventually I laid myself across him in his arms. He stroked my hair and laughed with me at the movie. He swore he liked it, and I believed him. Well, I believed he liked most of it.
We kept in touch. He always reached out to me first. Or well, he did most of the time. A few weeks ago he was at his aunt's house housesitting. He texted me to see what I was up to. I sent a few halfhearted replies, not really interested in talking to anyone that night. Now he is gone, and there are people who knew him better than I did, people who loved him who are all going crazy. I wish now that I had talked to him and actually listened. Like maybe if I did these events wouldn't have unfurled so mercilessly. I remind myself that it isn't up to us though, who He takes. Nothing you do can stop it. You could jump on a grenade for someone and if He chooses for the other person to go, that person is going and you are living with a new hole. Ray was a sweet, good, young, beautiful boy making the "only the good die young" saying horrifically true. I am so sorry you are gone. I know, I have to believe, you are somewhere magnificent. They call it Heaven and I know you are there.
Find a green field and paint some white stripes on it. Turn it into a field. Find the greats in sports from generations past and start up a game. When the thunder crashes in the sky, we will know it is you thundering around and tackling anything that stands in your way.
Class of 2011, I know this has been a kick to the gut and a shot through the heart. He was the one you never ever would have guessed, never ever would have even crossed your mind, but he is. For some of you, it is your first loss, your first tragedy.Brooke was mine. I am so sorry he was taken from you. From all of us. In times of great sadness, you find friends you forgot you had, friend who you haven't seen or thought about in years. Lean on them. When Brooke was taken from us, I kept thinking this is a class reunion under miserable circumstances with nobody spiking the punch. It was horrible that we all had to be there together, but we were there. Together. Brooke brought friends back and mended relationships that had fizzled out or gone out with a dramatic bang. That night after the viewing we all went to Woody's, the only restaurant in town. They had to pull four or five huge tables together to accommodate all of the suddenly reunited friends. There were people sitting beside me and in front of me who I never would have imagined sharing a meal with since graduation, but there we all were. Find these people, find your friends, reconnect and live together for someone who no longer can. Love each other and remember the times when you were all gathered in the courtyard or around a lunch table spitting gossip, laughing at each other. Remember what it is like to be 16 or 17 and know that you can be there in that time forever young, because these people make your heart ageless. Remember Ray together. Pull each other from the depths of this black wave and hold on until the sun breaks back through. It will break back through. And each cloud that the sun shines through at sunset, each color, you will know it is the work of angels, and you will know that Ray is one of them.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Uptown Girls and Downtown Guys: Valentine's Day 2014
Hello all,
I should currently be packing for my immanent trip to the beautiful city of Seattle: home of the recent Superbowl winners. I heard it is really live there tonight as the players are returning. You know you have done something cool when they have to shut down the airport so the 12th man can't tear the jerseys from their bodies upon their arrival.
So I should be packing since I am actually leaving in about a day. I haven't even taken my the tags off of my brand new luggage; TEAM PROCRASTINATORS UNITE!!!!! However, with the night I have had, I have decided that I needed to just sit around eating Reese Peanut Butter hearts (which by the way are about 200000 billion times better than regular Reese cups) and my beloved blog and readers. You guys are my Valentines this year and I think we deserve a night in with each other. You know, regardless of if I will be ready to fly across the country on Wednesday or not.
This year's official how-to-survive-Valentine's-day-without-getting-bitch-slapped-because-you-got-your-person-a-shitty-gift blog is slightly past due, much like my friend Tannah's gorgeous baby girl was until she finally entered the world on January 29th. Hot mamma, you and Matt did a marvelous job. I obviously need to do whatever y'all did when that time for baby making comes for me. Seriously y'all, I feel like they must have done some sort of ritual dance or drank a special cute baby concoction to make this baby so pretty. Give me your secret!
No, truth be told, I am feeling a little ill towards my favorite holiday. This will be the second one I am spending "alone" and... well, damn, bring on another bag of Reese hearts. It just isn't the same when your mom buys you a big huge teddy bear. That's not a "I love you gorgeous" teddy bear, it's a consolation teddy that says "sorry, there's always next year Sugarpants." Yeah, my mom calls me Sugarpants, be super jealous. Just go ahead and add a bottle of wine to my dinner of chocolate hearts. Hold the glass.
This ill feeling is really intensified when I walk into any given store and see at least three aisles of pink hearts, ridiculous balloons, and the animal kingdom of cheaply made stuffed animals. Seriously, they will turn any animal into a Valentine's Day animal. Nothing shouts Valentine's Day like a pink snake with heart patterned skin. What the hell sort of message is that supposed to send?! "Hey baby, I love you, so you should let me slither in later on tonight!" Actually, that's not bad!!!! Ha! I slay myself!
Also, I swear, the fella who finds me a stuffed elephant seal for Valentine's Day will be the one I marry. Hands down. Find that and you have the right to my body. Just a little side note to the man who is out there on his way to me.
Without further ado, here is my official gift guide to Valentine's Day 2014:
For the ladies:
1) Look guys, I am going to say what I said last year, we love it when you make us things. There is nothing cuter than a boy and a handmade card. Break out the macaroni, glue stick, and pink card stock and get to work. This works for you because it is cheap and is guaranteed to make your lady friend smile, even if it looks like a 3 year old did it. The point is, you put time and thought into something for her.
2) Something new to add to the list this year is a fitness class pass. I don't mean some boyish sort of exercise class, but something sexy like a pole dancing class. There is a place in Tallahassee called Art of the Catwalk, and they offer every class you could think of to bring out your girl's inner sex kitten. Trust me, every girl has one. It may be buried deep, deep down, but put her in front of a pole with Rihanna's "Rude Boy" playing and you will see the claws come out. This place had a pole class, a chair class, sexy boot camp, a number of hip hop dance classes, and (the one that I was most interested in) a Burlesque class. Aerial yoga and hot yoga are also good classes that a lot of us gals are into.
