Yup.
And just a song from one of my favorite artists EVER (in celebration of his 3rd album).
Justin Nozuka.
Justin Nozuka.
xoxo.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Just because circumstances change, doesn't mean that you have.
I think that so often we (myself included) can look at a change in scenery and in circumstance and think: I am a new person.
This is incorrect.
You are the same person in maybe a more beautiful place with maybe some more glamourous people.
Why am I writing about this?
I feel like we can get conceited because of these things. I've seen friends suddenly take on brand new personas because they have changed cities or surrounded themselves with pompous individuals.
I think that so often we (myself included) can look at a change in scenery and in circumstance and think: I am a new person.
This is incorrect.
You are the same person in maybe a more beautiful place with maybe some more glamourous people.
Why am I writing about this?
I feel like we can get conceited because of these things. I've seen friends suddenly take on brand new personas because they have changed cities or surrounded themselves with pompous individuals.
I'm so wonderful now because my city is so wonderful. I'm so wonderful now because of my friends. Look at how pretty I am! I'm only 24!
This is so annoying to me.
People tend to forget the truth about themselves when they get so caught up. The truth is that under all of the layers of meticulously put together clothes and makeup, and behind all of the bright, flashing lights- you are still the same weirdo who got picked on in middle school; that same person who was heartbroken by that one guy when you were 20; the person who would honestly, genuinely rather sit at home and paint or watch Bollywood movies than go partying every night.
But we forget.
We forget our humble beginnings. We forget the people who stood by us when we didn't have a clue how to put on makeup (or even a desire to put on makeup).
It's so easy to get swept up in our false realities.
But eventually the you that you really are will catch up to you.
The person you can't run from forever is yourself.
Your hurts, your flaws, your shortcomings...those things don't just disappear. They stay with you.
Reinventing yourself is an entire process and you can't reinvent yourself just by moving locations and changing clothes.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Not your Juliet.
There is a fine, fine line between being sweet and being freaking CREEPY.
You need to know your place, Romeo.
You need to know your place, Romeo.
'Murica.
I remember waking up to no air conditioner, a light breeze blowing through my open windows (with burglar bars, of course) and the ability to practically taste the salty sea air.
I remember in the middle of the night being so warm under my bed sheet that I would peel it off of me, turn toward my standing fan and inhale the cool, fresh air that it circulated.
I remember being at peace.
I remember sleeping (this is big, because I've been an insomniac for several years).
Now, my childhood was quite unorthodox; having moved 13 times (not including my move to college).
But my time in Jamaica was the best part of my childhood.
I was used to getting disciplined by family, neighbors and strangers alike.
Jamaicans some of the most loving, caring, hilarious, blunt, harsh people that I have ever met.
When we would go to my parent's friend's homes, I expected to be treated like one of their children. I didn't expect to not have to clean up or put away my dishes. I also knew that if I didn't clean up, that the first adult to notice would freely tell me. I knew that if my parent's weren't around, my friend's parents would step in without hesitating.
I remember visiting the United States and thinking that everyone here lived in a movie.
In Jamaica, we always had a decent sized back yard, but the grass was rarely cut, the fruit trees in our home in Mandeville shot up out of the ground bearing fruit relentlessly during their peak seasons.
The white station wagon my parents drove could somehow manage the unpaved, pothole laden roads--- we would drive for hours to the other side of the island with no air conditioner, windows down and, if my dad had any say, the voices of Al Jarreau, Elton John, The Fugees or Bob Marley and the Wailers were most likely seeping through the speakers.
We would drive for miles and miles on roads that haven't seen tar in probably over a decade. Trees, grass, flowers grew uninhibited...wild and free.
When I would visit the U.S, I literally felt like I was floating through space and time. It felt like another dimension.
Homes were organized neatly and all painted varying colors of beige and off-white (granted, I'd never been to Miami or a Trailer park at this point). Every one must have measured their grass with a ruler, because no one seemed to have unruly grass. Vaulted ceilings in homes, grocery stores that didn't smell like fish and mangoes (and the mangoes here are shiny!), air conditioner everywhere! for no reason! it wasn't even that hot! and everyone was so nice. Like, weird nice.
"Oh, what a cute dress you have on, sweetie." *Pats you on the head like a dog*
"It's so nice to see you, Marlene!" *Waves and keeps walking* No hug, no reaching out for even a handshake?
"Your name is Paige? What a sweet name. My name is Jennifer."
Wait, this adult wants me to call her by her first name? But I'm seven! (In Jamaica, everyone was Uncle ______, Aunty ______ or if you were older you were Grandma or Grandpa. It doesn't matter if we just met; if I'm seven, I do not call you by your first name.)
Everyone was very friendly, as in, they would all talk to you. But there was limited physical interaction, even between friends. You could see the hesitance between two friends who were trying to decide whether or not they should hug each other. People were big on personal space, you could see the minor twitching in someone's face who's personal space was being violated. If you're less than a foot away, you are probably too close.
I remember feeling this superficial warmth. It felt like...putting a small space heater in a large, cold auditorium. Warmth was present, but it was mostly coldness.
When my parents announced to me that we would be moving to America, I was actually a little bit excited. I was devastated to be leaving my friends, extended family and my dog, but even as a young child I was always ready for a new adventure. I didn't realize that where I was moving to didn't have a beach 10 minutes away, or a waterfall an hour away. I didn't realize that there would be no mountains in Florida, just tall buildings. I didn't realize that the kids could actually talk back to their teachers and get three strikes before anything would happen to them (and they didn't get hit!)... I didn't realize.
The thing that surprised me the most about this country was the lack of honesty.
I remember a boy had a crush on me when I was eleven and I never knew, but apparently everyone else knew. But this kid teased me relentlessly and would always make a point of embarrassing me. I never understood why. At the end of the school year, he wrote down his feelings for me in my yearbook. Confused would be an understatement.
