Bougie or Bohemian?

I grew up deeply entrenched in middle class values. Although my parents didn't always have middle class money, there was a certain worldview to which I was exposed. I learned that success meant obtaining higher education, having a high-paying career, buying a house, having a nice car and going on vacations. Maybe you acquire a spouse and a couple of kids along the way to make it a little more worthwhile. If you want, throw in a dog to sweeten the pot and make the movie version of your life that much more interesting.

According to this worldview, I am supremely unsuccessful. Oh snap! And now stupid Beverly is trying to whisper some I-told-you-so's and shoulda-woulda-couldas in my ear. So rude. Ain't nobody got time for that!

Maybe supremely unsuccessful is a bit harsh. I do have a couple of degrees and I am actually extremely good at going on vacation. The other stuff...not so much. Does that truly mean that I'm not successful?

Fortunately for me, my perspective has significantly changed over the years. I've had enough life experience and exposure to a bigger world that I'm not so inclined to believe that those things are true indicators of success. It's not that I don't want any of those things, I do. I want the money, money and a car, car and the clothes...the hoes, I suppose. Well, I'd trade the hoes for a housekeeper, but you get what I'm saying. However, there are costs to all those things, costs that aren't often factored in until you get there. Unless you're an heiress (still an aspiration of mine) or a lottery winner (my retirement plan), in order to achieve all those things, you must be willing to commit and sacrifice.

Enter the inner-struggle.

Like I said, sure I want stuff, that's the American way. But what's more important to me than having stuff is doing stuff. What makes it hard to do stuff? Not having enough money AND not having enough time. Because you have to go to work. So that you can earn money. To buy/do stuff. That you don't have time to do because you're at work. See the conundrum?

Some things are definitely worth it. Building a life with someone you love, creating another person - those seem like good investments. Working 70 hours a week so you can make a $873 car payment...not so much. I guess that's where the bohemian side comes out. I don't want to spend all my time at work; I am deeply afraid of being so attached to my stuff that I continue working in an environment that's detrimental to my health. I don't want expensive labels or a fancy car to signify my importance. So what's a middle class girl to do? Forget all that she learned? Derive success from planting trees and picking flowers?

Um, no. (Although planting some trees can earn you a lot of money...and possible jail time.)

I'm working on redefining success for myself. It means not comparing myself to my peers, not worrying about what my old car says about me (hello, no car note!) and figuring out how to stretch my little dollars into fun getaways that involve the beach and plenty of sangria. It means finding happiness in my life without getting caught up in how it should be (hush, Beverly). I'll admit, it's easier said than done. A new car would be quite lovely...but if it means I have to spend all my time at work to pay for it, I'll be driving my car until the wheels fall off.





*Before you get your panties in a bunch, I acknowledge this is a first world issue. Heal the world, Kumbayah, text 23407532 to send money to a Nigerian who just needs your bank account number to deposit funds for safe keeping, I know it's a privilege to even consider this to be a "struggle".

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Being a true blue Bay Arean, it's generally the norm to embrace a devil may care attitude toward outward appearance. In some circles, harsh words such as "superficial" or "mainstream" may be used to describe those who believe in shaving their armpits and ironing. It's not what's on the outside, it's what's on the inside that counts!

Tell that to the toothless dude trying to get a quarter to get on BART.

Once you leave the idealistic, liberal, Kumbaya beliefs of the Bay Area behind, you will find that what's on the outside is what gets most people curious about what may be on the inside. But is that the only draw?

Hopefully, my Bay Area resident card won't get revoked in admitting this, but I have been guilty of caring and putting thought into my appearance. Part of it is vanity - deriving pleasure in being recognized/validated by strangers for your eyebrows being perfectly arched. There is also the running into an ex/archenemy/crush and looking so amazing that they can only be left stunned by your amazingness scenario. However, and this is most important, I like to look good for myself. Often how we feel on the inside is reflected on the outside. That's not to say we need to put on a ball gown/suit and tie to run to the grocery store (although you do get a better cut of meat when you look like a princess), but if we're feeling down or not particularly happy with ourselves, it shows up in our dirty, oily hair, dark under-eye circles and the stained t-shirt and baggy, saggy sweatpants that even Goodwill would reject.

