Hot Mess Things I’m Thankful For – 2017

This holiday season, I’m thankful for my family, that I love very much. I’m thankful for my friends, who allow me to be myself and love me unconditionally. I’m thankful for the life I live, and the blessings I’ve been awarded these 30-whatever years I’ve been on Earth. I’m also thankful that I can order tacos from my phone…

As we all get in our feelings this week, while family gets all up in our business ( “when are you getting married?”), please take the time to be thankful for the petty and superficial things that make your life great. Brunch, blowouts, season tickets to Broadway- whatever makes you happy and allows you to treat yoself. Happy Thanksgiving, ya’ll!

Things I’m Thankful For

  • My hair: Yes, I often feel like my body isn’t what I want it to be. I’m always on the verge of a bad breakout, and my mom still critiques my fashion sense. But my hair is GORGEOUS. Especially this time of year, where a blowout will last 32 days straight.
  • Knowing I still have a chance at love: See Lisa Bonet. See Jason Momoa. Lisa is married to Jason. Lisa is 50. Jason is 38. Lisa was on the Cosby Show. Jason is the hottest man on Erf. Somewhere, there’s a 25 year-old, finishing up his internship at a start-up in Silicon Valley. See you in a few years, after you get health insurance.
  • My ability to be on time, always: My timing is impeccable (get it?) Yes, I’m better than you.
  • Other people’s passwords: Without you, I would not be able to watch HBO Go, or anything on ESPN. You know who you are, you’re the real MVPs.
  • Football: My Miami Hurricanes are really doing it big this year. If this was last year, I would be crying.
  • Memes: I hate to admit this, but there are some good reasons that social media exists. One is the ability to be nosey without appearing obvious. The second is reading funny captions on random-ass photographs.
  • My vocabulary: I’m a snob. People are always asking me to spell words for them and will text me their grammar conundrums. I secretly judge all of you if you spell anything wrong, and wonder why you didn’t let me just write it for you in the first place.
  • The Turnover Chain: No need to explain, just Google it.
  • Tomorrow: Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Need to take the clothes out the dryer? Do it tomorrow. Want to catch up on Grey’s Anatomy? Just watch it tomorrow. Already messed up on your diet after only eight hours? You know how you can bounce back?  START AGAIN TOMORROW. Go ahead and eat that pizza.
  • Amazon: you can literally buy anything- anytime, anywhere. You can literally type in “Purple Sash with Unicorn Glitter-Embellished Trim”, and someone in China will send it to you- with Prime!
  • Men: You make me mad. You make me cry. You make me do a double-take. You confuse me. You stand me up. You also give people a reason to read what I have to say, since you’re the topic of 95% of this blog. Thank you all so much.

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

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Pour Some Water On Me

I’ve been stood up about a dozen times in my life. I was almost arrested on a first date for trespassing, and once a man tried to prove to me that his roommate was NOT actually his girlfriend. One man invited me out to dinner… then proceeded to ask me if would make a “film” with his girlfriend. Over the years, I’ve had some strange encounters when first meeting a potential new boo, but I’ve managed to stay calm, cool, and non-clumsy. I usually save the personal embarrassments for all the other aspects of my life. Well, that streak is finally over at the ripe age of 30-whatever. On the latest episode of “Shit that Only Happens To Me”

Because I am glutton for punishment, I got back on Tinder (oh no worries, it’s already been deleted again because hey, it’s my life) and had the usual barrage of inquiries into my sexual availability and one-word messages. So it was to my pleasant surprise that I met a guy who wasn’t fond of texting and sought out substantial conversation. We built up a 3-week resume of honest discussions and refreshing banter before we were able to finally go out. A local sports bar  was the opportune place to meet, as we’re both football fans, and had an affinity for chicken wings. I was on a roll that day, still wearing work clothes and had shaved all the way up my leg. Needless to say, I thought I was cute. When I arrived at the bar, I was met by someone who was even cuter in person- what luck! We headed into the establishment and headed towards the outdoor seating in the rear of the restaurant. We settled on the bar area, which was covered by a lovely canopy…

Well, a small hurricane must’ve blown through North Miami Beach earlier that evening because the moment I decided to step under the bar, the canopy decides to buckle and dump at least 3 gallons of water on top of my business casual attire. I stood still as everyone, including my date, watched in horror. He fled the scene, while a troupe of women looked on, completely mortified. I think everyone else was in shock because I was still motionless, and laughing my ass off. It may have been due to the fact that I had consumed a copious amount of Rose earlier that day, making everything hilarious. Plus, I thought I was dreaming. My date who I had thought was so embarrassed that he ran away, had actually gone to get several dinner napkins to clean me up. A handful of managers swooped in, apologizing profusely, while I cut them short, telling them it wasn’t their fault. There was no way they could have foreseen that I was going to get waterboarded in front of a large LCD screen showing Thursday Night Football.

