Wednesday, December 28, 2011

(+)

I was going to post Feist's I Feel It All but this spoke to me out of nowhere and when I say spoke I mean it got stuck in my head as I was setting my intentions for 2012...notice I did not say making resolutions, I haven't made a resolution since 2006. Anyway...enjoy!

Quoted

REPEAT AFTER ME: I'm a Universe loving, self-help book reading, new thought thinking, angel card reading , cross legged sitting, abundant life living, gratitude giving, miracle believing, chakra cleaning, crystal using, incense burning, faith keeping, love sending PHENOMENAL SPECIMEN OF THE UNIVERSE ITSELF! From this moment forward I commit to just being me.....
-That Guy Who Loves The Universe 

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Still Bitchy...


Here's an update on how my No Gossip challenge is going...BADLY. I engage in so much idle chatter that leads to smack talking at work that I need to stuff my ears and mouth with cotton. Like I said, we do it because we're bored. In the past two days that I've been at work we've been too busy *gasp* working to talk about anything, but we found a way. Tomorrow I'm going to be a bit more diligent about watching what I say. On the plus side I'll be done with work by Thursday. On the minus side, if the only way I can be done with gossip is to not talk to people on the reg I have a bigger problem than I thought.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

This picture has nothing to do with this post...*smile*

If you don't respect yourself ain't nobody gonna give a good cahoot na na na na
-The Staple Singers

So as you all know in addition to being a Prada ogling, meditation sitting, self help book reading, Clueless quoting, miracle believing, crystal using, ya mama joke telling, spirit junkie, I am also a writer. I wasn't always a writer but I always wrote and from that intense desire to express myself through words and such I have carved a career path in journalism out of a BS in textiles and apparel merchandising. 

Following my passion from part time hobby blogger to real live writer has been a struggle, emotionally and financially. I know we're in the midst of a big fat R-word but that really has nothing to do with me struggling as a writer. Just yesterday I met a girl my age who went to a college I never heard of in Tennessee and has a job in the photo department at Vanity Fair, and the lovely girl who came from Theory's corporate office to help us shut down our store is only 2 yrs older than I am. So the recession doesn't have damn thing to do with me not having a job that fulfills my need to capitalize on being a natural born communicator and my bank account. It really only has to do with me knowing my worth and politely demanding that others acknowledge it as well. Or as Cartman would say, "Respect my authority!!"

Hair color & a Macbook cost $$$ so we know she's getting paid some way

Case in point, after finishing a great internship at a nationally circulated pregnancy mag based in Atlanta instead of only settling for another internship in publications or a job assisting a stylist, I went back to what I knew and got a job in retail. Fast forward a few more years, and every year I say "This is the last holiday I'll be spending in the mall," and every year I apply for shitty mall jobs while I write for fee ad nauseam. This past year I put my foot down and said hell to the no to picking up more free gigs only to pick up more free gigs because that is what I thought my writing was worth, $0. Really? I spend at least an hour or two a week researching blog posts, then another hour or three writing them only to have another clip to my name that does not fill my closet or my fridge. Do you think Carrie Bradshaw worked for free? She at least got paid in store credit with all of the French and Italian names chillaxing in her closet in her rent controlled apartment on the Upper West Side. I'm sure the thought never even occurred to her that she should NOT be paid for her work.  Actually, I don't know anyone who has any kind of job that thinks they should not get paid for what they do. Even interns think they should get paid for schlepping. So why the heck did I think I shouldn't get paid, well to be more accurate why did I behave as though I thought I shouldn't get paid? That grasshopper is quite simple; I didn't feel good enough.


I didn't feel like I could compete with the Poor Little It Girls of Atlanta and for damn sure New York because I didn't have daddy's money, scratch that their daddy's money, or the right degree or I wasn't a 5'2" blonde with an always sunny disposition and a pair of Louboutins. I was/am the perfect balance of Beyonce's sass, Carrie's fashion addiction, Zooey Deschanel's quirky girl behavior but less annoying, with Daria's love for books and sarcasm  balanced by J Lo's ass...oh and I carry a YSL downtown tote in charcoal. Basically, I'm not that different from those girls, I only thought I was. So as of today, no more of that! I deserve to be paid exactly what I'm worth and I won't settle for anything less than that. I also have decided to start dressing like I deserve to be paid exactly what I'm worth...I'm not really sure what that means but when I find out I'll tell you. 

As for writing, I've scaled back on the free work and will only be accepting PAID postions to build my shoe collection one check at a time : )

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Quoted...

Expect liberation is the new black. Style up.
-Danielle LaPorte 

What Spiritual Looks Like

This blog post about my work with my spiritual gangster and clairvoyant healer Kindra Gans--bomb dot com girl-and getting through this crazy "break up" thingie. It was originally posted on HerFuture.com where it took on a life of it's own and became a Blog We Dig the week I posted. 

At the end of September/the beginning of October, I was becoming a little too well acquainted with the fibers that make up my carpet after one too many nights balled up on the floor crying myself sick. In my darkest moment I cried out for some kind of help, because I knew there had to be a better way and a few weeks later the universe answered my call when my co-worker gave me the info for a psychic she'd just met on the set of a photoshoot. Initially skeptical I took the information and was surprised when I found myself dialing her number during my lunch break the next day and setting up and appointment for the minute I got off of work. I needed healing and answers and as far as I knew she had them.

On the 10 minute drive from work to her office I felt my heart racing. I kept replaying the last and only time I'd ever seen a "psychic" in my life and knew that if this went anything like that did, I would be wasting my time and money. You see the last time I saw a "psychic" was almost ten years ago when i was a freshman in college and someone brought in palm readers for a program on campus. These dark haired, vaguely middle eastern women had rings on every finger, layers of necklaces, dark chiffon tops, and basically looked like Kim Kardashian meets Stevie Nicks with a thick accent. They didn't tell me anything worthwhile and one tried to get my friend to pay her $300 to remove a dead fetus from her or something like that. Anyway, I was completely prepared for this girl to be a bit full of it when I went to see her but a tiny voice kept pushing me--a tiny calm voice and my intense desire to never let anyone down.

I parked my car in the lot in front of her offices and was surprised to see a very beautiful, normal, well adjusted 20 something meet me at the door and walk me back to her room. This girl was NOT the psychic I was used to. her office was devoid of spooky strange stuff, like beaded curtains and scarves over the lamps, and was super normal. There was a desk, office chairs, a few pictures on the wall, her degree and certificates for completing training as a clairvoyant healer. I sat across from her and without telling her too much she read my soul and saw me broken and weeping on the floor. She also saw a lot of  other things and told me everything I needed to know to begin taking the right steps to heal myself. I left feeling uplifted and knew that this situation would not kill me but that it would make me stronger.

From there I did what any normal person would do, I went home and Googled this "healer" and was a little surprised at what I saw. This super spiritually connected girl who radiated love from the inside out was talking about drinking beers at night, had pictures of her and her pals out on the town on facebook and even outed her fears of recently moving to Atlanta from San Diego and how difficult it can be to introduce yourself as an energy healer to people at networking events and one first dates. In short she was your typical 20 something, scared shitless by somethings and super confident about pretty much everything else sometimes. She was for sure was no fortune teller, nor an angel, and was far from the blissed out spiritual gurus that I thought would be hooked up to a higher power. She was a girl just like me trying to keep her shit together and using her extraordinary gift to support herself. Hmmm... The judgmental ego voice inside me whispered "You cannot trust this girl or anything she said. She's too normal and has fears and doubts and isn't any more enlightened than you are." Then a strange thing I happened, I ran into a former client turned friend of mine at the mall and we began to talk about spirituality and I told her about my healer and how she reminded me of Kendra Wilkinson (yes that Kendra from E!). She told me that just because someone has a life and a past does not discount their gift or mean that they do not have a message for you. I sat with that for a while. Then in the next few weeks I sat back and watched several things unfold pretty much exactly the way she told me they would. Soon, I made another appointment, and another, and one for my friend, and one for my mom and gave her info to my coworkers who went to see her and a former coworker who broke down in her office after she read her from head to toe in one meeting.

 Just because she has fears, says FFFF, meets guys at bars, has a hard time answering the question "What do you do?", drinks green tea for breakfast and beer for dinner and lives like every other girl under 30 that I know, does not discount any of the guidance she has given me--which has been spot on--nor does it mean that she is not spiritually hook up. Not every spiritual person is a monk and not every hot girl you meet is vapid and shallow. Sometimes your best spiritual running buddies are spiritual gangstas who read Deepak and listen to Jay Z while they do it.

 The added moral of this story is never ever judge a book by its cover, or better yet never ever judge.

 If you want more info on Kindra, check out her blog. It's funny, cute, full of advice on debunking the myths that swirl around psychics and info on how to connect with her. Although she's based in Atlanta, she does readings over the phone as well.

(+) Christmas Playlist

Here are my fave Christmas songs to get you in the mood for decking the halls and what not...

Eartha Kitt-Santa Baby (I only get down with Eartha's version all others are whack!)

John Lennon- Happy Xmas (War is Over)

 Mariah Carey- All I Want For Christmas Is You

 Jose Feliciano- Feliz Navidad
 

 The Year Without A Santa Claus- Snow Miser, Heat Miser Song

 And to be fair to my pals who celebrate Chanukah (Hanukkah), here's my boy Adam Sandler throwing down for the badass Jews that don't get a Christmas tree, presents from Santa or any of the other stuff that has nothing to do with being Christian but a ton with celebrating Christmas.

21 Days To A Less Bitchy You!

If gossip were a sport Perez would win the gold medal!

Like I said before I'm a card carrying gossip girl, I got the card from the same guy who hands out and revokes race & gender cards he's really sketchy and sells fake Fendi bags out of his trunk. In an effort to be less catty/bitchy/hating/gossippy/insert word that means talking shit about other people just because I can, I'm taking up a challenge issued by my favorite ego warrior pal Rosi and will not let a negative word cross my lips for the next 21 days. That means no starting statements off with "I'm not being judgmental at all when I say this, just so you know..." or "I'm not trying to be any kind of way or anything but.." or better still "Maybe I shouldn't say this..." If I have to tell people I'm not being judgmental I'm probably being judgmental  and some kind of way, and for goodness sakes if the thought not to say something crosses my mind I should close my mouth and stop while I'm ahead. Since I know that I can't go around saying "I love you darling. It is all good. You are sweet as pie and ice cream" while my mind is going "What a C U Next Tuesday!" I'll also be cleaning up my 15 year old girl thought patterns as well. So for the next 21 days if I can't say or think anything nice I'll think something loving and move on!

I'll keep you all updated on how this goes. In the past 5-10 years I've amassed a ground of friends all based around the idea that if you don't have anything nice to say come and sit with us so this is going to take a LOT of work, but if I can run around Manhattan during fashion week in September in heels without breaking an ankle or my neck, this is a cake walk. 

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Quoted...

Come on now, who do you,Who do you, who do you, who do you think you are?Ha ha ha, bless your soulYou really think you're in control?
-Ceelo Green 

Friday, December 16, 2011

Gossip Folks



In the grand tradition of shining light on my not so illuminated parts--not those parts, it's too cold to shine light on them in December--I have decided to out my guiltiest pleasure and probably one of my most shadiest traits; I'm a gossip. I love talking mad shit about people. Not because I think I'm better than them or anything, actually I'm not making any kind of judgement on them when I gossip, I do it because I can. When I don't have anything nice to say, I ramble and babble and eventually mad amounts of shit comes out about everyone around me.

Usually the stuff I say is so superficial that the person I'm talking about could laugh at it--I don't consider that gossiping--but every now and then I say stuff that might upset the person if they heard it, like saying a former co-worker smells like a cat or that another former co-worker has issues with her family therefore she'll always have relationship issues. While 80% of the stuff I say is as true as saying "the sun rises in the east" who the hell am I to go around spouting my version of the truth about other people to other people?

This has been the case since I could talk, and it is pretty much best summed up by a conversation I've had with my mom way too many times to count:
Mom: "You say things that can be mean and vicious sometimes."
Me: "I'm only telling the truth."
Mom: "Who asked you?"
Hmm....good question. No one ever asks you to speak the truth all the time about everything. How rude is it to just go around with verbal diarrhea spewing your version of the truth to whomever may listen? Very, but no matter how much at-one-ment I feel with others and how much I know that everything I say about others is a judgement about myself, even if it is just an observation, I still can't break the habit. I mean I've been gossiping since I was a wee one, now I'm old enough to have my own wee ones and for sure I don't want my unborn daughters to pick up that habit.

Gossipping does not feel good, actually it does not feel any way to me. The only reason I do it is to make small talk/entertain people/ exercise my jaws....guess I should read more so that I have more interesting things to say or do as the old adage says and keep my mouth shut when I don't have anything nice, or anything at all, to say. But how boring would that be? I'll figure out soon, because starting tonight, NO MORE GOSSIP and SMALL TALK....Ummm actually starting tomorrow.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Quoted...

And anyway, sometimes the hardest lessons to learn are the ones your soul needs most. I believe you can't feel real joy unless you've felt heartache. You can't have a sense of victory unless you know what it means to fail. You can't know what it's like to feel holy until you know what it's like to feel really fucking evil. And you can't be birthed again until you've died. 
-Kelly Cutrone, If You Have to Cry Go Outside, "It's Not A Breakdown, It's A Break Through" 

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Now Reading...


Dr Wayne Dyer's The Power of Intention (Peep the Yo! MTV Raps card featuring Slick Rick the ruler as my bookmark. Definition of a spiritual gangsta.)

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger


I am Queen of Comparison, or at least I used to be and sometimes still am but increasingly less often than I used to be. (Whew!) Why wouldn't I be? Comparison and competition are the American way. We keep up with the Joneses and the Kardashians, speak in terms of haves and have nots and are constantly on the hunt to be good, better, and the best in every field. After years of living the American dream of being better than my neighbors, I am sooo over it!

All my life I've compared myself to someone in an effort to be deemed stringer, better, faster, smarter, prettier, and more worthwhile. I compared my past with that of girls who were living my dream of marrying their soul mate, "They're really religious that's why they're getting married," "They both have amazing jobs and me, not so much, so we can't get married until I get a great job," and my favorite, "We're way cooler than they are." I compared my resume that the resumes of other people who had jobs I dreamed of, "She went to a better/worse school than I did," "He was super involved on campus," or the best most irrelevant one, "Their parents obviously were connected and have money so that's how they got a job that someone like me deserves." I had no idea how insane I sounded comparing my life to that of total strangers.  Until I did, and trust me it wasn't hearing someone else tell me how trapped in insanity I was that let me know how things were, it was finally opening my eyes to the truth that got me right. 

There was no big "Aha!!" moment that broke my cycle of comparing every aspect about myself to everyone around me, including my friends who in the grand tradition of girls were my favorite people to compare myself to. Actually I stopped comparing myself to others when I realized that there was nothing to compare essentially. I mean, I am not any of those people and I do not need their qualifications to get anything I need in MY life. They may need their qualifications for THEIR life but the ones I need for my success are unique to me. Hence the term MY life. Seriously, you cannot measure your life against someone else's because not only is their life path completely different from yours but their soul has a totally different purpose and they probably have a different set of goals to fulfill. So if you can't compare your life to someone else's what should you compare it to? Nothing. Your life isn't good or bad, right or wrong, it just is and every experience you have shapes it into something that you could have never imagined in your wildest dreams. Even your past experiences are a poor measuring stick because you are not your past. Perhaps you were your past but you are not your past. Just live the life you have and enjoy every minute of it. That's really all you can do.




Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Monday, December 12, 2011

Lessons Learned From...Kim Kardashian


  1. Tight dresses are a curvy girl's best friend.
  2. Family means everything, especially when you have several business and TV shows together.
  3. You may not be able to get rid of your ass but maintaining a career being famous for being famous requires you to work your butt off.
  4. Louboutins can add almost a full foot to your height.
  5. Jumping from one romantic relationship to another does not guarantee that you will find "the one". Actually, it only guarantees that you will go from one relationship to the next until you stop looking for love outside of you and realize that love and completeness comes from within.  

So You Agree?



If you were Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls, Regina George would be your ego. Only your ego would turn a compliment into a "Who are you to think that of yourself?" moment.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

I Lost My Choo!!!

Waiting for the other shoe to drop is a phrase and concept that I never truly understood. I mean, what are you doing that your shoes are dropping? When I walk my shoes stay firmly attached to my feet at all times keeping me far from the danger of dropping one shoe let alone two. Perhaps this phrase was coined by someone who didn't wear shoes with straps or laces that was too big or something. Origins of the phrase aside, I do understand what it means to constantly be on the look out for something bad to happen, I spent a whole school year in therapy explaining my fear that no goo experience goes unpunished. While it's painful enough losing a shoe, or whatever the other shoe that is being dropped is supposed to represent, what happens when your other shoe is a Choo?

Jimmy Choo's Marlene feather platform sandal rings in at a whopping $1995 (no decimal between the 9s) and is a work of art to be treasured by any fashionphile. So imagine how gut wrenching it would be to drop one of these babies! Fortunately for you, I do know exactly how it feels to have a shoe of this magnitude drop. Not literally of course, I'm a writer who works in retail to keep her lights on and if you think I own $2000 shoes you really need to pinch yourself, or pinch me.  My Jimmy Choo Marlene feather platform was my most treasured possession, my boyfriend.

My real shoes are Calvin Klein...on sale!!!

It's crazy to think of a person as a possession, but when you are in the habit of putting people on pedestals, making them more special than you are and trapped in a vicious cycle of fear you do not see people, places, things and experiences as they truly are, that's what you do. You see everything as a tool for hurt and attack, capable of being lost or stolen and eventually causing great pain. When you create this kind of special relationship between a person, a job, a situation or a shoe, losing it means losing your greatest most treasured possession and ultimately means losing a part of yourself. For me, that is exactly what happened after years of being afraid that my Big would figure out how less than special I was and leave me. (That's not quite at all what happened but bear with me on this.) And you know what, I was hurt, shocked and broken but I wasn't disappointed.

When you spend your time building someone or something up to grandiose proportions that nothing can live up to and you constantly replay over and over in your mind the way things will NOT work out, how dare you be disappointed when the other shoe drops? The whole purpose of hanging on to that shoe and then fearing that it will drop at any moment is to soften the blow of what will happen when it eventually does drop. It does not ensure that you will keep it. Remember, the thing you think of most is the thing that you bring into your life, so if you constantly think "OMG! This Jimmy Choo Marlene sandal is so special and magical that if it drops I'll be broken. When it drops I'll have to figure out how to piece myself back together after having had such an amazing shoe," you know what happens, it drops and you shatter. But you say, "I knew it! That's how life always works" and aren't disappointed.


NEWSFLASH!!!! That is sooo not how life works. You've seen The Secret, you know that life works like this, "Think it, feel it, see it come into fruition." So um, yeah if you don't want your other shoe to drop, STOP WAITING FOR IT! The definition of waiting implies that you know something is about to happen so you do the mental math. I'm not saying ignore your fears, what I'm saying is do not put your trust and belief in them. Fear is a like your favorite frienemy. It will tell you, that you'd look great in that dress if your ass weren't so big and that guy would marry you if you had the right job. It never tells you that you are enough and that you deserve to be happy with both shoes firmly attached to your feet. Be grateful that you have feet and shoes, and if you happen to have a pair of Marlene's be grateful that you look amazing in them. Be then again if you are like me, you have amazing legs and look good in any shoe!

(I couldn't find the Lost Choo clip but this was the closest one I could find...So sue me. You won't get anything but a closet full of size 7 1/2 shoes and a bunch of clothes.)

What and The What?


I know, I know. You stumbled upon this blog and you're thinking,  "Ugh, not another riff on Sex and The City? I thought that phase ended after the movie came out. This girl must sip cosmos, think she's a Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda or Samantha and be super lame." Well, yes and no. I haven't had a cosmo in like 6 years, I would rather eat than buy shoes and I know that Carrie Bradshaw had to have supported her writing by moonlighting as a hooker in oder to afford a rent controlled spot on the Upper East Side with enough closet space to hold her Manolos, Choos, Louboutins and racks of pret-a-porter--writing doesn't pay THAT well future journalists until it does. But, in all fairness I have been called a Carrie since college because I'm a natural born communicator who can spot a fake LV bag from a mile away and often refers to shoes by their name not the brand, as in "Those are tributes right?" "No, they're YSL." "I know. But they're YSL Tribute pumps. I haven't seen that color, they're good." I also LOVE love and labels and support my writing with a steady part time mall gig to keep my closet full of brands I couldn't afford right now without a discount. Aside from those very surface level similarities, I am nothing like your average SATC lover....well I was until I wasn't.

College "It" Girl days captured in 225 Magazine


After graduating from college with a degree in Textiles and Apparel Merchandising--that's fashion merchandising fyi--I left Louisiana for Atlanta with big dreams of finding the perfect job and man. Cut to about three months in and I was working at the mall, living with my mom and miserable because I didn't have any friends--as a reformed party girl with the gift of gab, friends were/are my life blood. I tried moving back to Louisiana to relive my glory days pre-degree only to find that I'd grown to accustomed to the big city way of life, and Panera Bread, to ever call NOLA home again and moved back to ATL with the intention of eventually working my way to New York. Fast forward a bit again and I was working NY fashion week as an intern, kicking ass and making great connections, then my plan to move flopped because I was too scared of my own greatness to take a risk and leave this mediocre life behind. That decision to stay was the best and worst decision I ever made. Best, because I met the love of my life the New Year's Eve after I decided to stay and worst because despite making great strides in Atlanta and moving from blogger to writer and seeing my name in print I'm still exactly where I was in 2007 when I moved here, working in the mall. After two years and 8 months in the most loving, beautiful and perfect relationship ever, me and my Mr Big hit a road bump that left me broken, alone and pining for the one person that I know is destined to be a part of my life forever....we'll save that story for another day. 

Hanging with Candace Bushnell and LohSki at the W Buckhead

My Big break up led me here, after much soul searching and a self help book or two, starting a blog based on a dream I had--I feel like that's something Prince would say--that marries my love of fashion and all things pop culture with my new found spirituality. Yes, I drank the Kool-Aid so to speak but I'm not at all cult like. I mix wisdom from my teachers Gabrielle Bernstein and Marianne Williamson with wise words from everyone from Russell Simmons, Jay Z, Iyanla Vanzant,  the Dalai Lama, Deepak Chopra and my spiritual running buddies that include the baddest psychic ATL or San Diego has ever seen and a cray, dancer who sees 11:11 as mucha as I do. I also remix the vapid, shallow, anti-feminist comings and goings of Carrie and her crew to fit my daily struggles as a writer, reluctant stylist and student and teacher of A Course in Miracles. Yes, I drink green juice and try to squeeze in a round of sun salutations between my morning meditations and getting dressed. Yes, I carry amethyst and The Alchemist in my Alexander Wang Coco Duffel. Yes, I accessorize with a mala and BCBG pumps. Oh and don't forget I bump Jay Z while catching up on Deepak's tweets, but none of that means anything. Life is all about balance, and that's what this is all about. I can shop like Carrie, meditate with monks, drink red wine while I detox, gather together a power posee of spiritual gangstas and call in all kinds of amazing miracles all while outing my ego and using the F word, both of them, because I am not a body with a spirit, I am a spiritual being in a body and therefore I am inherently spiritual. Word to your mother!