I CANT believe in this thing called God. I can’t wrap my head around it. I can only understand that life is not fair, and it never will be. Some humans suffer and some don’t. Some laugh and some never will. Some die of old age, but many die of cancer, accidents, murder, disease, depression, genocide, racism, rape, terrorism, bombings, fires, starvation, natural disasters, etc. Some humans are in so much pain, they beg to be taken out of this world and some die in the most inhumane ways that if I think too hard and too long about it, I could vomit. I just can’t wrap my head around a loving God who would allow such pain to be felt by any human-being. We kill one another all in the name of God for GOD’S SAKE. What I CAN understand is that you only live once so you gotta listen to Nelson Mandela and live with Ubuntu (human-kindess). You gotta live by the wisest words ever spoken and you gotta love hard, find beauty in the little things, and ya gotta stay up so late it’s early because once you die, you’re dead and gone for a long fuckin’ time.
You put a bullet into the body of a beautiful elephant, but little did you know the bullet of hate you were putting into the heart of a 4-year old baby. A baby who now wants you dead. A beautiful baby boy who wants a knife in your heart because you took his elephant away. Did you know that; did you? I cried so hard for the elephant because I felt the loss so goddamn hard and I’m not even sure why. He’s dead because of the hope he brought and the love he gave to those around him. He’s dead because of the despicable people like you who kill because of the fear you hold for others who have powerful ideas; not powerful weapons. He was beautiful and my breath stops for a quick second when I ponder the absolute beauty of his size, and the bonds he held with those around him. He’s rotting in the ground now but his spirit lives in the heart of many, including the 4 year old baby who will one day be a man. I can only hope that the bullet of hate will turn into something more beautiful, but I fear that is not possible. I fear that the loss of his elephant has created a hate that will erupt inside of a grown man one day. Would it be so wrong? Would it be so wrong for that baby boy to want to seek revenge? You have no idea the pain you have caused, for no human can fully understand the pain that is felt when an elephant bond is broken and that is a force to be reckoned with. Rest in Peace El-Phil.
Going Solo is a book written by Eric Klinenberg about the rise of individuals who now choose to live alone. He describes this trend as the biggest unidentified demographic shift since the baby boom. The book explores the life-style of these individuals who choose to live alone. And guess what? They are fucking happy. They are happy and in comparison to married couples, these “loners” have a more active life-style. They are more likely to eat out, exercise, go to concerts, volunteer, and other things that get their asses out of the house and their mojo’s workin.
Now the idea of this book definitely struck a cord with me because I’m “going solo,” but I’m also on a constant witch hunt to find my soulmate. I dream of the day I will meet a man who will completely knock me off of my feet, wrap me in silk, feed me bacon wrapped chestnuts, and carry me to the oceans edge where we will stare into each others eyes while our feet sink into the sand. But this book has opened by eyes to the possibility that this may never happen. And I’m okay with that too because I will never settle for the wrong person.
"I’m living alone now and a lot of my friends and family worry about me being lonely, but let me tell you something. There is nothing lonelier than living with the wrong person." According to Eric Klinenberg, this was the most common thing he kept hearing from people he interviewed who are now living on their own but were previously living with significant others. When I heard that, I wanted to scream HALLELUJA AMEN SISTA FRIEND because I couldn’t agree more.
I do not believe that life’s mission should be so consumed with who we’ll end up with because we may end up solo and that’s OK. There are other things on this earth that can get our mojo’s workin! TO WORK THE MOJO WE MUST FIND THE MAGIC IN WHAT WE DO!
I know that when I think about my dream vacation (traveling to Thailand to bathe with elephants in an elephant orphanage) I get excited. When I think about wearing my black leather jacket in the fall my arms tingle. When I think about super size bags of skittles, red wine, live music, previews before a movie, being with friends, margaritas, bacon wrapped chestnuts, family, blogging, reading, learning, success, helping others, laughing, working and a thousand other things that make me excited to continue on the journey of life, I feel alive.
So for all you solos out there who are conquering this unknown world without a lover by your side, this is a shout out from me to you. There is no shame in never taking the plunge. There is no shame in ending something that is no longer making you happy. There is no shame in going solo. You are kicking this world’s ass one day at a time on your own and if love falls upon you, so be it, and if it doesn’t you may unveil a magical side of yourself you never knew existed.
I understand that this is not a new question, but I have decided to ask it again. Why do parents insist on telling their daughter’s that their vagina is actually called a toot-toot, wee-wee, poonani, foo-foo, foo-fi, coochie, privates, and the worst one in my opinion- “down there.” Jesus, “down there” makes it seem like a forbidden place that should be feared. And why do parents insist on telling their sons that their penis is actually called a pee-pee, tallywacker, willy, hot dog, and “down there.” You know how I feel about that.
