Please Be Careful: Hot Mess Mother’s Day

Mothers are special for a myriad of reasons. They care for you, support you, love you, and course, question your wardrobe choices even after the age of 35.

My mother is an awesome woman, who has sacrificed her life so that I could live mine. I will be forever grateful for that. I am not one for the sappy sentiments, so I am not going to start now. My mother knows I am a special soul, and although she’ll never understand, she created this hot mess. And today, I want to share a list of ways she has been a hot mess to me. Thanks mom…

10 Ways My Mother Was a Hot Mess (to me):

(These are in no particular order of importance, but you’ll be able to figure out which of them were the most influential in shaping the hot mess I am today)

  1. The time she tried to set me up with Ruben Studdard:¬†I’ve told this story before, but my mom was 100% serious when she mentioned to me that she was going to send the American Idol winner a letter about me, since she had seen him on Oprah, discussing his desire for a nice Christian girl
  2. The OTHER time she tried to set me up, and I ended up at a Christian dance club:¬†Speaking of Jesus, she was sure we hit the Holy Grail when she set me up with a coworker of hers. After my attempt to ignore the fact that he was Gary Coleman’s doppleganger, I was not able to get over the fact that our date was at a Christian hip-hop dance club, complete with a Bible airbrush photo backdrop.
  3. When she forced me to get a weave:¬†My hair is already long, but she wanted me to be Rapunzel for some reason, back in 2012. She paid for it, so I let it happen. It was so bad, I wore a headband for 2 months. My best friend also was able to snap a pic of me looking like James Brown when I took it out, which she uses as a contact photo to this day. Thanks mom…
  4. When she sent me to¬†boarding school to eliminate commuting hours:¬†Who spends tens of thousands of dollars to save hundreds on gas? ¬†My mom, that’s who. When she sent me to Cranbrook, her reason was that she learned of a school where I could live there and she wouldn’t have to go out of her way to drive me to school. I’m starting to think it wasn’t about the gas…
  5. Sending expired horoscope texts: My mom religiously sends me my horoscope every day. Although I don’t believe in astrology, that has not stopped her from letting me know on a daily basis that something’s coming, whether that be a new love, friend, work issue, or “difficult situation.” When I don’t receive one I’ve been conditioned to worry. But my mom comes through in the clutch, because when she finally sends me my horoscope, she makes sure to send me the previous missing days as well. This is to ensure I know on Thursday that I missed meeting the love of my life on Tuesday.
  6. Alerting me to the dangers of grocery shopping:¬†My mom likes to ensure that I always stay safe. She does this by telling me to be careful all the times. Whether it’s on the phone ¬†or via text, she’ll make sure to express to me that I should proceed with caution in all instances. Driving. Eating. Going to the gym. Walking in the grocery store. Watching television. Going to happy hour. Everything is dangerous, so I need to watch out.
  7. Hair care:¬†When I speak to my mother, she always makes sure that I know she cares for me and my well-being. She is very sweet in asking me how I’m doing, how my friends are, as well as work. She always ensures that she always asks about the condition of my hair. Is it straight? Is it curly? How humid is it in Miami? Did it rain today? Did you cover your hair? HOW IS YOUR HAIR?
  8. Driving shade:¬†When I visit home, I always enjoy driving the latest in rental car innovation. But more than that, I thoroughly enjoy driving with my mother in the back seat, dictating whether or not we’ll make it to Buddy’s Pizza alive. She likes to inquire on what exactly I just said because the music is above 5, and will make sure to question whether or not I saw that yellow light or the stop sign in the mall parking lot.
  9. Subconscious beauty tips:¬†My mom wants to give me a makeover so badly. I know she secretly cringes when I leave the house with a brush of mascara and lip gloss. My mom is the queen of beauty and looks immaculate every time she steps out the house. I, on the other hand, look like I want to make a quick trip to Wal-Mart without running into anyone. Thank goodness my cousin is close to her, who also loves to doll herself up, otherwise I think I would have been signed up for “What Not To Wear” years ago.
  10. Undercover baby fever:¬†Although she never comes right out and says anything, my mom wants grandchildren. She has never once asked me outright when I’m going to have kids (she’s read my blog, she knows I’m single AF), she’ll toss out little innuendos here and there. Whether it’s mentioning to me how lovely my best friend’s daughter is ( “I can’t wait until you have a daughter JUST LIKE HER!”), or gushing about all her “children” at church, I know she is chomping at the bit waiting for a little hot mess.