*******CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*************
DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES MAKE THIS THE ONLY GIFT YOU GIVE YOUR GIRL IF YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE HER THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Giving a girl an exercise class for Valentine's Day could seriously backfire if you go about it wrong. Our fitness buff girls will love it and probably not question it, especially if you two work out together. However, if you have a girlfriend who is very body conscious, always putting herself down about the way she looks, or maybe has honest to goodness put on a few pounds lately, you need to utilize the extremest of caution. Get her the class and a box of chocolate to even it out. That way it doesn't say, "Damn baby I love you, but you need to shed some pounds," but rather, "Hey girl, I know you have been talking about doing this class, and I love that you love being healthy, but you are perfect the way you are and I'd tap that ass any day, so I got you some chocolate too." That way, you avoid her asking you for the next three months if you think she is fat, crying randomly and cussing at you, working out to the extreme and then eating a whole cheesecake, becoming anorexic and eventually needing some serious therapy and cheeseburgers. Point is, if you are going to go with this really unique and cool V-day gift, combine it with some sort of treat or other present so she doesn't think that you think she is fat.
3)Girls love pictures. We may complain about pictures of ourselves, but really we love taking pictures. If you feel like it is appropriate, set up an appointment with your local photographer and surprise her with a photography session. What exactly do I mean by appropriate? I'll tell you. If you have been dating girl for over a year and you guys legitimately care about each other and can seriously see yourselves moving on into the future together, that is appropriate. What is not appropriate is if you have been dating a girl for two months and she is hinting at getting pictures made with you, TURN AROUND BRIGHT EYES AND RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN. THIS BITCH IS CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!
Do the cute matching thing. Or, well, I'd prefer to call it "Couple Coordinating." Unless you just want to, wearing matching pink polo shirts is a little dated and cheesy. Maybe for like one picture. Coordinating is simply her wearing a pink shirt and the guy wearing a pink tie. Or maybe he has on a red shirt and she's rocking the red Vans on her feet with a white shirt up top. Pick something that matches, but not anything that is overkill.
**BONUS POINTS ALERT**
Pick out the outfit for her. It really isn't that hard to do guys. Look in her closet, get a feel for her style, look at what colors she likes, write down the sizes and take it to someone working in the store you are shopping in. Find a girl or a gay guy working there (sorry, not trying to be stereotypical but these guys have it right) and let them help you. If you just suck at fashion, just a cute note with some money in it that says, "Pick out something as stunning as you are so I can fill that little plastic thing in my wallet the way that you have filled my heart.".... WOW! I am good! The perfect amount of cheesy without overdoing it, but just fluffy enough to guarantee you a V-day card that didn't come from Hallmark.
4) Dinner is the oldest card in the book for a perfect romantic Valentine's Day setting. It needs to be done right though. This is what I suggest this year. Stay home. Cook your girl her favorite meal (if you can), set the table with real plates and glasses, pick up a bottle of Reisling or whatever she likes, turn the lights down low and light the candles on the table. Again, we love when you make us things. Go for something Italian if she likes that type of food. I love lasagna. Homemade food is way better than restaurant food. I want it everyday of the week and twice on Sundays. If you want to go out and you know she wants to go out, go out for dessert. Make the dinner at home and go find something sweet at a little cafe. That way you get the best of both worlds.
5)Pick her up a spa sort of treatment. We love massages, pedicures, hair cuts, etc. Um... if you want something that is going to benefit you as well as her, get her a Brazilian wax from Brazil's. I have talked so many of my friends into getting them done and we all love them. I now get my legs done too, and it is so much better than shaving. Never suffer through cuddling with a prickly legged girl again. Plus, for whatever reason, every time I leave my appointment at Brazil's, I am instantaneously horny and ready to pounce. See, it is a win win. She gets to have a stubble free kitten, and you just get to have it.
6) Movies are the other leading V-day date. Again, I suggest doing it at home. Make a cute pallet with lots of blankets, pillows, throws, two glasses and a bottle of champagne, and light some candles all around. If you are feeling super romantic, sprinkle some rose petals in a path leading from the door to your cozy little setup. Rent some sort of sappy love movie, and she is guaranteed to love it. If you want to go out, I suggest finding a drive in theatre. A drive in is a little more interesting, intimate and more out of the ordinary than usual.
The last half of the last sentence is the whole key to making for a successful Valentine's Day; out of the ordinary. What ever you decide to do, make it out of the ordinary. We know that you love us, we really do. You tell us everyday and we do hear you. But Valentine's Day is the day to go all out, cut all ties loose, let your cupid flag fly and really wow your individual. Get some flowers, write a silly note from the heart, really show us on that day! After all, actions speak louder than words, so do it to it boys.
For the Men:
I feel as though the men are pretty neglected on Valentine's day. Everything from the heart shaped everything down to the very colors that signify this holiday scream "Chicks not dicks." It is sort of hard to find anything for the guys. The television has been advertising KY Yours and Mine for the man's favorite gift, and that very well may be true. On second thought, I'm positive that any guy who got that would be over the moon and ready to lay you down on that movie pallet later. But I have a few ideas for our fellas that are not bottles of personal lubricants.
1) The guys may not go for homemade cards as much as we do. Sure, they might think they are sweet, but the real way to a guys heart is through his stomach. For your homemade gift to your hunk of burning man, make him his favorite treat. Get sexy and make him some chocolate covered strawberries. They really aren't difficult to make. Grab a bag of milk chocolate chocolate chips, I use Nestle chips, follow the microwave directions, and dip the berries. I put the chocolate in a coffee mug because the berries come out prettier. I think it is because you can dunk the whole berry down into the mug rather than rolling it around in a shallow bowl. White chocolate is another easy chocolate to use, and you can add a few drops of food coloring to make pink berries. Do not use semi-sweet morsels, the chocolate does not harden all the way. After you dip the berries, you can roll them around in sprinkles, chopped nuts, sugar, or do a double dose of delicious and dunk a berry that you dipped in white chocolate in milk chocolate after it has hardened. Two layers of chocolate!!!! Whatever you do, make something he likes to indulge on.