Attention to all parents: these parts already have names, so I must ask; why are you not using them? You are not teaching them to call their legs and arms something equally as ridiculous. This is why my generation has a hard time saying PENIS and VAGINA in conversations. Please stop this ridiculous cycle. It is a vagina and a penis, and there is no embarrassment or shame in that.
From The Complete Cartoons of the New Yorker. ;)
I lived above a Hookah Bar in Astoria, Queens for one year with two craigslist roommates and my then significant other. Both roommates were female and foreign; one was from Turkey, and the other from Romania. For the most part, they were great roommates. I didn’t have any issues like heroine being shot up in the bathroom, loud sex, dirty dishes, wild parties or any other recreational activities that would constitute them as bad roommates. They were pretty normal for the most part, maybe a little too normal for my taste.
One fabulous morning while I was getting ready for work in my windowless room, which was never intended to be a bedroom; but somehow I ended up in that prison cell of a room, I received a text message from my Romanian roommate. The text was a bit on the frantic side. She said that we must talk later that night because she had almost called the police last night on my boyfriend. My boyfriend was the most true-blue Midwest boy I had ever met, so one can imagine my shock after receiving her text.
I confronted my boyfriend. He was thoroughly confused. The previous night had been tame for him. He ate dinner, drank a few beers, read a Clancy book, and called it a night, so he thought. Later our roommate came home and informed us what had really happened. Before I continue on, I should preface this by saying that the true-blue Midwest boyfriend had a history of sleepwalking.
At two in the morning my boyfriend had walked into her bedroom wearing only white underwear, which I like to refer to as “tighty whities.” I am not describing to you boxer shorts. I am also not talking about boxer briefs or sexy Calvin Klein drawers. What I am describing to you is the most embarrassing white piece of cloth that no man would ever choose to be caught dead in. These were the underwear he chose to wear only when there was no other option. When all boxers, briefs and regular under garments were dirty, only then would he succumb to wearing this piece of fabric.
He came into her room in his “tighty whities” and placed both hands perfectly over his penis. He stood about 5 feet away from her bed and simply stared ahead. She awakened somewhat startled and said, “What the hell are you doing in here?” The boyfriend replied, “Don’t worry” followed by some unidentified words and turned and walked out of the room leaving behind our startled roommate.
I explained to our roommate that he had a history of sleepwalking and would never intentionally do anything to scare or hurt her. She listened and continued to make him feel like a perverted criminal, but in the end the police were left out of the matter. However, both of our female roommates did decide to lock their doors while sleeping from that point on.
You may find this story to be an act of desperation, but I simply find it to be a story of an awesome friend (She who cannot be named) helping me in my search to find my soulmate. She is constantly doing awesome things like this.
I had never gone on a blind date before, and that was something I definitely needed to cross off the ol’ bucket list. In my mind I would be waiting at a table with a rose in a book of my choice-The Secret History-waiting for my soulmate to walk through the doors of some lovely cafe, you know, You’ve Got Mail Style. She who cannot be named agreed to help me out. The following is what She sent out via email one day a life-time ago…
"Ok…it’s not really a contest, but it really is a blind date.
"Recently my dear lovable friend Natalie expressed her desire to go on a blind date. Considering this was a completely feasible goal, I offered to assist in helping her manifest this intention in her life. I mean, why not, right? See what happens….and you can even say you’ve had the experience of being on a blind date!
"You are receiving this because either I consider you to be eligible or perhaps you may know of someone who may be eligible and interested. I mean why not take advantage of this incredibly spontaneous opportunity to say, “What the heck? …..who knows what could happen?” (Trust me, it makes for an interesting kind of life.) =) So please send this email along if someone does come to mind. (Intuitive flashes are always a good bet.) We are currently looking for men in the New York City vicinity, but are open to men who frequently travel to NYC or perhaps would prefer rather to fly her out to them. It’s just a blind date so logistics can be made for any location, providing they are reasonable and mutually agreed upon.
"You will find a photo of her attached to this email and you may also find the following info about her intriguing:
Name: Natalie Marie Jackson
Occasionally also known as: Natty J, Nat, Natalia, Natalie
Height: 5’ 7”
Body Type: Athletic with Real Boobs
Eye Color: Blue-Gray with a slight ring of Hazel around pupils
Hair Color: Brown
Religion: Open to Anything
Hobbies: Reading, Music, Movies
"Accomplishments: Made her own rap song titled: “Just Play”; Starred in mock infomercial for fat supplement; Starred in real commercial for “Hot Music & Games”; Was awarded the “Heart & Hustle Player of the Year” award in her senior year of college basketball; worked for a non-profit Jewish organization and was the only non-Jewish person in the company
"Dreams, Goals, Aspirations: Work in an elephant orphanage; To Be Happy and discover the meaning of life; Learn Spanish and another language of love
"What Natalie is looking for in a Man: Ultimately finding the love of her life, but for the moment, someone who values patience and is willing to explore the possibilities of what life has to offer right now. She is open to all ages and types.