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

What What in the Gut

I’ve lost seven pounds and I’m feeling myself. Clearly I’m delusional…

I’ve been trying 75% hard to watch what I eat, and I can see the same percentage of results. I can sit up a little faster, since I’m not eating as much cheese and bread, but walking up to my 17th floor apartment is still a struggle. Working out is the easy part, as my spin class is da club, and I enjoy all the man candy I see as I walk around my downtown neighborhood, so I’m getting my 10,000 steps in everyday. However, I don’t think my new body will be unveiled until June 2018, so I’ve been looking to try out all sorts of things to continue to kick my health goals into gear. I have a juicer, I’ve blended the shit out of my fruits/veggies, and I’ve got more Up & Up vitamin bottles than I ever had in my life.

In my efforts to find other ways to reset my system and get that much closer to prime health, I turned to a friend of mine who’s always telling me about some detox she’s done. Juicing, fasting, eating between 3 and 5pm- you name it, she’s done it with success. So when we spoke a few weeks back about her latest venture in looking fabulous, I was intrigued. Until she told me that someone stuck something up her butt.

No, she didn’t lower her standards, but she did tell me she had a colon hydrotherapy session, also known as a colonic, and it was mind-blowing. I was more concerned about another body part being blown, but I could not deny my fascination. In a nutshell, colon hydrotherapy involves the removal of waste from the body by introducing warm, filtered water into the colon. She said it was a painless procedure, the tech was awesome, and that she felt pounds lighter after it was over. Wanting to get rid of bloat, gas, and overall Humpty-Dumpy-ness, I said I wouldn’t mind giving it a try, and she gave me the referral. I was even more inclined when she said a friend of hers lost 10 lbs after her colonic. Umm, why yes, I would like to make this a 17 lb. weight-loss, so I can stunt on these fools and pretend I ate rice cakes for 3 weeks!

Then I Googled colonics. After I quickly switched back to the “All” filter from “Images”, the first article I see is “10 Reasons Why You Should Never Get a Colonic”, riddled with at least half a dozen exclamation points. In a very scary font ( “Impact” I’m sure), the article warned me that I would lose nutrients, become extremely nauseous, and possibly lose my soul. Well, my friend didn’t tell me that! But she went on and on about the process, the feeling of alertness she felt, and the owner of the spa who talked her through the entire session. Since I felt I was a huge burp away from being skinny, I put down my deposit and decided to get irrigated anyway.

I arrive to my appointment last week on an empty stomach and an open mind. My sphincter was somewhat put at ease when I walked into the spa-like settings and introduced myself to a lovely woman we’ll call Alice. She pulled out all the stops with soothing music, low lighting, and aromatherapy. I felt even better when I looked at her library of books on display, including “Everybody Poops” and “What Your Poo Says About You” (do kids get colonics?). Alice showed me the machine that would administer the water into my colon, and where the waste would collect. She said I was welcome to watch the process, as most people want to see ¬†what’s coming out of their system. I said I did not.¬†I finally put on my spa gown, removed my clothing, and hopped up on the spa table. I was a little hesitant when she showed me the speculum that would soon enter the place where there is no sunshine, until she advised me that she would be using coconut oil as a lubricant. I gave a sigh of relief, letting her know I used it to cook with and condition my hair. I could tell by the sweet smile on her face that she was not expecting that response.