2) Okay, so I tried this a few years ago and I have to say it was a lot cuter in my head than the end product that I produced. I wanted to make this coupon book for a boyfriend. It was basically a book of "get out of jail free" cards. Basically you fill out small rectangles of paper to make them look like a coupon with things like "No bitching about my all day video game spree" or "One free blow job, no complaints" or "One beer run for Monday Night football with your gas." The idea is perfect for a guy. It's the perfect combination of naughty and sweet, meaningful and funny. Guys will love whipping them out on you. Now, the only thing I had wrong with me is that God didn't give me an artistic bone in my body to fulfill my creative ideas. My handwriting looks like my niece's and there have been multiple injuries with a glue gun that may or may not have been thrown out of my door several times. So, if you are like me and hopelessly sloppy, try creating them on the computer. WAYYYYYY EASIER and in my case way more legible.
3) Let me be totally honest about what a guy wants on Valentine's Day. He wants you. Naked. In various and many compromising positions on multiple different surfaces. SEX! He wants SEX! If you are at that stage in your relationship give it to him. THIS DOES NOT APPLY TO MY YOUNGER READERS OUT THERE. YOU CAN QUIT READING THIS POST NOW. SEX MAKES BABIES AND BABIES POOP AND CRY A LOT AND YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO BE SEXY IN A BIKINI AGAIN. DO NOT HAVE SEX! However, for my readers who are of that sort of maturity, give it to him. Fulfill his wildest fantasies. If he wants to do it on the trampoline, do it on the trampoline. Trust me, you won't be sorry on that one. If he wants you in the car while he is driving, hang on and go for a ride. I just suggest a back road for the protection of others. As with what I said about the girls earlier, he wants something out of the ordinary.
4) Tickets to a sporting event are always a good idea. Guys have a team in every sport from football to soccer to curling, so the time of year does not really matter. Since February is devoted mainly to basketball, I suggest tickets to his favorite team's game. College or pro, they might not care, but a pro game might be more exciting. Buy him a new shirt with their logo, put it on the bed with a note on it that says, "There's a twelve pack in the fridge getting cold for the pregame. Put this and your J's on, we have a game to catch." He will love you forever.
Whatever you do this Valentine's Day, do something differently than you would on an ordinary day. Go all out, show your love, let your other half feel the affection you have for him or her. Be silly, be fun, be in love.
I should currently be packing for my immanent trip to the beautiful city of Seattle: home of the recent Superbowl winners. I heard it is really live there tonight as the players are returning. You know you have done something cool when they have to shut down the airport so the 12th man can't tear the jerseys from their bodies upon their arrival.
So I should be packing since I am actually leaving in about a day. I haven't even taken my the tags off of my brand new luggage; TEAM PROCRASTINATORS UNITE!!!!! However, with the night I have had, I have decided that I needed to just sit around eating Reese Peanut Butter hearts (which by the way are about 200000 billion times better than regular Reese cups) and my beloved blog and readers. You guys are my Valentines this year and I think we deserve a night in with each other. You know, regardless of if I will be ready to fly across the country on Wednesday or not.
This year's official how-to-survive-Valentine's-day-without-getting-bitch-slapped-because-you-got-your-person-a-shitty-gift blog is slightly past due, much like my friend Tannah's gorgeous baby girl was until she finally entered the world on January 29th. Hot mamma, you and Matt did a marvelous job. I obviously need to do whatever y'all did when that time for baby making comes for me. Seriously y'all, I feel like they must have done some sort of ritual dance or drank a special cute baby concoction to make this baby so pretty. Give me your secret!
No, truth be told, I am feeling a little ill towards my favorite holiday. This will be the second one I am spending "alone" and... well, damn, bring on another bag of Reese hearts. It just isn't the same when your mom buys you a big huge teddy bear. That's not a "I love you gorgeous" teddy bear, it's a consolation teddy that says "sorry, there's always next year Sugarpants." Yeah, my mom calls me Sugarpants, be super jealous. Just go ahead and add a bottle of wine to my dinner of chocolate hearts. Hold the glass.
This ill feeling is really intensified when I walk into any given store and see at least three aisles of pink hearts, ridiculous balloons, and the animal kingdom of cheaply made stuffed animals. Seriously, they will turn any animal into a Valentine's Day animal. Nothing shouts Valentine's Day like a pink snake with heart patterned skin. What the hell sort of message is that supposed to send?! "Hey baby, I love you, so you should let me slither in later on tonight!" Actually, that's not bad!!!! Ha! I slay myself!
Also, I swear, the fella who finds me a stuffed elephant seal for Valentine's Day will be the one I marry. Hands down. Find that and you have the right to my body. Just a little side note to the man who is out there on his way to me.
Without further ado, here is my official gift guide to Valentine's Day 2014:
For the ladies:
1) Look guys, I am going to say what I said last year, we love it when you make us things. There is nothing cuter than a boy and a handmade card. Break out the macaroni, glue stick, and pink card stock and get to work. This works for you because it is cheap and is guaranteed to make your lady friend smile, even if it looks like a 3 year old did it. The point is, you put time and thought into something for her.
2) Something new to add to the list this year is a fitness class pass. I don't mean some boyish sort of exercise class, but something sexy like a pole dancing class. There is a place in Tallahassee called Art of the Catwalk, and they offer every class you could think of to bring out your girl's inner sex kitten. Trust me, every girl has one. It may be buried deep, deep down, but put her in front of a pole with Rihanna's "Rude Boy" playing and you will see the claws come out. This place had a pole class, a chair class, sexy boot camp, a number of hip hop dance classes, and (the one that I was most interested in) a Burlesque class. Aerial yoga and hot yoga are also good classes that a lot of us gals are into.