After refusing several t-shirts to change into, my date and I tried to laugh it off and have a normal encounter. The fact that our entire meal was being comped was sure to make this a fun night of excessive amounts of cheese and whatever else we managed to consume for free. Unfortunately, our normal encounter proceeded to turn out as the most awkward hour and a half imaginable. I wish I could blame it on the fact that I had just been engaged in Chinese water torture in front of my date, but I couldn’t use that as an excuse for current lack of connection. The interactions we had were relegated to a handful of ice-cold sports takes and minimal eye contact. At one point, I used the cliché “Why are you so quiet?” line, and he said he didn’t want to interrupt me while I was eating. Once the conversation was as dry as my skirt, I knew it was time to go. We walked out to my car, turned to each other, and both said we had a nice time. Then I got hit with the church hug, and a quick ” It was nice to meet you”- KISS OF DEEEEATH.

No one ever comes back from that. When people say that it was nice to meet you, it usually does not mean it was nice to meet me, because you will never meet again. By the time I got home and texted a courtesy ” I am home and am still alive” text, I was hit with another “It was nice to meet you”, but this time it was accompanied by an “A-OK” emoji. Only time will tell if something comes from this, but I don’t think that he was impressed by my accidental Flashdance reenactment…

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

Keep It To Your Selfie

This is a plea on behalf of all my sisters in singledom: don’t send me a personal photograph of yourself, unless a formal request is made.

I’m not even talking about those “other pics” men think women really want to see ( trust me, we don’t). I’m talking about the unsolicited photograph of yourself that you send, assuming it’s going to conjure up some urge for us to pounce at the mere sight of your abs. Again, trust me- it won’t. We hate to say that certain double standards exist, but this is one of them. If a woman voluntarily sends you a picture of herself with the caption “just got home from working out!”, or “oh man, I am so tiiiiiired” and she still looks hot, this is a good thing. First of all, she’s into you. She’s taken 35 pictures of the same face and sent the one she could filter the most. She’s into you and you are lucky. Again, never ASK her for a pic, because it’s creepy, and if you send one yourself, she’s going to make fun of you with her friends. I didn’t make these rules up, society did.

A friend of mine asked me to touch on this topic because she received one too many selfies from a man, who was obviously clinically insane. And she wasn’t being “mean” or “super sensitive:”, because I’ve heard this argument come from many women in my life. Friends, coworkers, random women in the bathroom- all complaining that a guy was sending them weird selfies, which turned them off rather than on.

Married friends: please stop laughing and listen to my plea. Friends in relationships before this era of social media narcissism, understand what I’m saying: these are the issues that are plaguing the dating world now. I’m guilty of it as well, but we all have this need to take a photo of our face ( or a sandwich we bought) and send it to someone we want to smooch. It’s just that when men do it, it’s plain ‘ol weird. So everyone, you need to tell your single man friends that if they want to get anywhere with a woman, they’ll stop sending pictures of their faces. Oh, and all the other body parts we’ll see when we want to. Below are several violations that need to be brought to the attention of all MANkind, if they want to avoid having their selfie on “Read” with no further responses:

BATHROOM SELFIES: Why do men think if they send a pic in front of a toilet, it’s a good thing? I’m not going to think about how cute your face is- I’m going to think about poop. I think it’s weird when women do it too, but I also understand that we’re often working with fabulous lighting. But again, we’re talking about dudes in the mirror. And while we’re on the subject of mirrors, my friend received what is, by far, the worst selfie in the history of the universe. The guy sent her a picture, along with his reflection in the mirror, complete with proper hand placement on the counter for dramatic effect. He sent her a high school graduation photo y’all! Luckily he wasn’t staring at his own reflection, although it was unclear what he was looking at because he used the COUNTDOWN TIMER ON HIS CAMERA. He took this photo too seriously, and all for nothing. If you thought that this ends as people get older, you’re wrong. She wasn’t dealing with a young guy, fresh out of college- he was an established anesthesiologist. Get your shit together, Dave.