So everything was greased up and I was finally past the point of no return. Alice explained in layman’s terms that the session would last for a little over 45 minutes and would go as follows: she would pump water into the colon and once a certain amount of pressure was detected, the machine would reverse, and hopefully the shit would be literally up the creek. Nothing happened on the first wave, and she calmly told me that this was normal, and could take a few rounds before anything happened. I actually started to look for crap in the tube when the second wave didn’t bring about anything, and was afraid that I had wasted my money on shoving a water hose up my behind for no reason. I started to worry that the bloating in my stomach wasn’t really gas, that I was just fat and had to do more crunches than I anticipated. As Alice administered the third wave of water, I felt a little cramping, but was past the point of frustration, wondering if I could ask for a refund since I didn’t spontaneously lose 5 pounds. And then it hit me…

Alice spoke of a phenomenon in which many people will expel emotions during hydro colon therapy. This includes laughter, tears, anger- feelings are literally bursting out of you that were apparently all up in your guts. What came out of me wasn’t necessarily euphoria, but I couldn’t stop staring at the machine, as I felt my life flashed before my eyes, along with what looked like my last few meals. My stomach was literally emptying out everything, while also deflating to a much more normal size. Was this what giving birth felt like? Probably not, but I’m pretty sure I gave birth to a food baby, TWICE.

Once the session was over, I got dressed gathered my things, and contemplated asking Alice if she wanted to be the godmother of my food baby. She suggested that some people may want subsequent sessions, and I told her that I would most likely be back very soon. It’s been a couple of days and fortunately, no side effects here. While I didn’t lose 10 pounds, I do feel much lighter, and have been very aware of the food I’ve digested the past 48 hours. Would I recommend this to friends? Yes. Is it for everyone? Certainly not. But if there’s ever going to be a time where I advocate for rear entry, it would be for this. If a couple more sessions will lead me to better skin, more energy, and maybe 1 or 2 actual abs, I’m all for it.

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

 

 

 

 

My Last Night As a Fat Girl

I’m going to miss being a fat girl.

That sounds asinine, but this body that has slowly morphed into a breadbox has been my best friend for the past 10 years. More than my college roommate. More than the dude I friendzoned for life. Even the white girl I had to have lunch with in 2007 that I can’t seem to get rid of. I’m finally getting rid of the most toxic friendship I’ve ever had, and I’m not sure I can handle it.

How do you tell the one you’ve loved the most that you can’t be seen in public with her anymore? That she embarrasses you? You’ve been through thick and thin together, but it’s been mostly thicker- and not the good kind the rappers talk about. She’s been by my side (my actual side) when I wasn’t going on dates, when I was burned on Tinder, when I was bored, and even when I wasn’t. My body has been my excuse for a lot of things, including being anti-social, the source of my resting bitch-face, as well as the primary source of my singledom. As crazy as it sounds, I’ve been able to blame everything that is happening to me on this body. But she’s an asshole, and I’m finally ready to dump her.

So last night….

(If I can be honest with anyone, it’s my rabid audience- so here it goes. I started writing this a few weeks ago, and have had a hard time finishing the post, because man, getting rid of toxic behavior is a hot mess. This¬†all came to a head Friday night I after I drank too many beers (2.5) and decided to return to fast-food hell, somewhere I hadn’t been in two weeks, which is saying¬†a lot for me. I’m nearly asleep in the drive-thru, as I try justifying to myself why I NEED these two Sausage McMuffins. I get to the window after about 20 minutes, and the giver-of-zero-fucks teenager tells me the¬†credit card¬†machine was down,¬†leaving me McMuffin-less. I almost cried. Probably because I was a little buzzed, but I knew it had to be a sign from someone, telling me to take my ass home.