*******CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*************
DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES MAKE THIS THE ONLY GIFT YOU GIVE YOUR GIRL IF YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE HER THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Giving a girl an exercise class for Valentine's Day could seriously backfire if you go about it wrong. Our fitness buff girls will love it and probably not question it, especially if you two work out together. However, if you have a girlfriend who is very body conscious, always putting herself down about the way she looks, or maybe has honest to goodness put on a few pounds lately, you need to utilize the extremest of caution. Get her the class and a box of chocolate to even it out. That way it doesn't say, "Damn baby I love you, but you need to shed some pounds," but rather, "Hey girl, I know you have been talking about doing this class, and I love that you love being healthy, but you are perfect the way you are and I'd tap that ass any day, so I got you some chocolate too." That way, you avoid her asking you for the next three months if you think she is fat, crying randomly and cussing at you, working out to the extreme and then eating a whole cheesecake, becoming anorexic and eventually needing some serious therapy and cheeseburgers. Point is, if you are going to go with this really unique and cool V-day gift, combine it with some sort of treat or other present so she doesn't think that you think she is fat.
3)Girls love pictures. We may complain about pictures of ourselves, but really we love taking pictures. If you feel like it is appropriate, set up an appointment with your local photographer and surprise her with a photography session. What exactly do I mean by appropriate? I'll tell you. If you have been dating girl for over a year and you guys legitimately care about each other and can seriously see yourselves moving on into the future together, that is appropriate. What is not appropriate is if you have been dating a girl for two months and she is hinting at getting pictures made with you, TURN AROUND BRIGHT EYES AND RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN. THIS BITCH IS CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!
Do the cute matching thing. Or, well, I'd prefer to call it "Couple Coordinating." Unless you just want to, wearing matching pink polo shirts is a little dated and cheesy. Maybe for like one picture. Coordinating is simply her wearing a pink shirt and the guy wearing a pink tie. Or maybe he has on a red shirt and she's rocking the red Vans on her feet with a white shirt up top. Pick something that matches, but not anything that is overkill.
**BONUS POINTS ALERT**
Pick out the outfit for her. It really isn't that hard to do guys. Look in her closet, get a feel for her style, look at what colors she likes, write down the sizes and take it to someone working in the store you are shopping in. Find a girl or a gay guy working there (sorry, not trying to be stereotypical but these guys have it right) and let them help you. If you just suck at fashion, just a cute note with some money in it that says, "Pick out something as stunning as you are so I can fill that little plastic thing in my wallet the way that you have filled my heart.".... WOW! I am good! The perfect amount of cheesy without overdoing it, but just fluffy enough to guarantee you a V-day card that didn't come from Hallmark.
4) Dinner is the oldest card in the book for a perfect romantic Valentine's Day setting. It needs to be done right though. This is what I suggest this year. Stay home. Cook your girl her favorite meal (if you can), set the table with real plates and glasses, pick up a bottle of Reisling or whatever she likes, turn the lights down low and light the candles on the table. Again, we love when you make us things. Go for something Italian if she likes that type of food. I love lasagna. Homemade food is way better than restaurant food. I want it everyday of the week and twice on Sundays. If you want to go out and you know she wants to go out, go out for dessert. Make the dinner at home and go find something sweet at a little cafe. That way you get the best of both worlds.
5)Pick her up a spa sort of treatment. We love massages, pedicures, hair cuts, etc. Um... if you want something that is going to benefit you as well as her, get her a Brazilian wax from Brazil's. I have talked so many of my friends into getting them done and we all love them. I now get my legs done too, and it is so much better than shaving. Never suffer through cuddling with a prickly legged girl again. Plus, for whatever reason, every time I leave my appointment at Brazil's, I am instantaneously horny and ready to pounce. See, it is a win win. She gets to have a stubble free kitten, and you just get to have it.
6) Movies are the other leading V-day date. Again, I suggest doing it at home. Make a cute pallet with lots of blankets, pillows, throws, two glasses and a bottle of champagne, and light some candles all around. If you are feeling super romantic, sprinkle some rose petals in a path leading from the door to your cozy little setup. Rent some sort of sappy love movie, and she is guaranteed to love it. If you want to go out, I suggest finding a drive in theatre. A drive in is a little more interesting, intimate and more out of the ordinary than usual.
The last half of the last sentence is the whole key to making for a successful Valentine's Day; out of the ordinary. What ever you decide to do, make it out of the ordinary. We know that you love us, we really do. You tell us everyday and we do hear you. But Valentine's Day is the day to go all out, cut all ties loose, let your cupid flag fly and really wow your individual. Get some flowers, write a silly note from the heart, really show us on that day! After all, actions speak louder than words, so do it to it boys.
For the Men:
I feel as though the men are pretty neglected on Valentine's day. Everything from the heart shaped everything down to the very colors that signify this holiday scream "Chicks not dicks." It is sort of hard to find anything for the guys. The television has been advertising KY Yours and Mine for the man's favorite gift, and that very well may be true. On second thought, I'm positive that any guy who got that would be over the moon and ready to lay you down on that movie pallet later. But I have a few ideas for our fellas that are not bottles of personal lubricants.
1) The guys may not go for homemade cards as much as we do. Sure, they might think they are sweet, but the real way to a guys heart is through his stomach. For your homemade gift to your hunk of burning man, make him his favorite treat. Get sexy and make him some chocolate covered strawberries. They really aren't difficult to make. Grab a bag of milk chocolate chocolate chips, I use Nestle chips, follow the microwave directions, and dip the berries. I put the chocolate in a coffee mug because the berries come out prettier. I think it is because you can dunk the whole berry down into the mug rather than rolling it around in a shallow bowl. White chocolate is another easy chocolate to use, and you can add a few drops of food coloring to make pink berries. Do not use semi-sweet morsels, the chocolate does not harden all the way. After you dip the berries, you can roll them around in sprinkles, chopped nuts, sugar, or do a double dose of delicious and dunk a berry that you dipped in white chocolate in milk chocolate after it has hardened. Two layers of chocolate!!!! Whatever you do, make something he likes to indulge on.