"Activities Natalie would enjoy on a date: She is open to anything; but also enjoys Live music, wine, good conversation, & movies (but not for a first date)
"Hear what others are saying about Natalie:
”….a gentle and uncomplicated Soul." - Agata, wise woman from the other side of the world
”A marshmallow interior and a rock ‘n roll exterior." - Anonymous, actor
”I don’t know." - Joel, a happy little man
”She’s a descent and sweet person. She cares for other people." - Carlos, arepa stand owner; Brooklyn, NY
”Esta bien buena." - Jesus, chef
”…the most sincere and genuine person. She is always herself, even and especially when she’s awkward. I once witnessed her hi-five a potential suitor to avoid a public display of affection. But in all seriousness, you will not find a person more invested in being human and its condition. What is beautiful about Natalie is that it’s not about her being beautiful on the inside or being beautiful on the outside. Natalie is beautiful just because she is who she is. It’s neither inner or outer with Natalie. It’s more holistic and raw. She’s unknowingly graceful in her apologetic authenticity….I hope to see her with someone who can appreciate this about her, with someone who isn’t concerned with the inner or outer nature of beauty and the cliché need to analyze or look for it, but instead, I would really love to see her one day with someone who knows how to simply enjoy being with it… because [she] is." - Anonymous, professional e-mailer
"Natalie’s Theme Song: " HOME ", by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
"*Should you be interested in being set-up on a blind date or pass this along to someone who may be, please respond (or have them respond) to this email and I will set it up.
"Thanks everyone for reading and let the festivities begin!"
In the end, we had a couple of interested parties, but no real commitment was made, and my soulmate was not found. But honestly, I wasn’t sad because I realized I have met some unbelievably amazing friends in my short life thus far, and those friendships mean just as much to me, if not more, than a “soulmate.” Although, I do still dream of the day where I will meet THE man who I will make sweet sweet love with; one who will make an endless amount of bacon wrapped chestnuts for me, and who will squeeze my pinky toes on command (you will have to refer back to my first blog post to understand this).
Ok, so I know weddings are supposedly a time of “joy and laughter,” and I’ve only been to 5 weddings, but thus far I’m not the biggest fan. How in the hell can I enjoy myself when I’m forced to wear a pink dress with a bow meant for a 4-year-old. Can I please just wear my black leather jacket for the love of GOD? I hate dresses and more than that, I rarely wear color. I’m not gothic or anything like that, I just love black, and I look good in black, at least I think I do.
Envision me standing in front of a mirror at David’s Bridal wearing a pastel dress (meant for a 4-year-old) that won’t zip up the back; because lets face it, my body isn’t what it used to be.
Consultant at David’s Bridal - “Honey just remember it’s not about you, it’s about them.”
Me: “Why? Why is it about them? They will be happily married, meanwhile, I’m the single one desperately looking to snag anyone at this God-forsaken wedding, and how in the hell am I going to accomplish that wearing THIS?”
Three of the five weddings I attended were extremely religious, and sometimes I feel as though I’m sitting through a sermon rather then celebrating the love. It’s all about the love, MAN. I dibbled and dabbled in religion for a year or two in high school when the fear of burning in hell was driven into my brain. But now that I’m older and have a brain of my own, I find all religions to be quite fascinating, and cannot allow myself to buy into the belief that other people will burn in hell simply because they have their own religions that are just as beautiful, if not more so, than Christianity. Anyway, there is a time and a place for religion, but in my humble opinion, weddings are not the place!
My brother’s wedding was absolutely beautiful and I almost couldn’t complain except that I had to wear a pink dress with a bow. If you know me at all, you know this is an abomination of everything I stand for. I really make an effort to look like a badass all of the time and when I’m forced to wear a pink dress with a bow, a part of me becomes suicidal.
And then there was the wedding where I was shunned. I went stag because
I didn’t have a date it was a small wedding in bumfuck Ohio, and I knew I would recognize some fellow classmates. I did, and I walked up to their table and asked if I could pull up a chair. They said no, but not before mumbling something about other people joining their table. For the record, I didn’t ask to take an existing chair at their table, I asked if I could pull up a chair, God Dammit. Fucking assholes. I ended up at a table with a family of four who didn’t drink alcohol; oh joy. But I did get to wear black because I wasn’t in the wedding party.
Maybe it’s not weddings I hate as much as I hate our traditions. I’m already giving you a day of my life for the actual wedding, and then you expect me to go to the rehearsal dinner as well, not to mention the engagement party, the bachelorette party, and then the wedding itself. How many gifts do you want from me!? And then in the end, 50% end in divorce, and that number doesn’t include all of the cheaters and sex addicts out there. Can I get my money back please?