¬†l also want to discuss the term “fat girl” before I go any further- as it means something different to so many people. You like the term, you¬†hate the term, I don’t care- it’s more of a state of mind. My fat is a universe in which I make myself miserable, argue with people in drive-thrus, can’t fit anything in my closet, ponder dinner over breakfast, lose my breath¬†dancing at a Kendrick Lamar concert, and where my doctor told me that I was¬†slowly killing myself. A lot of us don’t want to come to terms with this, because many are ridiculed for saying someone’s fat.¬†A lot of us are fat, and want to act like we’re not. It’s like that meme of the cute, chubby baby- I didn’t say I was ugly, I said I was fat, and we need to¬†know the¬†difference. I know the effect I have on people with my green/grey/hazel eyes, but I also know I can’t zip up¬†mah pants. It’s all fine and dandy when you’re cute, but if your knees are buckling when you try to walk up some stairs, do¬†something about it. There are going to always be people who weigh more than you and are in better¬†health, and people who you could bench press and they can’t touch their toes. Yes, you’re cute- but can you BREATHE? So¬†yeah, I’m fat, and not PHAT- and I’m scared to death to write about it. Ok, let’s finally finish this thing…)

I began to ponder my final evening as a fat girl. What would tomorrow be like, knowing I was no longer going to allow my muffin top to prevent me from wearing every pair of pants in my closet? That the 1,457th time I started a healthy diet and exercise regimen would finally be my last? Although I was hoping for excitement, I instead began to dread reality, because I would no longer have an excuse to be a mopey bitch. Losing weight is one of the hardest things anyone will ever do, even if it seems like simple concept. All you have to do is burn more calories than you consume, right? Yes this is true, but have you ever had bacon and cheese on ANYTHING?

My mind began racing thinking about all the things I would miss- not to mention the crazy things that I have done to get to this place. Many things you wouldn’t believe, or you refuse to admit that you’ve done it yourself. I suppose I am putting myself out there by admitting to all the destructive behavior I’ve shown, but once I get back my “Middle School Cheer Coach” body, it’ll all be worth it. This is a long list, but these are the things I’m going to miss about being a fat girl:

  1. Telling people I have plans, when I’m really just going to get something to eat (I’ll probably still do that, but because I MADE a burger, not because I sped off to Burger King).
  2. Putting cheese on everything. You may think it’s not possible, but you can always find a way to add cheddar. I ain’t giving up cheese now, but instead of being included in 75% of my diet, I think I’ll knock it down to about 30%. Maybe…
  3. Wearing sweatpants/leggings all the time. It may seem that I’ve become a huge fan of LuLaRoe, but it’s just because I can’t fit anything else.
  4. The sheer joy of smelling McDonald’s french fries. I hope they have them in heaven…
  5. Blaming my singleness on my weight- I’ll have to work on that whole “being nice” thing, finally…
  6. Having a valid excuse to not go to somebody’s bootcamp- I know that you attend these things to get in shape, but let’s get real- only people who are friends with Shaun T. “enjoy” bootcamp; the people who are “in” shape. Now that I’ll soon be able to fake train like a member of the Miami-Dade SWAT team, I assume I can’t tell people I’m too out of shape to do burpees.
  7. Eating out all the time- it was easy, quick, and usually delicious. I’m not giving it up entirely, but food not burnt in my own kitchen will no longer make up 90% of my diet. Now that I’m going to live longer, I have more time to use all these pots and pans my granny bought on QVC.
  8. Sleeping all the time. I remember when I did a detox a year ago, and was on my way to healthy, and I woke up religiously every day at 8am, with enough energy to scare a gang of 5 year-olds. Granted, I know that’s better for me, but man, I will miss all that sleep…
  9. Having an excuse to not buy a new bathing suit. Yes, I know that everybody has a bikini-body, because all you need is a body and a bikini. But I know what scares children and what doesn’t…
  10. Being best friends with my low self-esteem. I’m going to miss that crazy bitch. I’m actually afraid of what hot mess I’m going to get into once I start winking at men and drinking smoothies all the time…
  11. BONUS– Constantly eating in the middle of the night. Some of the best calories are consumed at 3am, naked, in front of the fridge…

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

 

You Won’t Like Me When I’m Hangry

Publix is known as the grocery store “where shopping is a pleasure.” It’s true, Publix has the friendliest staff, who will go out of their way to locate hard-to-find items like water chestnuts and body wash (why is it in the cleaning supply aisle?). They boast great BOGO deals, always have fresh lemons, and are literally on every other corner. Yes, shopping there is certainly a pleasure- unless you’re buying a sandwich.

