Ladies, are we crazy? November 30, 2011

A few weeks ago I got an email asking me to be a contributor to Uptown Collective. I am so thankful and excited about this. I will be contributing to their site twice a month and here is my first post. Ladies, are we all really crazy?

It’s a universally known fact that women are crazy.

That is if you believe most of my male friends and Google. The moment I start to type “men think women are,“ Google finishes up with a suggestion – ‘crazy’. I can’t say I’m surprised. Nearly every female I know has had a moment where the lines between “this is totally normal” and “please don’t tell anyone I did that” cross.

I witnessed this the most when I was in college.  I saw girls sit in front of a dude’s room (Indian style) for hours waiting for him to return, argue loudly (and drunkenly) on dance floors,  and kiss other girls to prove how sexy they were. Somehow they always ended up in the girl’s bathroom, mascara running down their faces, crying so hard it was hard to understand them between sobs.

“ Why (sob) is (sob) man-I’m-not-dating-and-only-see-naked-on-Saturday-night (sob) doing (sob) this to (sob) me!”

Read more

Giving Thanks, Giving Back November 23, 2011

When I was 9 years old my mother bought my sisters and I matching diaries. I had the red one and she had a blue one with gold trimming. We had watched enough sitcoms to know that we were supposed to write down our deepest darkest secrets, lock the diary, and hide it for only our eyes to see. The trick was finding the perfect hiding place in our one bedroom New York City apartment shared by 5 people. This would have worked out if we hadn’t figured out how to pick the locks and then use the information we had to blackmail each other. I chose to keep all my secrets stored in my head. It was survival of the fittest in my household and I was tired of washing dishes for my sister.

 

It wasn’t until 11 years later that I picked up a notebook to write in it again. I was in college and going through a tough period. It’s hard figuring out who you are, what you want to be, where you’re going and what your passion is at 20 years old. One day, I picked up a pink plaid notebook a good friend had given me for Christmas and sat on the old couch in the cold common room of my dorm. I put my pen to paper to get the thoughts invading my head out. I haven’t stopped writing since that day.

 

I started my blog after Boyfriend suggested (over and over) that I should. I was hesitant. Writing things for people to read felt eerily similar to that red diary. A diary with a faulty lock. What if people read this? Worse, what if people don’t? But, I did it anyway thinking “ well even if the only person who reads this is my mother at least I’ll get the thoughts out.”

 

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when I wrote a post on a friend from college that I realized how many people I could reach. I was sad and angry about her murder and I wrote a post about it because writing has always been my outlet. I got more emails and comments about it than ever before. My friend Maiah says it’s because I spoke from the heart.

 

Recently I received a message from Cyan’s father and aunt about a campaign started in Cyan’s memory. If the story I shared came from my heart than this is something that comes from theirs:

 

Cyan Maroney was committed to the world of dance – as a performer, teacher, budding choreographer and by simply sharing her love of this beautiful art form.  She was only allowed 25 years to do so before her life was taken on October 2, 2011.

We are trying to establish an endowed scholarship at Connecticut College, Cyan’s alma mater, to assist dance students and allow Cyan’s memory to be a continuing asset to dancers and their education.

We are asking for everyone who is able to please donate $5 in her name and then contact 5 others who might be able to do the same. 

5 x 5 = 25, the number of years Cyan was given to dance on this earth.  An individual, who in a very short time touched many lives.

We believe that many small acts allow big things to happen and are asking for your help in making this scholarship become a reality. 

 BUILD A CHAIN AGAINST VIOLENCE TOWARDS WOMEN

AND HELP SUPPORT

THE  CYAN MARONEY MEMORIAL SCHOLARSHIP

I’m sharing this not only because Cyan was someone I knew who had a wonderful spirit. I’m sharing this because violence against women, violence against anyone, needs to be spoken against.

 

You can show your support by going to www.conncoll.edu  — Click the “Make a gift” link to the “Give Now” form and indicate “In memory of Cyan Maroney.” You can also check out a memorial website at http://RememberingCyan.com

 

I can’t think of a better way than to continue Cyan’s legacy.  Remember to love yourselves and love all those around you. Happy Thanksgiving!

I think I can November 21, 2011

Without a doubt one of my favorite things to do is browse websites and look at expensive things I can’t afford.  Let’s be serious, even discounted websites are over my price range. Sorry Gilt, I will not be spending 165 dollars on your fancy jeans. Because that’s ridiculous, right? Honestly, who would want to spend that much money for pants that look like they would fit like a glove? Pants that would go perfectly with my boyfriend blazer. Wait, if I wear them 165 times then they’ll basically pay for themselves. I’ll just tell all my friends I have to wear the same pair of jeans for 5 and a half months because of a newly discovered medical jeans condition.  I’ll just live on peanut butter sandwiches until I get my bank account together again after this set back. Peanut better is a great source of protein so it’s not like I’ll pass away and even if I do I’ll just ask to be buried in these jeans. I’m so sorry I ever doubted you Gilt. I will buy your wonderful fancy jeans!

Just as I’m in the middle of my awesome idea high my friend Jah brings me down to earth.

Jah: Instead of saying “I can’t afford that” what you should say is “How can I afford it?”

Suddenly, all the images of dancing jeans and peanut butter sandwiches stop. He’s right. Saying “I can’t afford that” does two things: 1) brings you to a halt (you can’t do it so why even try) and/or 2) if you’re crazy like me, you make up elaborate plans and end up putting yourself in debt (things that just hurt you in the end anyway).

There’s something very powerful about saying I can’t. Those two words are a full sentence. There’s no need to explain anything else to anyone or to you after that. The way to take that power away is to ask yourself a question that springs you into action.