2) Okay, so I tried this a few years ago and I have to say it was a lot cuter in my head than the end product that I produced. I wanted to make this coupon book for a boyfriend. It was basically a book of "get out of jail free" cards. Basically you fill out small rectangles of paper to make them look like a coupon with things like "No bitching about my all day video game spree" or "One free blow job, no complaints" or "One beer run for Monday Night football with your gas." The idea is perfect for a guy. It's the perfect combination of naughty and sweet, meaningful and funny. Guys will love whipping them out on you. Now, the only thing I had wrong with me is that God didn't give me an artistic bone in my body to fulfill my creative ideas. My handwriting looks like my niece's and there have been multiple injuries with a glue gun that may or may not have been thrown out of my door several times. So, if you are like me and hopelessly sloppy, try creating them on the computer. WAYYYYYY EASIER and in my case way more legible.
3) Let me be totally honest about what a guy wants on Valentine's Day. He wants you. Naked. In various and many compromising positions on multiple different surfaces. SEX! He wants SEX! If you are at that stage in your relationship give it to him. THIS DOES NOT APPLY TO MY YOUNGER READERS OUT THERE. YOU CAN QUIT READING THIS POST NOW. SEX MAKES BABIES AND BABIES POOP AND CRY A LOT AND YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO BE SEXY IN A BIKINI AGAIN. DO NOT HAVE SEX! However, for my readers who are of that sort of maturity, give it to him. Fulfill his wildest fantasies. If he wants to do it on the trampoline, do it on the trampoline. Trust me, you won't be sorry on that one. If he wants you in the car while he is driving, hang on and go for a ride. I just suggest a back road for the protection of others. As with what I said about the girls earlier, he wants something out of the ordinary.
4) Tickets to a sporting event are always a good idea. Guys have a team in every sport from football to soccer to curling, so the time of year does not really matter. Since February is devoted mainly to basketball, I suggest tickets to his favorite team's game. College or pro, they might not care, but a pro game might be more exciting. Buy him a new shirt with their logo, put it on the bed with a note on it that says, "There's a twelve pack in the fridge getting cold for the pregame. Put this and your J's on, we have a game to catch." He will love you forever.
Whatever you do this Valentine's Day, do something differently than you would on an ordinary day. Go all out, show your love, let your other half feel the affection you have for him or her. Be silly, be fun, be in love.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Unpretty
Hello all from the roof of the loft,
Although it is below 40 degrees tonight in The Glen, I have found it rather appropriate to bundle up in some blankets and sit outside. Yes, even though I look like a dragon snorting smoke from my nose with every breath I breathe, and even though I will probably end up with a garden variety cold sometime in the near future, I could not stay inside. For whatever reason, God found it perfectly okay to make the clearest skies on the coldest nights. If you know me, you know that I love the stars. They are by far one of my favorite beauties in this world, the 8th wonder of the world so to speak. To gaze upon them is to forget the world around instantaneously, even if for just a moment. You can talk to them and they will blink at you in recognition; that they understand everything you care and worry about.
I came out here tonight because I have been having an "ugh-ly day."
"Cara's Dictionary" is an unpublished literary masterpiece of the made-up, nonsensical words, terms, short sayings, and expressions that I use on a daily basis. Right under "Ugh" which is defined as the (1) the slight growling, choking noise I make in light of disgust (2) the semi-verbal expression I make when I do not wish to do something, is something I call an "ugh-ly day."
When one is having an "ugh-ly day" she looks in the mirror and sees herself as somewhat of a troll. Everything from a Gucci suit to some tattered old sweats that belonged to ole whats-his-face make you look fat and disgusting. No matter how much make up you slap on your face, you still appear to be recovering from some sort of illness, and your damn hair just will not fall the right way. You can drape yourself in scarves and deck out your neck in jewels and still feel understated and unnoticeable. You feel gross, are in a bad mood, can't seem to do anything right that day. AND NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, YOU JUST FEEL BUTT FREAKING UGLY.
Well, I was having one of those days today towards the end of the day. I felt pretty good when I woke up at noon today, my belly was looking a little bit flatter upon my newest routine of checking it out in the morning. I was actually really pleased, because I was looking and feeling healthier than I had since before I started my daily 4 mile interval walk/jog back on the 26th of December. I was noticing a difference, or at least I thought I was.
With all the confidence and gusto in the world, I went down to my Nanny and Papa's house and stepped proudly onto the scale. When I peeked down at that always unforgiving, little bitch of a digital screen, I felt a stab of regret at ever doing so. Needless to say, I was not pleased with what I saw.
Trying not to feel discouraged, actually I was feeling more inspired to work harder, I went to tackle my daily 4 miles. This time, I employed my cousin Willis to come with me to keep me company. He is training to be a firefighter, so he was about to push me to keep up with him. He was making me jog, sprint, (juggle while doing back flips) all the way down 90 with precious few minutes of walking in between. Well, they seemed short to me anyways, he was looking forward to each little jogging interval with pride. At the end of it I was exhausted. I am pretty sure I sprained something, popped some blood vessels in my eyes, and broke both of my shins, but I FREAKING DID IT! I felt so accomplished and it was awesome.
The "ugh-ly day" set in when I was putting on clothes to go to Cassie's house for the airing of our Sunday show, Downton Abbey. Side note: Watch Downton Abbey, seriously do yourself a favor and get hooked.
I just wanted to be comfortable so I threw on some of my workout leggings. My little belly roll seemed to be more noticeable than usual so I searched for a flowy shirt. But to my disdain, nothing made me feel right. I mean, I know I was just going to Cassie's house and she couldn't care less if I showed up wearing nipple pasties and strap on, but I just wanted to look decent! Really, I just wanted to feel decent, and for whatever reason, I wasn't getting to that. I wanted to be the perfect balance of carefree and amazing, but I just could not achieve such a look. For goodness sake, I wore a lavender t-shirt with a damn unicorn and rainbow on it the other day and somehow looked better and felt better than I did tonight in my mint Ralph Lauren button up.