Publix has to know that the only reason people frequent their establishment is because of those damn sandwiches. The citizens of America can get eggs and several variations of milk anywhere. However, there is no other place on Earth that has a chicken tender sub that will make you question whether or not you can survive off of fried foods. I’m pretty sure Publix subs were made on the 7th day, along birds and ladybugs. These subs are so delicious, that a brand-new version of bread was invented, just to envelope this glory: multi-grain. The bread allows you to think that it’s healthy because it’s peppered with various seeds, but it’s just white bread with more crunch. But that’s how Publix has deceived all of us. They have lured in the masses for years with these delicious sandwiches, only to bring to you the brink of insanity waiting to buy one.

Let me set the scene here: you’re getting ready to meet your friends at the tailgate. Sure, there’ll be food there, but you’re skeptical of Dave’s ability to grill. You figure that while buying beer for the crew at Publix, you’ll stop by the deli and grab a sub, just in case. As you make your way into the store, you can already see the long-ass line out the corner of your eye. A groan slips out of your throat because you just knew there wouldn’t be a sandwich crowd at 10am. However, in your heart, you knew better. It’s like this every time, all day, err day. No matter which Publix you frequent, there will be at least 5 disgruntled people waiting in front of a counter to get the weekly special. I also forgot to mention that the counter is also being manned by NO ONE, as they always seems to be short-staffed. The lovely ladies who slice the meats look at you like you’re crazy when you give them those eyes that say “please come over to the sandwich counter and create a delicious sub.” And the person who has the job of hooking up those rotisserie chickens? They don’t even make eye contact, because they know once they lock eyes with a sandwich-seeker, there’s no turning back. I have often gotten so upset, that I become “that woman” who seeks out the manager with the awkward high school yearbook photo dangling above the ¬†Boar’s Head Oven-Gold Turkey Breast. Unfortunately, they never seem to be around, so I never have a chance to dole out my erratic speech, demanding better service from the other side of the counter.¬†But if I ever find Shaquelia Woodley, Assistant Deli Manager, I’d like to go over a few things:

  • Why is there always just one person working behind the deli counter? At EVERY PUBLIX? Is it because of people like me? Are people afraid to work there? Is there a quota you have to adhere to?
  • How do you run out of multi-grain bread by 11am? Granted, you open at 7am, but how many sandwiches do people order before noon? And no, I do not want one of the 500 loaves of wheat bread you have there in the case. It’s just white bread that’s sad.
  • Why should I bother with online ordering? The sandwiches are never made when I arrive at the store, and you don’t have “ASAP” as a time slot. Well, there was that one time I ordered on the app, while in the actual line and it was made before I got to the front, which was beyond ridiculous. This option for ordering a sandwich has made me so upset, that I’ve downloaded and deleted the Publix app more than I have Tinder.
  • Why are you rationing out the chicken tenders like there’s a shortage? Like Marshawn Lynch once said, you know why I’m here.

Publix does this to me, I mean all of us, because they can. They know that we foam at the mouth for these subs, and will do anything to get them. Like saying “I’ll never drink again”, I’ve grumbled to myself countless times that I will never go into Publix again and order a sandwich, because my blood pressure just can’t take the angst. But like all of the doctors we need to see, they know we’ll be back. You have to. If you have to wait 90 minutes in a waiting room to be told in 5 minutes that you need go lay off the Publix subs, you’ll do it. Mostly because no one else can get you antibiotics, but you get the point.