I've seen people lie blatantly to their friends and family members.
"Carol! You look so skinny!"
No, she doesn't.
"Did you lose weight?"
No, she didnt.
"What? You actually have gained 6 pounds? You totally can't tell!"
Yes, you can.
I had a friend get legitimately upset at me for telling her that I didn't like her haircut, when she asked me if I liked her haircut. I wasn't being a douche, I was just being honest! She was a good friend and I felt like the haircut didn't flatter her.
I quickly realized that a lot of people didn't want the truth, they wanted you to tell them what they wanted to hear. And a lot of people didn't want to tell the truth...because the truth is painful, hello.
I've just learned to not say anything.
A lot of people complained about me hurting their feelings my first few years living here. I never intentionally tried to hurt anyone's feelings, but if you tell me that you think you've put on a couple of pounds, I will probably agree with you- because you have obviously put on a couple of pounds. There is nothing rude about that, it's just the honest truth. If you have spinach in your teeth, would you rather someone tell you that your teeth look perfect?
I've learned to not say anything, or I'll just ask, "Do you want me to tell you the truth?" I feel like prefacing a potentially hurtful truth always lessens the "blow."
The truth is, if you don't want anyone to say anything negative to you ever, stop pretending like you actually care what other people have to say.
This is not to say that Jamaicans don't lie, because of course we do.
But I promise you, if you're overweight, go to Jamaica and ask a random person if you're fat; chances are, they will tell you yes.
I remember when we were in Jamaica, my dad put on a few pounds because of some medicine he was taking. We were at the gas station and this person who my dad apparently met once or twice exclaimed, "Reverend Richard! What a way yuh fat, eeh?" ("Reverend Richard, my, how you have gotten fat.")
I mean, I literally had never met this guy in my life, but he felt fine telling my dad that he was fat*.
*Fat can simply mean that you put on a little weight, by the way. My grandma grabbed my cheeks one day and said "Paige, yuh a get fat! What a way yuh face round!" ("Paige, you got fat. What a round face you have!") I am 115 lbs on a good day.
If you're overweight in America (or if you put on a few pounds), ask someone here. Ask a friend, see if they actually tell you that you're overweight or that you gained a little extra cushion. Chances are the answer will be something like:
"Overweight? What?! You're crazy! (avoiding the question)"
or
"Have you put on weight? Not that I noticed. Maybe you're just self conscious."
"You know, you may just have big bones."
Rarely will people tell you yes. Rarely.
(My feelings about obesity in this country would be a whole other entry entirely.)
We just all want too badly to be polite. We don't want to step on any toes. We don't want to hurt anyone's feelings; so, we lie or avoid the truth completely instead.
We don't laugh at ourselves enough, we don't cry in public.
We keep up appearances.
Now, of course this may be a hasty generalization; it's just what I've seen.
I have some friends that I can be honest with, but I still feel like sometimes we have to clarify that we still want honesty. We have to actively say, "I want you to be honest with me," because otherwise, nothing will be said. I know they won't lie to me, they just won't tell me that my boyfriend is a tool and that I have an entire broccoli sprout in my teeth- without prompting.
And the fact that I've been to a couple of countries has confirmed my theory.
(In Paris, this European guy--- I think he was Polish--- called my not-so-big friend "Big Mama." He obviously thought it was endearing. She obviously did not.)
This doesn't make them any less nice. The concern is just not to provide a fake squishy cushion of false niceness.
If you're lying, you're not actually being nicer. You're just lying to make someone like you or feel "comfortable" around you.
What I've learned is that because we are so consumed with being nice, we have a lot of superficial friendships.
So many people feel alone because there is no one for them to be honest with and no one to be honest with them.
Of course, this is not the case with everyone. But I do see it a lot here. SUPER superficial relationships based on materialistic things or physical similarities. Not relationships based on the fact that you are mutually honest with each other and respect each other.
I know that this issue isn't exclusive to the United States, it would be incredible naive of me to say that. I just see it so much here.
So much so that it has changed how I even communicate. I don't talk much about everything (you don't want to freak people out with the idea that you have emotions or hardships or trauma). Everything is "good," "fine," or "okay"--- even when it really is not. I know that even I now become taken aback by people who are overtly honest. I actually don't even know how to take it, sometimes.
Calling someone beautiful or handsome is threatening because it's a more vulnerable compliment. So we would rather call people cute or sexy because you don't have to really put yourself out there for that, even with our friends. We are terrified of that level of honesty.
In Italy and in Paris, strangers on the street would tell you that you're beautiful and it makes you feel like the most incredible person in the world...or extremely awkward, because we don't know how to take that level of honesty. That's why those cities are romantic to us.
The honesty is intoxicating*.
As always, I have no idea how to end this entry. So, I'm just going to wrap it up.
I do think that the U.S has a lot of wonderful things to offer. I'm just afraid that we've painted this pretty picture of ourselves as being so happy and polite, when in reality we just lie to ourselves.
I miss my country. I miss the breeze, the beach and the candidness of so many people who lived there. I know that we have so many issues in Jamaica, we really do. But we're pretty good at being honest (bluntly so). Ask me to be honest with you, and I will be. If I ask you to be honest, I expect the same.
Maybe we wouldn't be so disillusioned if we were more honest with each other.
*While honesty is usually intoxicating, just because you're honest doesn't mean you're not a prick. You need to know when to say things and when to keep your mouth shut. Telling your friend that she has a strange alien baby is never a good idea. Just compliment the baby's shoes and chubby cheeks and try to get out of the situation.
xoxo.
I remember in the middle of the night being so warm under my bed sheet that I would peel it off of me, turn toward my standing fan and inhale the cool, fresh air that it circulated.
I remember being at peace.
I remember sleeping (this is big, because I've been an insomniac for several years).