THE “SNARL” LOOK: I’ve been sent photos of men who appear as if they have smelled something putrid, but it is actually supposed to be an arousing look of wonderment and machismo. Oh, and sometimes they cover half their forehead with their hand- um, WTF?  I’ve seen my niece and her friends do this, and I still don’t get it. The only person who can contort their face and make it look sexy is Dwayne Johnson- not you, Devin.

THE GYM SELFIE: All my girls have told me that they loathe gym selfies, so guys, DO NOT SEND THEM. Regardless of how attractive or buff you think are, you don’t need to volunteer this information. Forget everyone staring at you as you whip out your iPhone to snap a pic in front of the weights- they’re all laughing at you and so are we. We’ll figure it out eventually, and if it happens organically, you’ll be better off- TRUST ME.

THE “I’M SURPRISED TO BE IN THE CAR”: Taking a selfie in your car to show me how cool you are is lame. Sending one while you fight to keep the Porsche logo in the frame is worse. Doing dead sexy in your Honda, just… don’t.

IN-BED SELFIES: Am I really supposed to believe that you can take a photograph in your sleep? I can’t even do that, and women can do anything! And you’re not enticing anyone, by taking a picture amongst your ruffled sheets, biting your lip. You’re doing too much and you need to stop.

AT-WORK: We know you work at Innatech, Carl. No need to send us a pic of you in your cube, doing the male version of a duck face. It may seem to be a good idea to show a woman that you have a job, but trying to be sexy in front of your double monitors is a no-no.

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

 