Why Idris Elba Should Be My Valentine

The moment Prince died, I must’ve received a dozen text messages and work IMs within a span of 5 minutes. The same thing happened when Idris Elba decided to sacrifice himself to the masses, in the name of love and a good cause.

With all the fake news circling the internet, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming when I was tagged in a video where Idris Elba was offering to let me pound his yams. The object of my odd affection is currently promoting a “Be My Valentine” contest, where you can purchase entries into a raffle to win a chance to go on a date with him, all for a good cause. The cause is called W.E. Can Lead, a fantastic organization that empower girls through education. I just made my donation, because I didn’t feel right even writing this until I had done so. I feel really good about donating to a very worthy cause, so thanks Idris, for the inspiration. But let’s be serious- you all know why I’m here.

In the 2-minute promotional video, Elba looks like how chocolate cake tastes. He goes on to tell you that you’ll be able to spend a romantic evening with him, drink champagne, eat whatever you want for dessert, and pound his yams, if you wish. I have no idea what that means, but I’ve repeated the phrase over and over at least 30 times since I was first alerted to the existence of this video. Anyone who knows me understands his importance in my life, and this is why one friend commented that I would spend my entire tax refund on entering this contest. It is also not peculiar at all that I have a framed picture of Idris on my desk at work- it’s because I admire his work on portraying the elusive Stringer Bell in HBO’s critically acclaimed drama “The Wire”. My boss actually thought he was my boyfriend, and I had to reluctantly tell her the truth. That wasn’t awkward at all.

And now the fate of my love life is in the hands of the internet. I filled out all the necessary information on my entry form, including the optional phone number, just in case he wants to call me. The contest stated that the winner would be able to bring a friend along, but as far as I am concerned, I do not have any friends. So if Idris and his people are reading this, don’t let Facebook and Instagram fool you. Those are all my associates, and a few people who feel sorry for me. In fact, please take the money that you would spend to fly a second person out and donate that to W.E. Can Lead- because I believe the children are our future.

And my future will be revealed on March 1st, when they announce the winner. This means that it won’t really be a Valentine’s date, but that’s fine. I’ll be his Easter Bunny, 4th of July patriot, Thanksgiving turkey- it doesn’t matter.¬†I know that these contests are supposed to be random, but hey, it doesn’t have to be.¬†In case Idris is reading this and hasn’t been scared off yet, let me tell you why I deserve to be your Valentine:

  • The last time I had a Valentine, it was a creeper from work who Tebow’d me in front of my entire staff and handed me a dozen roses. He came over to my department, started mumbling, and then got down one knee, and ruined my ability to look at rose bouquets in stores without cringing.
  • The time before that, a was friend was just being nice and got me flowers, a balloon, and smiles for days. It was the first time I was able to post one of those sappy “look what someone got me” photos on Facebook, and I was as annoying as everyone else. I was also shoved so hard into the friend-zone with this one, that I’m surprised I don’t have permanent palm prints on my face. I deserve this.
  • If you read ANY of my blog posts, you’ll understand how many L’s I’ve taken in my love life. Evening dates with men who wear sunglasses, being a fetish for 8 white guys, being called a “breeder”, having to deal with 40-year-old men who want to “come through”, being propositioned for threesomes, and being dumped in the parking lot of a Target. Oh, and a man who wanted to be my boyfriend but actually wanted his own boyfriend. I need a win.
  • I do not want the highlight of my Valentine’s Day memories to be that I received a card from my mother for 20 years straight. Yes, I love her, and YES, she sends me cards for everything, including Halloween, but she is obligated for life to send me mail and keep the need for stamps in the U.S. going strong.

If you actually ended up picking my entry out of thousands, and you don’t want bad press because it may trace back to this post, that’s fine. I don’t have to win. Of course I want to, but I don’t want any trouble for you or the organization. Just call me and leave a voicemail or something. That’s why I included my phone number…

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

 

No New Cars

Last week, I drove a good 5 miles with an apple core stuck in my mouth because I didn’t want to get juice on my seats. I got a new car ya’ll, and I don’t know how to act.