Now, my childhood was quite unorthodox; having moved 13 times (not including my move to college).
But my time in Jamaica was the best part of my childhood.
I was used to getting disciplined by family, neighbors and strangers alike.
Jamaicans some of the most loving, caring, hilarious, blunt, harsh people that I have ever met.
When we would go to my parent's friend's homes, I expected to be treated like one of their children. I didn't expect to not have to clean up or put away my dishes. I also knew that if I didn't clean up, that the first adult to notice would freely tell me. I knew that if my parent's weren't around, my friend's parents would step in without hesitating.
I remember visiting the United States and thinking that everyone here lived in a movie.
In Jamaica, we always had a decent sized back yard, but the grass was rarely cut, the fruit trees in our home in Mandeville shot up out of the ground bearing fruit relentlessly during their peak seasons.
The white station wagon my parents drove could somehow manage the unpaved, pothole laden roads--- we would drive for hours to the other side of the island with no air conditioner, windows down and, if my dad had any say, the voices of Al Jarreau, Elton John, The Fugees or Bob Marley and the Wailers were most likely seeping through the speakers.
We would drive for miles and miles on roads that haven't seen tar in probably over a decade. Trees, grass, flowers grew uninhibited...wild and free.
When I would visit the U.S, I literally felt like I was floating through space and time. It felt like another dimension.
Homes were organized neatly and all painted varying colors of beige and off-white (granted, I'd never been to Miami or a Trailer park at this point). Every one must have measured their grass with a ruler, because no one seemed to have unruly grass. Vaulted ceilings in homes, grocery stores that didn't smell like fish and mangoes (and the mangoes here are shiny!), air conditioner everywhere! for no reason! it wasn't even that hot! and everyone was so nice. Like, weird nice.
"Oh, what a cute dress you have on, sweetie." *Pats you on the head like a dog*
"It's so nice to see you, Marlene!" *Waves and keeps walking* No hug, no reaching out for even a handshake?
"Your name is Paige? What a sweet name. My name is Jennifer."
Wait, this adult wants me to call her by her first name? But I'm seven! (In Jamaica, everyone was Uncle ______, Aunty ______ or if you were older you were Grandma or Grandpa. It doesn't matter if we just met; if I'm seven, I do not call you by your first name.)
Everyone was very friendly, as in, they would all talk to you. But there was limited physical interaction, even between friends. You could see the hesitance between two friends who were trying to decide whether or not they should hug each other. People were big on personal space, you could see the minor twitching in someone's face who's personal space was being violated. If you're less than a foot away, you are probably too close.
I remember feeling this superficial warmth. It felt like...putting a small space heater in a large, cold auditorium. Warmth was present, but it was mostly coldness.
When my parents announced to me that we would be moving to America, I was actually a little bit excited. I was devastated to be leaving my friends, extended family and my dog, but even as a young child I was always ready for a new adventure. I didn't realize that where I was moving to didn't have a beach 10 minutes away, or a waterfall an hour away. I didn't realize that there would be no mountains in Florida, just tall buildings. I didn't realize that the kids could actually talk back to their teachers and get three strikes before anything would happen to them (and they didn't get hit!)... I didn't realize.
The thing that surprised me the most about this country was the lack of honesty.
I remember a boy had a crush on me when I was eleven and I never knew, but apparently everyone else knew. But this kid teased me relentlessly and would always make a point of embarrassing me. I never understood why. At the end of the school year, he wrote down his feelings for me in my yearbook. Confused would be an understatement.
I've seen people lie blatantly to their friends and family members.
"Carol! You look so skinny!"
No, she doesn't.
"Did you lose weight?"
No, she didnt.
"What? You actually have gained 6 pounds? You totally can't tell!"
Yes, you can.
I had a friend get legitimately upset at me for telling her that I didn't like her haircut, when she asked me if I liked her haircut. I wasn't being a douche, I was just being honest! She was a good friend and I felt like the haircut didn't flatter her.
I quickly realized that a lot of people didn't want the truth, they wanted you to tell them what they wanted to hear. And a lot of people didn't want to tell the truth...because the truth is painful, hello.
I've just learned to not say anything.
A lot of people complained about me hurting their feelings my first few years living here. I never intentionally tried to hurt anyone's feelings, but if you tell me that you think you've put on a couple of pounds, I will probably agree with you- because you have obviously put on a couple of pounds. There is nothing rude about that, it's just the honest truth. If you have spinach in your teeth, would you rather someone tell you that your teeth look perfect?
I've learned to not say anything, or I'll just ask, "Do you want me to tell you the truth?" I feel like prefacing a potentially hurtful truth always lessens the "blow."
The truth is, if you don't want anyone to say anything negative to you ever, stop pretending like you actually care what other people have to say.
This is not to say that Jamaicans don't lie, because of course we do.
But I promise you, if you're overweight, go to Jamaica and ask a random person if you're fat; chances are, they will tell you yes.
I remember when we were in Jamaica, my dad put on a few pounds because of some medicine he was taking. We were at the gas station and this person who my dad apparently met once or twice exclaimed, "Reverend Richard! What a way yuh fat, eeh?" ("Reverend Richard, my, how you have gotten fat.")
I mean, I literally had never met this guy in my life, but he felt fine telling my dad that he was fat*.
*Fat can simply mean that you put on a little weight, by the way. My grandma grabbed my cheeks one day and said "Paige, yuh a get fat! What a way yuh face round!" ("Paige, you got fat. What a round face you have!") I am 115 lbs on a good day.
If you're overweight in America (or if you put on a few pounds), ask someone here. Ask a friend, see if they actually tell you that you're overweight or that you gained a little extra cushion. Chances are the answer will be something like:
"Overweight? What?! You're crazy! (avoiding the question)"
or
"Have you put on weight? Not that I noticed. Maybe you're just self conscious."