I was starting to get frustrated and upset. Every item of clothing I put on, I kept pointing out more and more flaws on my body, face; even the atmosphere around me felt off. My hair was being weird and my face was "a whole nother" disaster. I was spiraling into a pit of ugh-ly so deep that the whole Sephora store could not have rescued me and pulled me to the surface of pretty once again.
I finally settled for my black athletic leggings, a black tank top and a charcoal cardigan- an outfit that matched my whiny emo mood.
Somehow, I managed to enjoy Downton as usual. This show sort of has that effect on me. It also makes me want to speak in my fine British accent and say things like, "I'll say goodnight." I listened to the Glee version of "I Feel Pretty/Unpretty" on the way home, along with Sex on Fire and Lay Me Down several times. But that marvelous mash-up that the producers of Glee decided to put into the show started to speak to me. Basically this is what it was whispering to my soul:
There are a lot of things in the world that are going to make you feel unpretty. Maybe you are out shopping and everything you try on looks wrong or doesn't fit. Perhaps you are getting ready to go out for the first time after a bad break up and you realize you should have curled your hair instead of straightened it just a little too late, and now you are left with a do that is a cross between Hermione Granger and Simba. You might have stepped on the scale and the numbers you saw were just too damn high. Maybe someone has done the unthinkable and actually told you that you were not sufficiently esthetically pleasing to the eye, and even though you know they are stupid and wrong, something stirs in your stomach and tells you that they are right.
How do you handle these horrid "ugh-ly days"? Surely there has to be some sort of combative technique you can break out and kick this thing in the ass! Well, I am pleased to tell you that there are certain things you might be able to do to beat these unsightly blues away. Some are sort of silly, but this is how I do it.
1) Go for a walk on a sidewalk that runs through a nice part of town- Seriously, nothing says confidence booster like a redneck in a jacked up truck honking his horn at you. Wear some sunglasses and don't really look into the vehicle to see who it is. 9 times out of 11 it probably is some redneck with a fat dip in his lip making the cat call, but if you just smile and keep walking you can pretend it was James Franco in a sleek, black convertible.
2) Play dress up- It doesn't matter if you are going to the gas station or to dinner at the Taj Mahal, you put an outfit on that makes you feel like a supermodel and rock it to the fullest. Let the neck line plunge deeper than the Mariana Trench, let your hair down in sex kitten curls, and let the heels be tall so you can tower over all of the people who make you feel small. Put on those red lips and pearls like you are a headliner in a Burlesque show. Wear black, or whatever color makes you feel like a total bad ass. But never forget what that adorable redheaded orphan told us, you are never fully dressed without a smile:)
3) Take yourself on a date- Yep, you and that sexy outfit go out to lunch somewhere fabulous. It doesn't have to be a five star restaurant, more like the quaint little cafe that you adore so much. The one with the amazing dessert bar with that piece of cake that you would eat every day if your calorie count would allow it. Order you a coffee and a slice of something sweet and just savor the moment. Sit there and smile so big that people look at you and wonder what secret you are guarding that makes you so happy. Sometimes, we just need something a little sweet to make us feel like a new person. After all, a spoonful of sugar makes the ugh-ly go away. Or something like that anyways!
4) Take a drive- Second to a good long walk, is a drive in your car with the windows down and your favorite playlist blaring through the speakers. I have a playlist on my Iphone that is specific for this sort of ride. It is titled perfectly: FBGM. Translation: Fuck Boys, Get Money. This playlist is full of Beyonce and Reba McEntire and it really speaks to my soul on these sorts of days. Any song about being a sexy lady is great! Make you a playlist full of your favorite run-the-world songs, put all of the windows down letting your hair blow around your face, pull those Jackie-O RayBans down over your eyes, turn the heater on your feet and just jam out like Ozzie Osbourn.
**Fellas, I am sorry to be sort of leaving you out in this post. But hey, you can do this too!Maybe not so much on the letting your hair down in sex kitten curls, but maybe getting cleaned up at the barber instead. There is such thing as a male version of an ugh-ly day: I call it a mugh-ly day. These mugh-ly days are typically brought on by whiny girlfriends, a crappy day at work, spilling your protein shake on your new Sperry's, etc. SO, if you are having a mugh-ly day, go to the that favorite hole in the wall bar with your mates and have a few cold ones. On the way there, turn your favorite playlist on. My brother's phone has several things titled Fuck Bitches, Get Money so I know you can do this! I suggest "99 Problems" to be number one on your playlist. I know we ladies can be a pain, but if yours has become an actual problem and is causing you to have multiple mugh-ly days every week, tell that beeotch to get to stepping. For those of you who have wonderful girlfriends who are not the root of your mugh-ly day, remember, sex is probably the best cure to any sort of day you are having, including a mugh-ly one. Put on that crisp Ralph Lauren button up and take her out on a just dessert date. (Hint- bring some of that chocolate fondue home;) ) We love dates, especially cute ones. Believe it or not, you will feel better just by seeing us happy and surprised.
(I know this sounds like some sort of trick, a girl telling you to take your girl out on a date to make yourself feel better, but I promise this is something I have heard from several men. They are happier when they are having a good time with their girl. Plus, any man who takes his gal out for chocolate fondue is definitely getting laid, thus ending the mugh-ly day instantaneously, Chocolate and sex= a win for you).
5)Call your mom- like I don't even have to really go into detail about this one. Call your mom, your Nanny, your favorite auntie, whoever has the best confidence in you and will shower you with compliments to the point to where you have to tell them to shut up because it becomes almost annoying. Dads don't really get this sort of thing, and you might freak them out crying about being ugly and how you are never going to get a boyfriend because nothing fits and you'll have to live with him and nine cats and a bird name Patty for the rest of your life because you are unfit to be seen by the world. I mean, dads are great to talk to, I talk to mine all the time, but maybe save him the confusion of you crying on the phone for 15 minutes about how your boobs just don't sit right. He will thank you for it.