Now when I say “new”, this means “new to ME”. I’ll never buy a new car again, as they depreciate in value so fast, so purchasing a brand-new vehicle seems asinine to me. Now, if I hit the lottery or marry the guy who invented Uber, that’s a completely different story. I’ll sell out and buy a dozen new vehicles, starting with a Sean Jean Lincoln Navigator, the forever car of my dreams.

This penchant for older automobiles stems from the fact that I have driven a 2000 Mitsubishi for nearly 10 years, and anyone who knows me understands that I like to run things into the ground. I believe in getting all I can out of something, including cars, tubes of chapstick, and the dignity of all my exes. I made a vow to myself to drive the car until it fell apart, and now that time has come. After racking up nearly 220,000 miles, it was time for Wilehmina ( hey, I didn’t name the car, my best friend did- but she’s awesome because she gave me the car) to go live with someone else, preferably a junkyard.

I agonized over having to purchase a new car because I hate shopping. Much like my disdain for trying to find jeans at the outlet mall, I was not excited about having to pick something out, try it on, and see if it worked for my lifestyle. But I proudly went into a dealer, pretended like I knew what I was talking about ( an expansive vocabulary will get you very far), and drove off the lot with a car that was newer than my older one. After getting over the initial shock of no longer having my car double as a personal vibrating massage, I sat back upon my throne and felt that all was right in the world. Until I started panicking when I saw a light come on the dash that looked like a balloon, ready to pop. And this is where I give to you my latest list, “Things That Happen When You Go From an Old-Ass Car to Any Vehicle Newer Than That One”:

  1. Newer cars are more electrical than ever. They have sensors for EVERYTHING. That “exposing balloon” signal was just indicating that one of my tire sensors needed to be replaced, which took less than 5 minutes. The tire wasn’t even low- it was JUST THE SENSOR. Why must these lights scare me? My old car didn’t have a tire sensor. And forget having a reminder that the pressure was getting low- the tire just exploded in the middle of traffic (happened twice).
  2. I didn’t even realize my car had tints until nearly a week after I bought it. I was wondering why it was dark outside, until I realized that I could now pluck my eyebrows and sing to Mariah Carey without judgement.
  3. I. Haven’t. Eaten. A. Single. Thing. In. This. Car. I used to have full-blown meals in my old wheels, and would often find a random piece of lettuce/french fry between the seats of my car. Gross, I know- but when your car is old, you really don’t care. I’m not sure if it’s maturity or what, but I am so afraid to get this car dirty, that I refuse to have food particles on any surface. Hence, the “apple-in-mouth” incident I spoke of earlier. I drove with the core wedged between my teeth, as I was conflicted between getting the car dirty and littering. It was all very peculiar…
  4. Riding along the filth factor that I would like to avoid, I have been so paranoid that my car will get dirty that I freaked out last week when the sun reflected off the passenger seat, because I thought it was a stain from a grocery bag.
  5. If people thought I drove slow before, you should see me now. It also doesn’t help that ¬†I went from a sensible sedan to a big-ass SUV. I look down upon people, but I’m still a bit too small to see over the hood of my car, so I’ve been extra cautious. I literally look like myself when I was 5, flying around the hood in my Power Wheels.
  6. I also feel more confident blasting my music. In my old wheels, the speakers were blown a bit, and if I used my AUX cord, I had to wrap the cord in a yoga pose in order for any sound to come out. This did not bode well when I tried to impress random teenagers at red lights. Now, I can listen to the smooth grooves of Prince with the windows down.
  7. Speaking of red lights, I now make eye contact with men who are checking me out while we’re waiting for people to yell at us when the light turns green. I have noticed so many dudes glance over my truck, and try to get a peek into the car at the tiny princess trying to look over the steering wheel. My car is giving me mad game…

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

New Year, New Me- Hahahahahaha, Joking!