"You know, you may just have big bones."
(My feelings about obesity in this country would be a whole other entry entirely.)
We just all want too badly to be polite. We don't want to step on any toes. We don't want to hurt anyone's feelings; so, we lie or avoid the truth completely instead.
We don't laugh at ourselves enough, we don't cry in public.
We keep up appearances.
Now, of course this may be a hasty generalization; it's just what I've seen.
I have some friends that I can be honest with, but I still feel like sometimes we have to clarify that we still want honesty. We have to actively say, "I want you to be honest with me," because otherwise, nothing will be said. I know they won't lie to me, they just won't tell me that my boyfriend is a tool and that I have an entire broccoli sprout in my teeth- without prompting.
And the fact that I've been to a couple of countries has confirmed my theory.
(In Paris, this European guy--- I think he was Polish--- called my not-so-big friend "Big Mama." He obviously thought it was endearing. She obviously did not.)
This doesn't make them any less nice. The concern is just not to provide a fake squishy cushion of false niceness.
If you're lying, you're not actually being nicer. You're just lying to make someone like you or feel "comfortable" around you.
What I've learned is that because we are so consumed with being nice, we have a lot of superficial friendships.
So many people feel alone because there is no one for them to be honest with and no one to be honest with them.
Of course, this is not the case with everyone. But I do see it a lot here. SUPER superficial relationships based on materialistic things or physical similarities. Not relationships based on the fact that you are mutually honest with each other and respect each other.
I know that this issue isn't exclusive to the United States, it would be incredible naive of me to say that. I just see it so much here.
So much so that it has changed how I even communicate. I don't talk much about everything (you don't want to freak people out with the idea that you have emotions or hardships or trauma). Everything is "good," "fine," or "okay"--- even when it really is not. I know that even I now become taken aback by people who are overtly honest. I actually don't even know how to take it, sometimes.
Calling someone beautiful or handsome is threatening because it's a more vulnerable compliment. So we would rather call people cute or sexy because you don't have to really put yourself out there for that, even with our friends. We are terrified of that level of honesty.
In Italy and in Paris, strangers on the street would tell you that you're beautiful and it makes you feel like the most incredible person in the world...or extremely awkward, because we don't know how to take that level of honesty. That's why those cities are romantic to us.
The honesty is intoxicating*.
As always, I have no idea how to end this entry. So, I'm just going to wrap it up.
I do think that the U.S has a lot of wonderful things to offer. I'm just afraid that we've painted this pretty picture of ourselves as being so happy and polite, when in reality we just lie to ourselves.
I miss my country. I miss the breeze, the beach and the candidness of so many people who lived there. I know that we have so many issues in Jamaica, we really do. But we're pretty good at being honest (bluntly so). Ask me to be honest with you, and I will be. If I ask you to be honest, I expect the same.
Maybe we wouldn't be so disillusioned if we were more honest with each other.
*While honesty is usually intoxicating, just because you're honest doesn't mean you're not a prick. You need to know when to say things and when to keep your mouth shut. Telling your friend that she has a strange alien baby is never a good idea. Just compliment the baby's shoes and chubby cheeks and try to get out of the situation.
A picture I took at Hellshire beach in Jamaica.
xoxo.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
I need to finish this novel that I've been writing for 200 years.
March 23rd, 2017
2:07am
“I used to really enjoy musicals,” said Nicola, her voice trailing off.
I didn’t say anything in response. Nicola doesn’t usually speak unless prompted, I felt as though she might say more if she forgets that I’m next to her.
She started gently rubbing a scar on her left arm.
“I don’t remember what the first musical I watched was. I just remember I was with my mom and she was singing along to it. She had the prettiest voice, my mom; I wish I could hear it now. Musicals were the closest thing to happiness for me because they reminded me of my mom. I only ever watched musicals with her.”
Nicola closed her eyes and leaned her head against the taxi door.
The outside noise was reduced to a hum inside of the taxi and the driver has said nothing to us since we told him that we would give him three thousand dollars to drive until we told him to stop.
I looked at Nicola and wondered if she would want me to try and comfort her. She’s never seemed like she’s needed comforting. But sitting next to her in the taxi made me realize how small she was and how fragile she must have been at one point. I couldn’t figure out whether or not she had fallen asleep, so I decided not to touch her.
We have been driving for a while now and the distance meter in the cab tells me that we’ve been driving for 29.5 miles. Although there will be people sent out to look for us in the morning, at this point no one is looking for us.
“Do you think that we could rent ‘The Wizard of Oz?’ I love that movie.” Nicola’s voice is barely a whisper and her eyes are still closed. I can’t tell if she is actually speaking to me or if she’s talking in her sleep.
“Miles?” she said, “do you think that we could rent it?”
“Oh, uh, of course,” I said, realizing that she is awake. “If we get out of this alive, I’ll buy you the movie.”
“If we get out of here alive, I want to see a play on Broadway. With you.”
Nicola sits up and looks at me, her piercing dark eyes staring straight into my soul.
“Thank you,” she says. “Even if we don’t live to see next week, you have made me happier than I have been in years. I mean… I would rather die fighting than be kept as a slave.”
Nicola rests her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes.
I rarely ever know what to say to her; I’ve never met a girl like Nicola.
I’ve never been in a situation like the one I’m in.
I’ve never had to run for my life.
Sex sells.
This is a post from my old blog that I wanted to move here:
Yesterday, I went to an open audition at my educational institution for the news anchor position.
(Side note: I will probably not get the position because I said "Today's NBC Show," instead of "NBC's Today Show." This is laughable. I am okay with that.)
Anyway, while I was at this audition I was a little bit confused.
The attire of many of the ladies standing in line with me was, what I would consider, clubwear and a blazer.