I won't go as far to say I'm obsessed with appearance (not just my own, mind you), but it's definitely something I consider. Even though there are times when it absolutely should not matter (i.e. going running in the cold, dark mornings), I still cared. Now, I'm not that chick (Kim Kartrashian) who puts on full makeup to work out, but I would try to fix my hair, use tinted lip balm and always had on earrings.

Then something happened. I don't know what that something is, but it shifted the importance I put on appearances. I stopped caring about what I looked like to others. I work out at 6 am - who's checking for me? No one! It's practically the middle of the night and working out means sweating profusely and doing stuff that makes it hard to breathe. I don't have time to worry about my stubby eyelashes or my bedhead hair. It's too dark to see the slightly red tint of my Dr. Pepper lipsmacker...so I put it away.

There's something very liberating about not worrying so much about your appearance. It's not that I've totally given up; on the contrary, I still make an effort to look nice and presentable. However, it's not for the validation of others inasmuch as it makes me feel good. I no longer feel compelled to wear what everyone else is wearing - I'm doing me. If it means I'm a little under/overdressed, so be it, it's what I wanted to wear and how I wanted to look. Besides, there's a lot more to me than a cute pair of shoes or jeans that make my butt look good (but I'm always on a quest to find those).

I didn't realize this happened until I went to Hawaii back in January. Traveling from a cold climate to a warm climate means being creative in your attire. And I looked very creative. But I also didn't give a f*ck. It was super early, I didn't know anyone on the plane, I wanted to be comfortable and it was super early. While I didn't look a total hot mess, I was clearly aiming for comfort. That's when it hit me - maybe I'm growing. Maybe I'm moving toward reveling in who I am, creative clothing and all. Who knows? Only time will tell - I still wear my earrings when I work out.

A Letter of Concern

Dear Friend,

Let me start by saying that I am so glad you are a part of my life. You are so smart, attractive and fun; I really enjoy your company. I feel like every time we hang out, it's a good time. Remember that time we were in Jamaica and we...um, never mind, you were there, some things don't need to be written down. (You know what I'm talking about though!) Anyway, I could go on and on about how fabulous you are and how fabulous I am and how when we're together, it's a party of fabulosity, but that's not what this letter is about. You see, there's something that I'm really concerned about, something that I've noticed before, but only now do I feel like I should speak on it. No, it's not about the drinking (people who live in Grey Goose bottle houses shall not throw stones!) or all the macaroni necklaces (thanks for the birthday gift by the way) or even the beanie baby collection (I know you try to keep it on the low, but I found it in your closet); it's about something more insidious, something that's becoming more apparent to the naked eye.

You, my friend, are hella bitter. (There's even a quiz that confirms it.)

Now before you get all hostile and defensive, just remember I'm your friend and I love you. I'm only attempting this intervention because I would hate to see such a wonderful spirit become further entrenched in a life of ratchetry and bittertude. (Yes, I made those words up, but you know exactly what I mean.) I know it's hard for you to see, but I can see it...and so can everyone else. Actually, it's oozing out of your pores almost as if a musk-like scent is emanating from you - Eau De Bitter (pronounced bit-tear because it's fancy French talk). Ironically, you often have a sour expression on your face, like you're smelling something funky. Could it be your own bitterness? No? That's right, that sour expression is due to the fact that EVERYONE else is f*cked up and why should you smile about that? It's not like you want anyone to actually converse with you.

Oh wait, but you do.

You were just saying the other day that you were kind of lonely and would like to have a partner in crime. Guess what? You won't meet anyone if you keep acting stank. Yes, I said stank. You want an example? The other night, when we were at the bar, this very nice person was clearly trying to engage you in conversation. You were "jokingly" confrontational and a bit snarky; as soon as they left, you immediately dismissed them, stating their outfit/weave/breath was off and they probably had 5 children with 7 different partners anyway. (Don't question my math, that's rude.)