6) Watch the stars- Kind of cliche, I know, but it is one of my favorite things to do. I said earlier that they just sort of understand you and seem to wink at you to let you know that your worries and cares are being heard and handled. That's because the Big Man Himself is up there listening to everything in your heart, even the things you don't say. I like to go sit on this green tin roof and just look at the stars. I think that they are the most beautiful thing that He ever made. I don't think He makes ugly things, bad things, hurtful things. That is the world and it's hateful ways that make you hurt and just feel unpretty. So, then, when I think about it, I must be pretty simply because He made me, too. That's the game ender on an ugh-ly day.
There are going to be days where your clothes just don't look right, your hair isn't falling the right way, and your face is a totally different disaster. There are going to be days that your whole spirit is just dampened. Ugh-ly days aren't just about looking bad, it could be anything to make you feel down. It is going to happen, but when they come, just remind yourself that you are amazing while you sip on that white chocolate latte, with the windows down and the heater on your feet, and Fancy blaring up through the sunroof up into the stars. Remember y'all, never, never ever let anyone make you feel unpretty. And if there is someone in your life making you feel that way, tell them like Beyonce and step to the left out of your life and that you can find a better them in a minute.
Although it is below 40 degrees tonight in The Glen, I have found it rather appropriate to bundle up in some blankets and sit outside. Yes, even though I look like a dragon snorting smoke from my nose with every breath I breathe, and even though I will probably end up with a garden variety cold sometime in the near future, I could not stay inside. For whatever reason, God found it perfectly okay to make the clearest skies on the coldest nights. If you know me, you know that I love the stars. They are by far one of my favorite beauties in this world, the 8th wonder of the world so to speak. To gaze upon them is to forget the world around instantaneously, even if for just a moment. You can talk to them and they will blink at you in recognition; that they understand everything you care and worry about.
I came out here tonight because I have been having an "ugh-ly day."
"Cara's Dictionary" is an unpublished literary masterpiece of the made-up, nonsensical words, terms, short sayings, and expressions that I use on a daily basis. Right under "Ugh" which is defined as the (1) the slight growling, choking noise I make in light of disgust (2) the semi-verbal expression I make when I do not wish to do something, is something I call an "ugh-ly day."
When one is having an "ugh-ly day" she looks in the mirror and sees herself as somewhat of a troll. Everything from a Gucci suit to some tattered old sweats that belonged to ole whats-his-face make you look fat and disgusting. No matter how much make up you slap on your face, you still appear to be recovering from some sort of illness, and your damn hair just will not fall the right way. You can drape yourself in scarves and deck out your neck in jewels and still feel understated and unnoticeable. You feel gross, are in a bad mood, can't seem to do anything right that day. AND NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, YOU JUST FEEL BUTT FREAKING UGLY.
Well, I was having one of those days today towards the end of the day. I felt pretty good when I woke up at noon today, my belly was looking a little bit flatter upon my newest routine of checking it out in the morning. I was actually really pleased, because I was looking and feeling healthier than I had since before I started my daily 4 mile interval walk/jog back on the 26th of December. I was noticing a difference, or at least I thought I was.
With all the confidence and gusto in the world, I went down to my Nanny and Papa's house and stepped proudly onto the scale. When I peeked down at that always unforgiving, little bitch of a digital screen, I felt a stab of regret at ever doing so. Needless to say, I was not pleased with what I saw.
Trying not to feel discouraged, actually I was feeling more inspired to work harder, I went to tackle my daily 4 miles. This time, I employed my cousin Willis to come with me to keep me company. He is training to be a firefighter, so he was about to push me to keep up with him. He was making me jog, sprint, (juggle while doing back flips) all the way down 90 with precious few minutes of walking in between. Well, they seemed short to me anyways, he was looking forward to each little jogging interval with pride. At the end of it I was exhausted. I am pretty sure I sprained something, popped some blood vessels in my eyes, and broke both of my shins, but I FREAKING DID IT! I felt so accomplished and it was awesome.
The "ugh-ly day" set in when I was putting on clothes to go to Cassie's house for the airing of our Sunday show, Downton Abbey. Side note: Watch Downton Abbey, seriously do yourself a favor and get hooked.
I just wanted to be comfortable so I threw on some of my workout leggings. My little belly roll seemed to be more noticeable than usual so I searched for a flowy shirt. But to my disdain, nothing made me feel right. I mean, I know I was just going to Cassie's house and she couldn't care less if I showed up wearing nipple pasties and strap on, but I just wanted to look decent! Really, I just wanted to feel decent, and for whatever reason, I wasn't getting to that. I wanted to be the perfect balance of carefree and amazing, but I just could not achieve such a look. For goodness sake, I wore a lavender t-shirt with a damn unicorn and rainbow on it the other day and somehow looked better and felt better than I did tonight in my mint Ralph Lauren button up.
I was starting to get frustrated and upset. Every item of clothing I put on, I kept pointing out more and more flaws on my body, face; even the atmosphere around me felt off. My hair was being weird and my face was "a whole nother" disaster. I was spiraling into a pit of ugh-ly so deep that the whole Sephora store could not have rescued me and pulled me to the surface of pretty once again.
I finally settled for my black athletic leggings, a black tank top and a charcoal cardigan- an outfit that matched my whiny emo mood.
Somehow, I managed to enjoy Downton as usual. This show sort of has that effect on me. It also makes me want to speak in my fine British accent and say things like, "I'll say goodnight." I listened to the Glee version of "I Feel Pretty/Unpretty" on the way home, along with Sex on Fire and Lay Me Down several times. But that marvelous mash-up that the producers of Glee decided to put into the show started to speak to me. Basically this is what it was whispering to my soul:
There are a lot of things in the world that are going to make you feel unpretty. Maybe you are out shopping and everything you try on looks wrong or doesn't fit. Perhaps you are getting ready to go out for the first time after a bad break up and you realize you should have curled your hair instead of straightened it just a little too late, and now you are left with a do that is a cross between Hermione Granger and Simba. You might have stepped on the scale and the numbers you saw were just too damn high. Maybe someone has done the unthinkable and actually told you that you were not sufficiently esthetically pleasing to the eye, and even though you know they are stupid and wrong, something stirs in your stomach and tells you that they are right.
How do you handle these horrid "ugh-ly days"? Surely there has to be some sort of combative technique you can break out and kick this thing in the ass! Well, I am pleased to tell you that there are certain things you might be able to do to beat these unsightly blues away. Some are sort of silly, but this is how I do it.
1) Go for a walk on a sidewalk that runs through a nice part of town- Seriously, nothing says confidence booster like a redneck in a jacked up truck honking his horn at you. Wear some sunglasses and don't really look into the vehicle to see who it is. 9 times out of 11 it probably is some redneck with a fat dip in his lip making the cat call, but if you just smile and keep walking you can pretend it was James Franco in a sleek, black convertible.
2) Play dress up- It doesn't matter if you are going to the gas station or to dinner at the Taj Mahal, you put an outfit on that makes you feel like a supermodel and rock it to the fullest. Let the neck line plunge deeper than the Mariana Trench, let your hair down in sex kitten curls, and let the heels be tall so you can tower over all of the people who make you feel small. Put on those red lips and pearls like you are a headliner in a Burlesque show. Wear black, or whatever color makes you feel like a total bad ass. But never forget what that adorable redheaded orphan told us, you are never fully dressed without a smile:)
3) Take yourself on a date- Yep, you and that sexy outfit go out to lunch somewhere fabulous. It doesn't have to be a five star restaurant, more like the quaint little cafe that you adore so much. The one with the amazing dessert bar with that piece of cake that you would eat every day if your calorie count would allow it. Order you a coffee and a slice of something sweet and just savor the moment. Sit there and smile so big that people look at you and wonder what secret you are guarding that makes you so happy. Sometimes, we just need something a little sweet to make us feel like a new person. After all, a spoonful of sugar makes the ugh-ly go away. Or something like that anyways!
4) Take a drive- Second to a good long walk, is a drive in your car with the windows down and your favorite playlist blaring through the speakers. I have a playlist on my Iphone that is specific for this sort of ride. It is titled perfectly: FBGM. Translation: Fuck Boys, Get Money. This playlist is full of Beyonce and Reba McEntire and it really speaks to my soul on these sorts of days. Any song about being a sexy lady is great! Make you a playlist full of your favorite run-the-world songs, put all of the windows down letting your hair blow around your face, pull those Jackie-O RayBans down over your eyes, turn the heater on your feet and just jam out like Ozzie Osbourn.
**Fellas, I am sorry to be sort of leaving you out in this post. But hey, you can do this too!Maybe not so much on the letting your hair down in sex kitten curls, but maybe getting cleaned up at the barber instead. There is such thing as a male version of an ugh-ly day: I call it a mugh-ly day. These mugh-ly days are typically brought on by whiny girlfriends, a crappy day at work, spilling your protein shake on your new Sperry's, etc. SO, if you are having a mugh-ly day, go to the that favorite hole in the wall bar with your mates and have a few cold ones. On the way there, turn your favorite playlist on. My brother's phone has several things titled Fuck Bitches, Get Money so I know you can do this! I suggest "99 Problems" to be number one on your playlist. I know we ladies can be a pain, but if yours has become an actual problem and is causing you to have multiple mugh-ly days every week, tell that beeotch to get to stepping. For those of you who have wonderful girlfriends who are not the root of your mugh-ly day, remember, sex is probably the best cure to any sort of day you are having, including a mugh-ly one. Put on that crisp Ralph Lauren button up and take her out on a just dessert date. (Hint- bring some of that chocolate fondue home;) ) We love dates, especially cute ones. Believe it or not, you will feel better just by seeing us happy and surprised.
(I know this sounds like some sort of trick, a girl telling you to take your girl out on a date to make yourself feel better, but I promise this is something I have heard from several men. They are happier when they are having a good time with their girl. Plus, any man who takes his gal out for chocolate fondue is definitely getting laid, thus ending the mugh-ly day instantaneously, Chocolate and sex= a win for you).
5)Call your mom- like I don't even have to really go into detail about this one. Call your mom, your Nanny, your favorite auntie, whoever has the best confidence in you and will shower you with compliments to the point to where you have to tell them to shut up because it becomes almost annoying. Dads don't really get this sort of thing, and you might freak them out crying about being ugly and how you are never going to get a boyfriend because nothing fits and you'll have to live with him and nine cats and a bird name Patty for the rest of your life because you are unfit to be seen by the world. I mean, dads are great to talk to, I talk to mine all the time, but maybe save him the confusion of you crying on the phone for 15 minutes about how your boobs just don't sit right. He will thank you for it.
6) Watch the stars- Kind of cliche, I know, but it is one of my favorite things to do. I said earlier that they just sort of understand you and seem to wink at you to let you know that your worries and cares are being heard and handled. That's because the Big Man Himself is up there listening to everything in your heart, even the things you don't say. I like to go sit on this green tin roof and just look at the stars. I think that they are the most beautiful thing that He ever made. I don't think He makes ugly things, bad things, hurtful things. That is the world and it's hateful ways that make you hurt and just feel unpretty. So, then, when I think about it, I must be pretty simply because He made me, too. That's the game ender on an ugh-ly day.
There are going to be days where your clothes just don't look right, your hair isn't falling the right way, and your face is a totally different disaster. There are going to be days that your whole spirit is just dampened. Ugh-ly days aren't just about looking bad, it could be anything to make you feel down. It is going to happen, but when they come, just remind yourself that you are amazing while you sip on that white chocolate latte, with the windows down and the heater on your feet, and Fancy blaring up through the sunroof up into the stars. Remember y'all, never, never ever let anyone make you feel unpretty. And if there is someone in your life making you feel that way, tell them like Beyonce and step to the left out of your life and that you can find a better them in a minute.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)