Now, I don't frequent clubs, nor do I consider myself a "sexy-dresser" (i.e: Aubrey O'Day). I may be Prudy Mcpruderson when it comes to some things, but I am no Amish girl when it comes to attire.
I was just confused as to why some girls thought that short a bandage dress (Let me Google that for you) would be a good idea to wear to...a news anchor audition.
Looking around made me almost instantly self conscious.
"Do I look too boring?" I pondered deeply in my modestly dressed mind.
"Maybe I too should have worn sky high stilettos. Maybe I too should have thrown on my Victoria's Secret push-up bra." (I say this because NO female could really be as perky as some of these girls, without some "help.")
I probably looked like a school teacher to many of these girls. My hair was in a tight bun and I wore loose-fitting black slacks and a blazer on top of a cheetah print shirt (bland cheetah print, I promise).
All jokes aside, in the back of my head I really WAS self conscious.
When two girls showed up to the audition after me, I literally turned to my cousin and said, "They look like mini-Kardashians." (Mini- because they were quite short.)
Soon thereafter, another girl walked in with her friend. This particular girl was very pretty; however, her dress fell only a few inches short of her "danger zone" and if her derrière was much larger, I would have wondered to myself, "What exactly AM I auditioning for?"
I consider myself a fairly sociable person. I don't usually have trouble making friends or speaking to strangers, but these girls made me feel very out of place.
I didn't speak much to any of them. I pretty much only spoke to my cousin and made small talk with the one guy in the line.
These girls sounded like Barbie-dolls to me. So...perfect. Perfectly boring.
"Oh my goodness, Jill! I totally love those shoes!"
"Susaaaaaaan! Did you get highlights?! They look a-mazing!"
"Ahhh! Tina I haven't seen you in, like, tha-ree weeks! Is Mr. Teacher's class kicking your butt too?"
"Oh.em.gee. I am totally gonna get that dress to wear to the [insert sorority name here] tea-party next weekend!"
(Okay, I'm done with the quoting. Also, feel free to insert squeals and giggles wherever you please.)
I wondered, "What.the.heck?"
Why would all of these girls want to be carbon copies of each other?
Even the more appropriately dressed girls made me feel uncomfortable with their generic conversation and their girly-coated squeal-giggles.
But, more importantly, WHY the mini-dresses?
THEN it hit me.
Well, it didn't actually hit me. I just heard the compliments that were being ladled onto these girls.
"Chelsea, you look gorgeous."
"I love that dress, Becky."
"Hot shoes, stranger-girl!"
DUH! Why wouldn't these girls wear these scantily clad outfits and throw a on blazer over it?
Who wouldn't want to be spoon-fed confidence with every compliment given? Who wouldn't want to be a sexy sex-pot of sexiness?!
And SEX-SELLS.
I think I got one compliment that day (from someone I knew). But I wasn't looking for compliments. I was looking for a JOB.
Whenever I have gone to interviews, I have always dressed a little bit plainly.
I have never wanted to be hired based on how I look, I've wanted to be hired based on my qualifications or on my potential. I also never wanted a potential employer to look at me and think that I may be an inappropriate or poor representation of whatever company.
I think that may be what was lacking in the minds of those girls.
I don't want to say that's why they wore those dresses or short skirts.
Maybe they party so much that they don't actually own any other articles of clothing.
Man, maybe they even thought that they were dressed appropriately.
But maybe...somewhere, in the back of the mini-Kardashian's minds, they thought "I look HOT today. Maybe if I do accidentally say 'Today's NBC Show' instead of 'NBC's Today Show,' they'll overlook it because I am just so darn sexy."
And you know what, mini-Kardashian may just be right.
I mean, who do we see the most of in celebrity-ville? The sexy.
You don't see headlines in entertainment magazines titled "The super modest and appropriate dress Angelina Jolie wore!"
No, it's the "Sexy, sultry dress" that makes headlines.
So, sexy-sultry it is.
Hopefully, I have a shot at the news anchor position, even if my twins failed to make an appearance (and I'm not talking about children).
If either of the mini-Kardashians get it, I hope that it's because they were good, not because they were hot.
Prudy McPruderson (apparently), over and out.
xoxo
Yesterday, I went to an open audition at my educational institution for the news anchor position.
(Side note: I will probably not get the position because I said "Today's NBC Show," instead of "NBC's Today Show." This is laughable. I am okay with that.)
Anyway, while I was at this audition I was a little bit confused.
The attire of many of the ladies standing in line with me was, what I would consider, clubwear and a blazer.
Now, I don't frequent clubs, nor do I consider myself a "sexy-dresser" (i.e: Aubrey O'Day). I may be Prudy Mcpruderson when it comes to some things, but I am no Amish girl when it comes to attire.
I was just confused as to why some girls thought that short a bandage dress (Let me Google that for you) would be a good idea to wear to...a news anchor audition.
Looking around made me almost instantly self conscious.
"Do I look too boring?" I pondered deeply in my modestly dressed mind.
"Maybe I too should have worn sky high stilettos. Maybe I too should have thrown on my Victoria's Secret push-up bra." (I say this because NO female could really be as perky as some of these girls, without some "help.")
I probably looked like a school teacher to many of these girls. My hair was in a tight bun and I wore loose-fitting black slacks and a blazer on top of a cheetah print shirt (bland cheetah print, I promise).
All jokes aside, in the back of my head I really WAS self conscious.
When two girls showed up to the audition after me, I literally turned to my cousin and said, "They look like mini-Kardashians." (Mini- because they were quite short.)
Soon thereafter, another girl walked in with her friend. This particular girl was very pretty; however, her dress fell only a few inches short of her "danger zone" and if her derrière was much larger, I would have wondered to myself, "What exactly AM I auditioning for?"
I consider myself a fairly sociable person. I don't usually have trouble making friends or speaking to strangers, but these girls made me feel very out of place.