And the white fairytale dresses that women spend thousands of dollars on? You will never wear that dress again, but I guess at this point, I will admit that it makes me cry every time I see the bride walking down the aisle in that white fluffy gown.
An average wedding costs around $20,000. I know you’re probably thinking I’m about to go on a rant about feeding the hungry and etc. I won’t go there, but I will say that I would use that money to fly to Thailand and roll in mud baths with beautiful elephants - my dream vacation - before I would ever spend that much money on a wedding.
And why in the hell are we still taking our husbands last names? I mean, I understand if you have a last name like ButterFluffer, but when you have an awesome last name like Jackson, why in the hell would you ever get rid of that?
I know by this point you’re thinking I’m the most miserable bitter person you’ve ever met, but I must report that I’ve cried at all five of these weddings. I really have. I love these people with all of my heart, and I’m the sappiest person you will ever meet, but I’m just not a big fan of attending weddings. This could change if one of you single ladies out there would throw a wedding where I could wear a sexy black pant suit instead of a stupid fluffy pink dress, provide me with unlimited cocktails, free the entire ceremony of religion, and give me a roasted pig. I would joyfully attend your wedding and leave my complaining behind.
This story isn’t so much a story as it is me asking YOU for advice. I’m a 25 soon to be 26-year-old woman and I’m attracted to a 20-year-old man. Boy? A 20-year-old who seems wiser beyond his years and falls into the category of “my type,” ie. nice eyes, dark hair, hairy, musician, interesting, and last but certainly not least, a prominent nose. But something tells me that as a 25 soon to be 26-year-old woman this is somehow morally wrong. Let’s face it, we couldn’t even go out for drinks together without him having huge X’s on his hands. I would honestly rather be seen with someone that sported a scarlet A on their chest.
Now, it’s not so much my fault you see, because I didn’t know his age when I realized I was infatuated with him. That was something that came after the fact. My friend, in an attempt to snap me out of this fantasy that it could ever work with a man not legal to drink, sent me a picture of myself at 20 years old. The sight of this made me realize that I am a completely different person now than I was 6 years ago, and thank God for that, because the truth is, I was an asshole.
I was a despicable, immature asshole with only half of a brain, and I would like to think that now, not only do I have a full brain, but my heart has softened. This picture did snap me back into reality that yes, he still has a lot of change to go through before he becomes the person he is meant to be, but do we really ever stop changing? I don’t think that we do. And if this is the case then age ain’t nothing but a number, right?
Did I mention that I have no idea if this 20-year old is infatuated with me. This may quite possibly be all one-sided. However, we did exchange numbers with the intention of “keeping in touch.” If only I was 10 years older, I could be considered a cougar and this situation would be completely acceptable. Or if I was a single mother of two, I could be the MILF and that’s always a sexy situation. If I was a man infatuated with a younger girl, no one would even bat an eye. But unfortunately, I’m a 25 soon to be 26-year-old woman who is actually considering what it would be like to date a younger man. Boy?
Do I need a slap in the face? Is this completely unheard of? It’s not rape, is it? He’s technically an adult. For the love of GOD tell me I’m normal and that’s it’s okay to be attracted to a younger man. Boy?
I was just recently watching a new show on HBO called “Girls” and the main character told her gynecologist that she thought it was rude that they had weighed her with her clothes on. I knew exactly how she felt because everytime I go to the doctors, I come back thinking, sweet Jesus, I need to lose some weight.
Without a doubt I always weigh in at 150 pounds at the doctors, yet at home in the nude I stay around 142. Why wouldn’t you weigh yourself in the nude? It’s the only accurate way to know how much YOU really weigh. Are these doctors trying to force us into unhealthy crash dieting routines? I swear I used to go straight home and look up ingredients for a juice detox. The next day I would miserably suck down juice all day until I felt dizzy enough to call it a day at 7 PM.
I’m here to confirm that the weight increase at the doctors office is due to the fact that they make you stand on that damn scale with your clothes, shoes, and most of the time you still have a coat on as well. Make sure to always drop your purse; I know what you crazy people are carrying around - me included - and that could easily contribute to 5 of the additional pounds. Anyway, it’s bullshit, so don’t fret if you weigh more at the doctor’s; it’s a scam people! I think these offices are receiving huge bucks from Jenny Craig and other weight loss organizations in an attempt to make us feel fat enough to spend our money on phony weight loss programs.
Attention nurses: Don’t make me get on that scale until you have me down to my knickers and that weird backless gown that you make us wear. It’s not ok to emotionally abuse your clients! We need you and you need us, but if you continue to make us feel insane in the membrane about our weight, we will refuse to step onto your damn scales!