How can I afford the expensive fancy jeans? I can find another source of income or maybe figure out where I can spend less.

This method can be applied to other aspects of your life:

I can’t leave the job I hate because I have to get my bills paid. How can you put yourself in the position to leave and still get things paid?

 

I can’t leave this relationship even though I know it’s no good for me. How can you leave and who can you surround youself with that will make it easier for you?

Fear is the reason we put up many mental barriers that stop us from doing what we want to do. Put yourself in the position to act rather than a position that doesn’t allow you to move forward. Instead of saying “I can’t” how about asking “How can I?”

Self Sabotage November 14, 2011

check something off

I am my own worst enemy.

I realized this as I was sitting across from my good friend at a fancy Chinese restaurant last week. We play this scene dozens of times in our friendship.

“What do you want?” she asks me.

“I have no idea” I respond staring blankly at the menu.

The waiter comes up to us, pours water into our cups and before he has the chance to speak my friend says “we’d like the scallion pancakes to start.” She doesn’t need to ask me because it’s what we always get. We also know I’ll end up with the chicken and broccoli and she’ll end up with one of the 3 dishes she rotates between.

“That’s it! starting next week I’m going on a diet. I need to be really strict this time.” She tells me with a straight face

“I need to do the same thing. I seriously need to learn some self control.” I reply automatically.

I don’t need to think about the response. It’s the same one I give every time I hear the words diet or working out. I have wired my brain to give an automatic response, the same why I set my status message on Gchat. I may work out a few times but inevitably, I find myself at the fancy Chinese place dipping my scallion pancakes in soy sauce complaining about my lack of self control.

It’s not only the diet. If I feel unmotivated it seeps to other aspects of my life. Writing? At a stand still. My friends? I can’t seem to keep up with them. Trying to be engaging on Twitter and Facebook?  It’s a downward spiral.

That is unless you become more self aware.

It’s easy to know to cut off the people that are no good for you but it’s not so easy when the enemy is you. Sometimes we get in the way of our own greatness. We make up excuses, compare ourselves to others, and don’t follow through on what we say we’ll do. Today, stop the self-sabotage (I think I made that up but go with it) and get out of your own way. Do one thing you’ve been meaning to do and check it off your list.

This is the start of a new week. Work on not being your worst enemy and becoming your best friend. I know I will.

Mommy-Ween November 2, 2011

I’ve always thought I have more fun with my family than I do with my friends. I’ll be the first to admit that some of my family stories are so ridiculous that you have no choice but to be entertained. Case in point, my great grandmother (who is still alive and in better health than you and I) once welcomed a gentleman from the neighborhood to use the bathroom in her home on the Dominican countryside. He tried to take advantage of her and my great grandmother, not one to be messed with, fought him as she called for help. He was driven away by her neighbors who heard her cursing and screaming. She would not put up with such disregard and disrespect, so she sat in her rocking chair on her front porch every night after that with a machete. She was waiting for him to pass by her house because she was going to “take care” of this situation herself. No cops, No help. Obviously, we had to knock some sense into her but not before she called us everything but children of God.  She’s a lovely lady.

 

Obviously, my family is awesome.

 

So, you can imagine my surprise when while talking to my sister last week she let me know my family would be attending Halloween festivities Saturday night and I was not invited. It wasn’t on purpose, I already had plans to attend my girl’s party, but I was still hurt. “You hurt my soul!” I said to one of my sisters in a text message. “I curse you and your family!”

 

What can I say? I have a flair for the dramatic.

 

That Saturday night, I made my way to my friend’s party bringing along my “sexy*” panda costume. The “sexy” costume looked as if it was made for a toddler and I had the right sense to wear shorts under the high cut dress. As more of my friends arrived to the party we toasted with wine, beer and music. I was already two drinks in and, not wanting to be too drunk, opted not to go for my third. I made my way to the kitchen with three girlfriends to catch up. As we laughed the hostess’ phone rings. She picks up the phone: “sure, of course you all can come.” She hangs up and gives me a wide eyed look. “That was your sister. She says she’s on her way in a cab with your other sister, cousins and your mom.”

 

I grab that third beer after all.

 

This can’t be serious right? My mother coming to my friend’s Halloween party in a house packed with very intoxicated 20-somethings? Unfortunately, it was. The door bell rang and I open the door to find my sister, my cousin and my mother (dressed up as a mix between a gypsy and Tinkerbelle). My other sister, cousin and cousin’s significant other had arrived a few minutes before. It was a family affair

 

I take another drink.

 

Lesson 1: your mother coming to your friend’s party feels the same at 17 as it does at 27. Except now, you can drink the feeling away.

 

“You look great!” my mother says to me. Thank goodness I wore these spandex shorts under this costume I think to myself. She comes in and sits down on a chair with my cousin next to her. She calls me over with a worried look on her face and whispers to me “is everyone going to feel weird I’m here?”  I realize she must feel the same way I do. She wanted to have some Halloween family time with her daughters and a house party was not exactly her idea.

 

I remember this when throughout the night she asks me to tell the people in the best costumes to take pictures with her.

 

Me: *takes sip of wine and sighs* Hey um, my mom wants to take a picture with you. She likes your costume.

Friend in awesome costume: Wait. Your mom is here?!

 

I remember that thought when she wants to take a photo with her daughters in their costumes or when she watches my friends and I dancing. Wasn’t I upset earlier in the week because my family was getting together without me? The universe heard me complain and brought me exactly what I asked for.

 

Lesson 2: Be careful what you wish for or at least be very specific. Or you’ll end up with your mother at your Halloween party.

 

 

I look over at her as the night ends laughing with my sisters, my cousins and I. She had a great time and if I’m honest, I must admit, I had a great time too.

 

 

 

*By sexy I mean super slutty.