I didn't speak much to any of them. I pretty much only spoke to my cousin and made small talk with the one guy in the line.
These girls sounded like Barbie-dolls to me. So...perfect. Perfectly boring.
"Oh my goodness, Jill! I totally love those shoes!"
"Susaaaaaaan! Did you get highlights?! They look a-mazing!"
"Ahhh! Tina I haven't seen you in, like, tha-ree weeks! Is Mr. Teacher's class kicking your butt too?"
"Oh.em.gee. I am totally gonna get that dress to wear to the [insert sorority name here] tea-party next weekend!"
(Okay, I'm done with the quoting. Also, feel free to insert squeals and giggles wherever you please.)
I wondered, "What.the.heck?"
Why would all of these girls want to be carbon copies of each other?
Even the more appropriately dressed girls made me feel uncomfortable with their generic conversation and their girly-coated squeal-giggles.
But, more importantly, WHY the mini-dresses?
THEN it hit me.
Well, it didn't actually hit me. I just heard the compliments that were being ladled onto these girls.
"Chelsea, you look gorgeous."
"I love that dress, Becky."
"Hot shoes, stranger-girl!"
DUH! Why wouldn't these girls wear these scantily clad outfits and throw a on blazer over it?
Who wouldn't want to be spoon-fed confidence with every compliment given? Who wouldn't want to be a sexy sex-pot of sexiness?!
And SEX-SELLS.
I think I got one compliment that day (from someone I knew). But I wasn't looking for compliments. I was looking for a JOB.
Whenever I have gone to interviews, I have always dressed a little bit plainly.
I have never wanted to be hired based on how I look, I've wanted to be hired based on my qualifications or on my potential. I also never wanted a potential employer to look at me and think that I may be an inappropriate or poor representation of whatever company.
I think that may be what was lacking in the minds of those girls.
I don't want to say that's why they wore those dresses or short skirts.
Maybe they party so much that they don't actually own any other articles of clothing.
Man, maybe they even thought that they were dressed appropriately.
But maybe...somewhere, in the back of the mini-Kardashian's minds, they thought "I look HOT today. Maybe if I do accidentally say 'Today's NBC Show' instead of 'NBC's Today Show,' they'll overlook it because I am just so darn sexy."
And you know what, mini-Kardashian may just be right.
I mean, who do we see the most of in celebrity-ville? The sexy.
You don't see headlines in entertainment magazines titled "The super modest and appropriate dress Angelina Jolie wore!"
No, it's the "Sexy, sultry dress" that makes headlines.
So, sexy-sultry it is.
Hopefully, I have a shot at the news anchor position, even if my twins failed to make an appearance (and I'm not talking about children).
If either of the mini-Kardashians get it, I hope that it's because they were good, not because they were hot.
Prudy McPruderson (apparently), over and out.
xoxo
I pity the fool.
So, in general, I try not to write about people.
Not because I'm afraid they'll read it and freak out that I wrote about them, but because I'm afraid they won't like my impression of them.
But- I feel the need to write about this particular guy, because I see him too often and he has taught me some things.
I won't state his real name, for confidentiality reasons, of course. We'll call him 'J.D'.
So, approximately a month or so ago, this Paul Bunyan-esque man came into the office needing help finishing up his application for school (I work in an Admissions Office). It was probably around 4:30pm and I was working until the office closed (at 6pm).
At first, his presence seemed routine. Same questions everyone asks, "Will I need to prove residency?" "Are my college transcripts in?" etc.
On his way out of the office, he turned and said to me, "What do you think I should do with my life?"
THAT is not a question I get often, because...well, no one usually cares to know my opinion.
So, I didn't really know how to answer him. I just looked at him and said "Do whatever makes you happy."
He replied, "I've been doing that all my life and I'm still unhappy."
"You've been doing what makes you happy your whole life? Or have you been doing what you think should make you happy?" I asked.
He pondered.
"I don't know. I just want to help people."
I proceeded to give him some information about our various Health Sciences programs. I figured that would suffice.
He didn't want that though. He wanted to help people survive. Not necessarily ill people, but the underprivileged.
He asked me what my long term goals are. I explained to him that if I decide to stick with journalism (because, who the heck knows what I'll actually do long term?), I want to focus on women in third world countries who have limited access to education and to learning a trade. I want to be put in the middle of a war zone and expose the realities of a situation. (That would be the only journalism I'd really want to do. I wouldn't mind entertainment journalism, but I am very afraid of getting sucked into that über materialistic world, even though I am not the least materialistic person.)
He seemed to think that was the most incredible thing in the world. I felt like I just told him that I was trying to find the cure for cancer or that in my lifetime I could stop world hunger.
Long story short, because I said this, he came back a few days later and brought me three books (I am Nujood, Age 10 and divorced, Arguably, and Infidel). I am Nujood, Age 10 and divorced and Infidel are two books about women who have gone through the unimaginable (to a first-worlder; or even to a third-worlder--- since I did live in Jamaica--- who didn't live in a country with such oppression).
He didn't have to get me these books; nor did I ask for them. But, I am very grateful for them.
Since giving me these books, he has come in often. At first, it was about twice a week; but after about 3 weeks, he started coming in every day.
This didn't bother me at all, because he is one of the very few people in this world who unabashedly has conversations with people that he doesn't know too well--- about some very personal things.
He was abused by his father, sexually mistreated by his mother, he left his house at 15, joined the military at 18, and pretty much has been on his own--- but is an aimless wanderer.
Not to make him seem like a lame person, because he is not. When someone goes through as much as he has gone through, it's difficult to always find a path to walk on.
He has a lot of self-pity, which my coworker and I have tried to talk him out of. He feels worthless and undeserving of everything. He is not deserving of spending time with people, in his own mind.
My coworker and I invited him to casually hang out and he declined because he's unworthy. He has even said that he doesn't deserve to be alive.
I told him bluntly that his self-pity will be detrimental to him. If he continues to pity himself, he will not accomplish anything.
I had a revelation when I was talking to him about his self pity.
Self depreciation is so terribly destructive. I mean, of course we all know this...but it's really hard to see.
He was offered a job in Oregon and Hawaii during the time he would come visit us. But he didn't take the jobs, because according to him, "What's the point?"
"What's the point of taking the job if I don't deserve it? What's the point if I can't help people? I don't want to do it for the money."
It's always commendable when people want to do good and money has nothing to do with their desire.
BUT--- how can you help people when you're trapped in your own mind?
You can't.
I've told him that there is no helping other people when you cannot help yourself.
Depression, self-pity--- those things exist. Those things aren't things you can always easily shake.
But our desires to help people and to make the world a better place will not come to fruition if we can only see the dark cloud that is our own life.
I'm not a stranger to depression. I know that it is a big dark monster than can control my life at ANY given time. It's something that I've fought half of my life, and I still have to go a couple of rounds in the ring with it from time to time.
But I know that depression can be the end of me. I know that if I allow what hurts I have to control my life, it will do just that- control it.
'J.D' is not in control of his life, his self pity controls him.
I was very honest with him when I told him that I thought that he was a recluse- he was very honest with me when he told me that for the past few years he has done little more than sit at home and do nothing.
He has an extensive movie/TV show collection (thousands of movies, he says).
"Have you seen 'To Rome With Love'?"
"Yup. I own it. Have you seen it?
"I haven't."
Brings me the movie the next day.
"Do you have 'Sinister'?"
Brings Cristal (my coworker) a copy the next day.
"Have you seen 'Life of Pi'?"
"I own it."
Brings me a copy the next day.
"Do you watch 'Dexter'?"
"It's a crazy show. I haven't kept up all the way, though."
"I've pretty much kept up. But I only own up to season 5."
"I own up to season 6."
Brings Season 6.
Now, I have never (nor would I ever) asked him for anything. He is just that giving (I had to talk him out of buying me a $120 necklace for no reason).
I've tried talking him out of letting me keep the books he brought me. I've also told him not to bring me the movies because I don't want to take them--- nor do I want him to think that I talk to him because he gives me things. But he is just very generous.
This man has a lot of potential. A LOT.
Not only because he is giving, but he's very smart. He studied Engineering at the University of Florida. He has a vast knowledge of the most random things. He reads several educational books a week.
And he has a love for helping and giving to people that is very evident.
But because he prevents people from getting through to him, he will in turn prevent himself from reaching his full potential.
Because of all that he knows about various issues around the world, I can imagine the good he could do.
I can imagine the good we could all do if we step outside of ourselves. But when you're in an almost self-destructive place, you really cannot imagine that of yourself.
I no longer have any idea where I'm trying to go with this entry.
But the moral of this long, drawn out entry is--- If you're in a dark place, you HAVE to figure out how to get out of there.
You will never, ever, ever reach your potential if you remain stuck in a room crowded with your own thoughts and painted with images of your own failures.
'J.D' has just started classes. He is finally doing something. Finally allowing himself to get out of his shell. He even invited me to go watch a movie with him (which is huge, since he wouldn't even accept my/my coworker's initial invitation to hang out).
Therapy, talking to someone who inspires you, art, poetry, dance, laughing at yourself....whatever it may take to get you out of that dark place is never too much.
If you want to do something, do not tell yourself that you are unworthy.
We are what and who we think we are. We project our feelings of ourselves to others. We project our feelings of ourselves to the world.
If we think we are unworthy, we will act unworthy.
Sometimes it's a simple decision to change our own minds. Sometimes it takes days, weeks, months, years to get out of our own heads (and I say this from complete personal experience--- it took me years to get out of my head).
But even one step forward is a step in the right direction.
('J.D' has now expressed that he has feelings for me. And...there is no reciprocity. Nor will there ever be [sometimes you just know]. Things are a little bit weird, but he still comes to visit---he was in the office today, actually. It does make me feel better to know that I kind of helped to drag him out of his funk. I'm definitely glad that he came to the office. He's not only taught me a lot about what I just wrote about, but he has also taught me about women's issues/civil rights issues around the world and even in this country. Anyone who teaches me a sliver of anything is always alright in my book.)
xoxo.
Not because I'm afraid they'll read it and freak out that I wrote about them, but because I'm afraid they won't like my impression of them.
But- I feel the need to write about this particular guy, because I see him too often and he has taught me some things.
I won't state his real name, for confidentiality reasons, of course. We'll call him 'J.D'.
So, approximately a month or so ago, this Paul Bunyan-esque man came into the office needing help finishing up his application for school (I work in an Admissions Office). It was probably around 4:30pm and I was working until the office closed (at 6pm).
At first, his presence seemed routine. Same questions everyone asks, "Will I need to prove residency?" "Are my college transcripts in?" etc.
On his way out of the office, he turned and said to me, "What do you think I should do with my life?"
THAT is not a question I get often, because...well, no one usually cares to know my opinion.
So, I didn't really know how to answer him. I just looked at him and said "Do whatever makes you happy."
He replied, "I've been doing that all my life and I'm still unhappy."
"You've been doing what makes you happy your whole life? Or have you been doing what you think should make you happy?" I asked.
He pondered.
"I don't know. I just want to help people."
I proceeded to give him some information about our various Health Sciences programs. I figured that would suffice.
He didn't want that though. He wanted to help people survive. Not necessarily ill people, but the underprivileged.
He asked me what my long term goals are. I explained to him that if I decide to stick with journalism (because, who the heck knows what I'll actually do long term?), I want to focus on women in third world countries who have limited access to education and to learning a trade. I want to be put in the middle of a war zone and expose the realities of a situation. (That would be the only journalism I'd really want to do. I wouldn't mind entertainment journalism, but I am very afraid of getting sucked into that über materialistic world, even though I am not the least materialistic person.)