I know your parent's relationship wasn't the best example of love. I know you've been through some bullsh*t and ratchetness; but who hasn't? Friend, do you know that it's become impossible for me to imagine who you would date? Anyone I could think of is too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, butt too small, legs too skinny, eyes too crossed, clothes too nineties...I mean, no one fits your criteria. It makes me sad because I know that under your bittertude, there's a loving soul, who has so much to give and would make some person an awesome partner.

What I'm most concerned about is our friendship. Of course, I have your back, your front and your sides. However, I feel like I can't talk to you about what's happening in my life, especially my love life because you immediately have something negative to say. My situation is not at all perfect, but every time I acknowledge a frustration, you say they are up to no good or I should leave them alone. Even when I talk about the good stuff that happens, you find some way to make it negative. So, I've stopped talking to you about it. I don't like putting limits on our friendship, but if you're making me feel bad about my choice to love someone, I have to.

I understand that this may be hard for you to hear. My hope is that you will be able to hear this and you are ready to do something about it. There's this show, Iyanla Fix My Life that I think...no? DMX was on it! Too public? There's probably a long-ass waiting list anyway (let's hope Nikki Minaj is on it). Okay, so not Iyanla, but could you get some kind of therapy or life coaching? Maybe read a self-help book or 4? I'm just saying...don't let me be the only one who knows you're awesome because I'm not marrying your ass. I'm probably too tall for you anyway.

Love Always,
Me (Your awesome friend with whom you should not be angry because I said you were bitter and mentioned your beanie baby collection and don't forget I also said you were fabulous and wonderful too because I am your friend who loves you a lot and has a lot of dirt on you because I saw things and was there too and okay I'm done now.)

P.S. I know you remember that time! Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I have pictures in the vault!

Macaroni Necklaces - Good for your Mental Health?

After having a work-related, stress-induced mini-meltown the night before, you wake up, determined to take a mental health day. After shooting your boss a quick email about not feeling well, you smile. The day is yours to do with it what you want! Initially, there's a feeling of sweet relief - you don't have to deal with the long-ass commute, the growing mountain of paperwork on your desk or your annoying co-worker (who is a close-talker and always seems to have garlic breath). But then it dawns on you...you have no idea what to do with your time.

Hmmm....it's been a while since you played with your belly button...

There's the mature, responsible side of you that says you should go to the post office and send your friend her birthday gift (it's only 3 months late), take your car to get washed, pick up some groceries, and do a load of laundry. (Just writing all that made me put my head down to take a nap.) The other side, the take-advantage-of-this-free-time-because-you-really-need-a-break-before-you-kill-someone-accidentally-on-purpose-and-they-make-a-Lifetime-movie-about-it-side, tells the mature side (f*cking Beverly!) to shut up and that you are going to do whatever the hell you want to do. It's your day, damnit!

Unfortunately, how many of us choose to spend our coveted time-off taking care of business? Do you often set an agenda for your free time? Many of us subscribe whole-heartedly to the American way of being efficient and productive. I am definitely guilty; I often map my day according to what will allow me to get the most done. (Don't judge me, gas is hella expensive!) However, time is also our most precious gift. We sometimes forget that sharing it with someone else is a reward in itself. Or spending it doing the things we love, not the things we're obligated to do, is truly one of the best ways to use it. We get so bogged down in how we should be spending our time, we forget to use it to live the life we want.

So, now that you've cursed out Beverly and told her to sit down somewhere, you get to do what you want on this mental health day. What are you going to do? Maybe you spend the whole day watching reruns of the Cosby Show. Maybe you ride your bike across the Golden Gate Bridge. Maybe you continue your search for the perfect pet rock. Maybe you learn how to cha cha. It doesn't matter, it's your time. If doing what you want means putting on some tennis shoes and running like a gazelle, do it. If you come across a man with a drum and you want to beat on his drum too, do it. If you want to work on your macaroni necklace collection, do it. Whatever it is, make sure it's something you want to do; your place in heaven is no more guaranteed just because you cleaned out your closet (although I hear bribery works). Tomorrow, you'll be back at work, obligated to deal with Garlic Breath and Paperwork Mountain; there will be no one to blame but yourself if you've wasted your opportunity to actually take a break.

Those macaroni necklaces aren't going to make themselves!