Boob Straitjackets: The Process of Swimsuit Shopping

Straitjacket
A straitjacket is a garment shaped like a jacket with overlong sleeves and is typically used to restrain a person who may otherwise cause harm to him/herself or others.
From all the movies I’ve seen, I know straitjackets are used for the straight crazy. Hannibal Lecter in “Silence of the Lambs”. Angelina Jolie in “Girl, Interrupted”. Or most recently, me in “Trying to Buy a Swimsuit That Won’t Make Me Cry”.
 Yes, we all have beach bodies. Everyone has a bikini bod- just put your body in a bikini and there you go. Although there is greater acceptance now more than ever to love the skin you’re in, it doesn’t mean that swimsuit shopping is somehow a better experience. In fact, I liken it to dental exams, getting waxed, or shopping at ROSS- excruciatingly painful. I’m also in the “unfortunate” situation where I live in a place where it’s bikini season all year-round. If you live up north, there may be a hot tub visit here or there during the cool months. Other than that, you have some time to get ready for those 2 or 3 months where butt string can be worn outside. Down here in Miami? I glare at a pool outside my bedroom window every morning, I’m less than 5 miles from the beach, and someone always has a boat to sail on or a BBQ pool party on the weekend. Again, please feel sorry for me…
 Despite all these water excursion opportunities, I still am the one wearing the thug cover up to every pool party. Waiting for all the people to leave my pool so I can lay out with no judgement that a loose hair is sprouting from my ankle. I’d also like to point out that I treat my swimsuits like I drive my cars- wearing them into the ground until they stop working. I had a Juicy Couture bikini for about 3 years- wore it until the strings refused to hold up Thelma & Louise any longer. Currently, I have a Calvin Klein suit that I have deemed very fancy, but I bought a larger size to support the aforementioned girls, so it falls off a lot. Needless to say, I’m always in the market for new swimwear. Then I think about having to actually go through the process of procuring one, and I want to slide right into one of those straitjackets.
There are several feelings that one experiences when purchasing a new swimsuit. Regardless of your size or self-esteem, women (and men) all around the world go through a rollercoaster of emotions when trying to squeeze their bits into neon spandex, which has about a 13% success rate from start to finish. I experienced all of these last week within a span of 30 minutes:
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TRY AND BUY A SWIMSUIT
  1. Morbid Curiosity – I see all these ads on Facebook and Instagram of everyone wearing a swimsuit. All shapes!  All sizes! Every single suit fits huge boobs in them! And they don’t have swim skirts! I feel like I can actually do this, and wonder if I can hit up the local outlet mall to find the perfect ‘kini for myself.
  2. Gleeful Optimism – I visit several stores and see suits that are in my sizes ( I say “sizes” because my top and my bottom are NOT created equal). Bandeaus, triangle tops, one-piece cut-outs, and more. Colors other than brown and teal. Granted, the larger tops are 3 times the price as the smaller versions of these suits, but I read an article where it takes more “technological advances” to support larger racks, so I suppose I can’t get too upset. I should just be happy that my sizes are actually in the store, and I can try them on…
  3. Realistic Confrontation- Who puts these fluorescent lights in fitting rooms? Do they realize that we are taking our clothes off and having to come to terms with what’s underneath? And swimsuit shopping is much more intimate than trying on a pair of jeans. When you strip down to  show your nooks AND your all your crannies, the last thing you need is to have a spotlight on the mole you thought only came out in the summer months ( located in a place it has no business being). Shout out to H&M for having the best fitting room lighting: nice and soft, and doesn’t give you the appearance of Casper the Friendly Ghost with spots. No shout-out for pretty much every other store in the history of mankind- shame on you for having interrogation-room light beams flashing on my ass.
  4. Violent Rage- If you’re like me and have hormones, you can’t try on swimsuits for longer than…about 3 1/2 minutes. It turns into a tumultuous firestorm of ripping off little pieces of spandex and slamming them onto the floor, until you find yourself breathless in a JC Penney fitting room. You try to tie the first top together and then turn around to see your boobs by your belly button. So you rip that top off, and squeeze yourself into a bandeau that can only be described as a BAND-AID. If you’re like me and have to carry around two, small sacks of flour on a daily basis, these tops will NEVER work for you. Oh, you can put one on, but that won’t stop you from constantly feeling  like a can of Grands! biscuits that burst open, but haven’t completely been taken out the package. The outer layer of swimsuits displayed at Target are not for me. I have to dig deep into the inner layers for the suits with “extra support” and “now comes in cup sizes!” And another thing: If you’re ample bosomed, tops with letter sizes alone will not work for you. Tops with number sizes will fail you as well. You need a combination of both, similar to a bra. Sorry my friend, XL will make you scoff, 14 will make you cry- you’ll need a 36 DD to make it to the ocean.
  5. Exasperated Frustration – That gleeful optimism you had about 30 minutes ago? It’s gone, along with all your hopes and dreams of ever finding the perfect bathing suit. You’re tired, hot, and really want to get a cinnamon pretzel from the food court. You can’t believe you wasted gas driving over to this stupid mall, and should’ve known you weren’t going to find a swimsuit exactly to your liking. You wonder why people can’t just wear their underwear as swimsuits, and then ponder if you could start a line of industrial-strength spandex lingerie that doubles as swimwear. You drive home pissed off, wiping cinnamon crumbs off your boobs (that can’t fit into a bikini top).
  6. Reluctant Acceptance – This is usually where one acquiesces, or in my case, zero fucks are available for usage. You have no new swimsuit, and also do not give a shit. The old Calvin Klein with the huge straps doesn’t seem so bad anymore- we’ll play it off as vintage. Sure, you may fall out of your swimsuit every time you do a lap, but you have quick reflexes. You also decide to make do with you what you have, or in my case, wear a pair of shorts that are so tiny, that they might as well be a swimsuit bottom. Combine it with a mini skirt you bought at H&M, and BAM- you have a tube top- sort of. And you take your newly created shorts/skirt tankini down to the pool and enjoy the same sun and cool breeze- until you muster enough energy to torture yourself again at The Swimsuit Barn. I know that’s not a place, but it may be by the time I go swimsuit shopping again.

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS by following me on Instagram @hotmesslifeblog for more frequent shenanigans and embarrassment…

We CAN Handle The Truth

Nothing strikes fear into a man’s heart more than hurting a woman’s feelings.

Being broke, the thought of his team losing the Superbowl, even running out of nachos- all very frightening thoughts for a man, but obstacles they’re sure to overcome. But the thought of having to face a woman and possibly break her heart? Well, that is something that seems to be impossible for many men to handle. Let me ‘splain…

I met a guy a few months back, and we hit it off immediately. True, our first “date” involved parading through the streets of Miami and getting escorted out of a bar for trying to sneak in through the bushes (long story), but it was an adventure. Very handsome man, owned his owned business, very sociable, oh and he luh God. A religious man who looked like Miguel? With an accent?!  Sign me up!

After our first whirlwind encounter, our next date was at a park. We pretended to be über fancy and walk around, having deep discussions about artwork and how we would return to said park with a picnic basket and bottle of pinot. I felt like I was in a rom-com about interracial love with my very own hip millennial (he had a mean beard and wore flannel). We even discussed not wanting to rush anything in the romantic department, because you know, we were trying to learn about each other’s SOULS. Our next date brought us back to the bar where it all started and hand-holding commenced, along with declarations of ” I like you a lot” and “I’m glad we’re getting to know each other more”. Stolen kisses happened here and there, it was just an all-around good feeling. But that night ended very abruptly, without a word or explanation. It was followed by a few weeks of non-contact, and I appeared to have been “ghosted”, as the kids say. Unfortunately, I wasn’t too surprised, because hey, ya’ll are the ones who know best that my love life is a hot mess. Of course I wouldn’t be so lucky as to find a man who would allow me to have babies that looked like Prince…

But because men are equipped with a radar that alerts them when women are close to moving on, I was contacted weeks later, and provided an apology for not being a good “friend” and keeping in touch. Where did this friend business coming from?  Since it was still early on, I didn’t think too much of it, but did inquire as to why he appeared to be giving me mixed signals, as I try not to kiss and cuddle with my friends. Oh wait, never mind…

Well after I said that, Casper the Friendly Ghost was back, and I didn’t hear from him for weeks. It wasn’t for me to figure out, as I was only in charge of how I reacted to the situation. But since fate wanted to keep me busy, homeboy decided to reach out to me again last week. He said that he was hoping we could meet up for drinks. Now, I’m either an idiot for giving people too many choices, or a sucker for the idea of love ( pretty sure it’s both), but I said yes. Before we could solidify any plans, he told me had a confession to make:

Miguel-Look-a-Like: Before we meet, I want to apologize for the last time we were together…

Me: (in my thoughts- oh that’s nice, he’s going to apologize for being weird)

Miguel-Look-a-Like: Um…I want to say that perhaps I told you things that I thought you wanted to hear from me but they were not true.

Me: Ummmm…

Miguel-Look-a-Like: I am looking for a friendship, a good quality friendship which is very rare in this city and for right now that’s all I can offer.

Me: Thanks Miguel. I’m elated that you decided to tell me you want to just be friends after our canoodle sessions and telling me you liked me. I’m so glad you’re being extremely clear and transparent.

Ok, so I didn’t say that, but I did  tell him that although I appreciated his apology, I asked that he never do that to anyone else. I went on to say that I was cool with being friends but  that he should try to refrain from making out with people he just wants to share a buddy pass with. I also stressed that he express his true feelings to women, because hey, it may hurt our feelings, but in the end, women want to know the truth, even if we don’t like the answer.

Let’s delve into this a little further. While he admitted his true intentions before things got even further, damage had already been done, and this happens ALL THE TIME. For whatever reason, leading someone on is much easier on people’s conscious than admitting that you don’t feel a connection. I can completely understand that you don’t want to intentionally hurt someone’s feelings, but don’t you realize that pretending to like someone because that’s what you THOUGHT they wanted is much worse? I recently watched a very fascinating documentary on Netflix called “Hot Girls Wanted: Turned On”, which highlighted stories that intertwined technology, sex, and the intimate relationships of today’s society. There was an episode entitled “Love Me Tinder” that followed the dating life of a former reality tv “star” and also showcased today’s current dating world that has been overtaken by social media and dating apps. The reality show guy, James, was a 40-year-old man who worked in Vegas nightlife. He constantly dated 20-year-olds and took full advantage of dating apps, including Tinder and Bumble. While musing over his dating conquests, James admitted to having a strategy that helped him with the ladies that seems to have gone away in this generation of “what’s next?”. He said that he was able to get women by opening doors for them, being chivalrous, and telling them “what they wanted to hear”, even though his actions weren’t really genuine. So that’s what we’re doing now?

Allow me to make a plea to all the men out there who think we have Cinderella slipper-delicate feelings- man up and say how you feel. If we go out a few times and you’re just not feeling it, please let me know this rather than pretending to be interested just because you want to spare my feelings. Don’t worry, I’m going to be okay- I CAN handle the truth. This goes for women too- put on your big-girl bra and be brave enough to honestly express yourself. Sure, we can all decide to ignore someone after a few dates, and at my age if someone doesn’t call me back I know the deal. Unfortunately, not everybody is that in tune with reality. Look, we all want love, which is the reason why people like myself continue to put themselves out there. Though dating nowadays is akin to trying to find a parking spot at Trader Joe’s on a Saturday afternoon, I’m going to continue driving around until I find a spot- that looks like Idris Elba.

-KEEP IT A HOT MESS

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