He seemed to think that was the most incredible thing in the world. I felt like I just told him that I was trying to find the cure for cancer or that in my lifetime I could stop world hunger.
Long story short, because I said this, he came back a few days later and brought me three books (I am Nujood, Age 10 and divorced, Arguably, and Infidel). I am Nujood, Age 10 and divorced and Infidel are two books about women who have gone through the unimaginable (to a first-worlder; or even to a third-worlder--- since I did live in Jamaica--- who didn't live in a country with such oppression).
He didn't have to get me these books; nor did I ask for them. But, I am very grateful for them.
Since giving me these books, he has come in often. At first, it was about twice a week; but after about 3 weeks, he started coming in every day.
This didn't bother me at all, because he is one of the very few people in this world who unabashedly has conversations with people that he doesn't know too well--- about some very personal things.
He was abused by his father, sexually mistreated by his mother, he left his house at 15, joined the military at 18, and pretty much has been on his own--- but is an aimless wanderer.
Not to make him seem like a lame person, because he is not. When someone goes through as much as he has gone through, it's difficult to always find a path to walk on.
He has a lot of self-pity, which my coworker and I have tried to talk him out of. He feels worthless and undeserving of everything. He is not deserving of spending time with people, in his own mind.
My coworker and I invited him to casually hang out and he declined because he's unworthy. He has even said that he doesn't deserve to be alive.
I told him bluntly that his self-pity will be detrimental to him. If he continues to pity himself, he will not accomplish anything.
I had a revelation when I was talking to him about his self pity.
Self depreciation is so terribly destructive. I mean, of course we all know this...but it's really hard to see.
He was offered a job in Oregon and Hawaii during the time he would come visit us. But he didn't take the jobs, because according to him, "What's the point?"
"What's the point of taking the job if I don't deserve it? What's the point if I can't help people? I don't want to do it for the money."
It's always commendable when people want to do good and money has nothing to do with their desire.
BUT--- how can you help people when you're trapped in your own mind?
You can't.
I've told him that there is no helping other people when you cannot help yourself.
Depression, self-pity--- those things exist. Those things aren't things you can always easily shake.
But our desires to help people and to make the world a better place will not come to fruition if we can only see the dark cloud that is our own life.
I'm not a stranger to depression. I know that it is a big dark monster than can control my life at ANY given time. It's something that I've fought half of my life, and I still have to go a couple of rounds in the ring with it from time to time.
But I know that depression can be the end of me. I know that if I allow what hurts I have to control my life, it will do just that- control it.
'J.D' is not in control of his life, his self pity controls him.
I was very honest with him when I told him that I thought that he was a recluse- he was very honest with me when he told me that for the past few years he has done little more than sit at home and do nothing.
He has an extensive movie/TV show collection (thousands of movies, he says).
"Have you seen 'To Rome With Love'?"
"Yup. I own it. Have you seen it?
"I haven't."
Brings me the movie the next day.
"Do you have 'Sinister'?"
Brings Cristal (my coworker) a copy the next day.
"Have you seen 'Life of Pi'?"
"I own it."
Brings me a copy the next day.
"Do you watch 'Dexter'?"
"It's a crazy show. I haven't kept up all the way, though."
"I've pretty much kept up. But I only own up to season 5."
"I own up to season 6."
Brings Season 6.
Now, I have never (nor would I ever) asked him for anything. He is just that giving (I had to talk him out of buying me a $120 necklace for no reason).
I've tried talking him out of letting me keep the books he brought me. I've also told him not to bring me the movies because I don't want to take them--- nor do I want him to think that I talk to him because he gives me things. But he is just very generous.
This man has a lot of potential. A LOT.
Not only because he is giving, but he's very smart. He studied Engineering at the University of Florida. He has a vast knowledge of the most random things. He reads several educational books a week.
And he has a love for helping and giving to people that is very evident.
But because he prevents people from getting through to him, he will in turn prevent himself from reaching his full potential.
Because of all that he knows about various issues around the world, I can imagine the good he could do.
I can imagine the good we could all do if we step outside of ourselves. But when you're in an almost self-destructive place, you really cannot imagine that of yourself.
I no longer have any idea where I'm trying to go with this entry.
But the moral of this long, drawn out entry is--- If you're in a dark place, you HAVE to figure out how to get out of there.
You will never, ever, ever reach your potential if you remain stuck in a room crowded with your own thoughts and painted with images of your own failures.
'J.D' has just started classes. He is finally doing something. Finally allowing himself to get out of his shell. He even invited me to go watch a movie with him (which is huge, since he wouldn't even accept my/my coworker's initial invitation to hang out).
Therapy, talking to someone who inspires you, art, poetry, dance, laughing at yourself....whatever it may take to get you out of that dark place is never too much.
If you want to do something, do not tell yourself that you are unworthy.
We are what and who we think we are. We project our feelings of ourselves to others. We project our feelings of ourselves to the world.
If we think we are unworthy, we will act unworthy.
Sometimes it's a simple decision to change our own minds. Sometimes it takes days, weeks, months, years to get out of our own heads (and I say this from complete personal experience--- it took me years to get out of my head).
But even one step forward is a step in the right direction.
('J.D' has now expressed that he has feelings for me. And...there is no reciprocity. Nor will there ever be [sometimes you just know]. Things are a little bit weird, but he still comes to visit---he was in the office today, actually. It does make me feel better to know that I kind of helped to drag him out of his funk. I'm definitely glad that he came to the office. He's not only taught me a lot about what I just wrote about, but he has also taught me about women's issues/civil rights issues around the world and even in this country. Anyone who teaches me a sliver of anything is always alright in my book.)
xoxo.
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