I decided a few weeks back that I wasn’t going to make any more New Year’s resolutions, because I don’t need that type of pressure in my life. Who really needs to deal with the stress of trying to curt carbs, responding to your mom’s daily horoscope texts, or trying to fit into your pre-depression jeans? I decided to set the bar extremely low and aim even lower, so that if I somehow become extremely hot or find a cure for frizzy hair, I’ll feel like I accomplished a lot in this new year.

But who doesn’t love an indecisive woman? ¬†In the spirit of being like every other person who went to the gym today, I flipped the switch and decided to jot down a few realistic goals that I should be able to obtain. Maybe. You may even want to underachieve as well, as adopt many as your own:

2017 HOT MESS RESOLUTIONS

  1. CUT CARBS (AFTER MIDNIGHT):¬†No one who completely eliminates carbs from their diet can be trusted. Have you ever been in the same room as someone who stopped eating bread for a week? EXACTLY. There’s no need for that nonsense, so aim for the bottom of the barrel and at least stop raiding the fridge after 12am. Nothing really beneficial comes from eating cold pizza or cupcakes at 1:30 in the morning, so take those baby bread steps.
  2. KEEP THE HOUSE “COMPANY CLEAN”:¬†As adults, we’d like to think we always keep a clean house. We dust when needed, stack the dishwasher routinely, and always have fresh towels in the guest bathroom. As realistic humans, there are more instances where socks are strewn everywhere and the toilet paper roll is placed on top of the holder more than we would like to admit. Now let there be an inkling that a MAN is coming over- next thing you know, your house smell like sage and rosewood candles (clearance from HomeGoods of course), and your wine glasses are as clean as your bathroom floor. My mother calls it having “company” over and still to this day refers to it as such if I slip up and tell her I have a date. If everyone decided to keep their homes in order as if Idris Elba might pop over at any moment, you’ll never be embarrassed that your friends see a random curly hair stuck to the bathroom mirror (it’s hard to maintain this mane, ya’ll).
  3. DON’T SUPPRESS MY SUPERIOR VOCABULARY:¬†Whenever I receive a text these days, 90% are riddled with acronyms, many of which I’ve had to look up on Urban Dictionary to decipher their meaning ( it took me 3 years to figure out what CTFU meant). WYD? HRU? WTF? I felt that I needed to responded with similar acronyms, even though my brain was annoyed. Never again. I will make more of an effort to spell out words and use complete sentences, even if it takes 5 more agonizing seconds. I’ll also not hold my vocabulary back when I want to use some of my favorite gems from the English language. Who cares if my boo doesn’t know what plethora means? ¬†Not my problem…
  4. KEEP THE DOORWAY TO HEARTACHE WIDE OPEN:¬†Everyone is familiar with my track record by now, which is why most of you read this blog. I’ve been heartbroken about “fiddly-eleven” times and have made about 6 friendships very awkward (up from 4 in 2013). I’m surprised my phone hasn’t crashed from the numerous downloading and deleting of the Tinder app. But as much as I feel like my heart is built with Lego pieces that slowly go missing over the years, I’m still remaining optimistic about love. Yes, I am in the prime stages of “Cool Aunt” status, but I’m still thinking I can squeeze in a respectable BBQ/brunch wedding in my lifetime- but sans the wedding dress, as I’ll probably just go with jeans and a cute top.
  5. ELIMINATE MY FAKE LAUGH:¬†Just kidding, that’s never going to happen. It’s just too good, plus it makes people feel better who tell bad jokes. Oh, and the people who think I’m listening to them. Why would I want to upset anyone? I’m all about positivity in 2017…
  6. BE YOUR HOT MESS:¬†This is the most important of my “resolutions”, because it’s all for you guys. Many have asked where the bog posts have been recently, and yea, things have been pretty inconsistent. I am dedicated to putting out more material for you, so that I can get closer to achieving my ultimate goal- becoming a published author who starts dating a retired athlete, and becomes famous enough to be on Dancing With the Stars.

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS