Labeled

I googled “inspirational quotes” at 11AM on a Thursday. I clicked on the first link that the search results provided. Then on that web page were more links to choose from: Happiness, Life, Success, Motivation, Fear of Failure and on and on. I was so confused. I just sat there staring at my options. I then tried to categorize my feelings, and my need for wanting to find an inspirational quote in the first place. Do I need motivation on Success? Do I need words of wisdom for Life? The truth was that I answered “yes,” in my head, to all of them. So, just how was I supposed to narrow down my emotions? Is that even possible? I became, very suddenly, uninspired to be inspired.

I just wanted to read through quotes. I don’t know what category I want the “inspirational quote” to come from. Not even the simplest things, tasks, little “pick me ups” are easily found. You have to dig deep, and keep trying link after link after link until maybe something familiar that you may have been searching for comes up. It’s exhausting.

I average about 2 different jobs a year. Every 6 months, since I graduated from college, I get a new job. I either A. decide to move, B. get fired or C. get bored. I’m a perfectly smart, perfectly capable employee competent enough to handle most any mundane task that the ‘PR’ world will bring about. I blame the A. on my excitement to try a new city, the B. on the fact that women who end up being my boss immediately hate me because I, too, am a woman and C. because I just wasn’t interested in the role anymore; it just wasn’t ‘me.’ But what IS me? What job IS going to define who I am, and the place I’m supposed to take in this world? The truth is: no job will. Not because there isn’t the ‘perfect job’ out there for me, but because no job, no title should ever DEFINE who I am as an individual. Any career is not going to provide the answer for what I am meant to do in this life. Why? Because that isn’t life.For example, I used to work as an event coordinator for a very large company. One day someone said to me, “ I heard you’re an event planner or something.” The statement pierced my soul like the head of an arrow. I stopped dead in my tracks and thought, “ yea, but no.” Yes, I work as an event coordinator, but no that’s not all I can and want to do! I immediately had a sudden urge to pull out all of my tricks to prove to this person that I’m so much more, and this title doesn't illustrate my only capabilities. That’s when I realized that I fear the categorization of any one particular job. I feel limited when I have a ‘title.’ The way some women fear being labeled as someone’s “girlfriend,” do I fear being labeled as a company’s “employee.” When someone asks, “ So, what do you do for a living?” I would prefer to respond with, “Well, I write, I shop, I read, I travel, I love, I dance, I laugh, I pray, I drink coffee, I take long walks; so to sum up, I actually--live.

Life is made of up of the relationships we build, the trust we earn and bestow, the smiles and laughter that tickle our hearts and make us light-headed; feeling carefree and invincible. As humans we don’t need to be ‘defined,’ ‘masked’ or even ‘purposeful.’ We do need to embrace more; embrace each other, and embrace the way we breathe in the morning air. I find that the indulgence in the beauties of the world are what bring me peace and strength. The peace that there is someone bigger out there who is looking down on me and whispering, “be calm, be happy, and enjoy this life that I’ve given you.”

Baltimore

So I moved from Columbus, OH to Dallas, TX to Baltimore, MD within a 7 month period. Yes, you read that correctly. I've had 3 zip codes in 7 months. I don't see these moves as mistakes. I see them more as opportunities. I have had the luxury of packing and unpacking; of meeting people and adding them to my facebook contact list. The moves have helped me further develop myself as a humanitarian. I've realized through my moves that life isn't about the location that you're in, but more so about the people whom you are surrounded by. I live in Baltimore, and I live alone. I know no one and on weekends I end up lying on the couch for the 48-hour-break-from-work-span and ruin a severe, Saturday workout by consuming pizza and beer. There are bookstores, there are movie theaters, there are small shops and bars that would provide plenty of entertainment for a 24-year-old-girl living in the city. But, I'm not single. So, being alone in public-social places only invites strangers to want to "get to know me," and I'm not up for putting myself in that position.

Nonetheless, I just completed my first semester in graduate school. Hooray. I guess. I'm not sure about my program. What would appear to be "Publication Design," resulted in A+'s for me, but a lot of criticism explaining that my design ideas are too "corporate." Sorry for being classy and designing clean, crisp pieces. I mainly wear black and white clothing, and I enjoy wine and fancy restaurants, so no, you will not get Picasso art out of me. I do not wear Dr. Martin's and pair my outfits with eight different colored scarves that neither match my hair-color nor the polish on my nails. I enjoy simplicity with tints of class. I enjoy basic pieces that draw the viewer's attention straight to the point. I don't belong in this program.

Do I move? Again? Transfer schools? I've already been accepted into a university in Ohio for their Master's in Liberal Arts program. It's a program that incorporates more philosophy and serves as an easier transition for when I apply for my PhD. I have no idea what I'm going to do-- and I have 60 days to decide, get an apt, a job there and physically, move. They should offer a class in your undergraduate program that prepares students with my spontaneity and ADD-like decision making for these types of scenarios.

Whatever I decide, I will say that this Peroni beer and my tomato and cheese pizza are quite delicious paired with the 75 degree weather outside that I'm not enjoying.


Cheers.

Toy Store

I don't really know where my youth went. I'd like to think that I still have it. I'm a firm believer of that whole "keep your childish innocence" stuff. But really, innocence is a broad term. Nevertheless, I try to maintain this jubilant outlook when I buy birthday gifts for my cousin's kids. There are 5 girls and 1 boy, so I'm almost always wrapping something or other in pink. Now, typically, I like to go with the whole outfit idea, since my fashion sense is far more up-to-date than anything that might be shelf-sitting in the toy-isle. But, this past weekend I decided to shift my gear, take a step in a different direction, be bold and yes, walk straight into the section of plastic.

1st note: Barbies. Holy Cow. There are so many. And they all look slutty. They look like barbies on crack with purple eyeshadow and orange lipstick. This is why Ken always looks happy. This is why every man on planet earth is happy when they see girls painted and dressed this way. Some of the barbies have fins, roller blades or princess dresses on. Some have blue eyes and others have brown. A good number of barbies are very pale-skinned, so you know they came from a manufacturing place somewhere in the Midwest, and others are so dark you can't tell if she's an African American, Mexican or Indian with a really deep-set tan. That's when you have to look at the package details that it comes with, and if a pool is included with it's own little miniature bottle of SPF, then you may very well be right when thinking it's a very tanned, ethnic barbie.

2nd note: Kai Lan. Exactly, who the hell is Kai Lan? Well, I learned that Kai Lan is this little Asian character that has a friend named Tolee (sp?) and they like to hang out in Asian-like settings, have sleepovers, and cook in bakeries. I couldn't decide if the life-size doll freaked me out, or was so real looking that I was tempted to asking her advice on which product to pick. This may have looked psychotic to the outside viewer, but really, if they read this blog entry, they'd think I was crazy already. Not crazy for shopping for a gift, but crazy for not smiling and wishing I had kids and feeling all motherly-like when I do. This is my problem. I don't feel this way. I never feel this way. I see toys and I want to run in the opposite direction towards the wine isle. I love the wine isle.

3rd note: The baby dolls equipped with strollers, bottles and pampers, the play kitchen sets, cleaning sets and grocery cart-shopper sets. WHY? Why would I give my 3 year old child a baby to take care of? Why would I want the kid to know how to change a diaper, feed a bottle and respond to a mechanical battery every time it coos or wails? This is horrible, and this is precisely what is wrong with women today. We were traumatized at an early age to play "mommy." Society doesn't even allow little girls to just be. Then, the kitchen sets and the cleaning sets that come with pots and pans, and vacuum cleaners, respectively. It's ridiculous. No child should be persuaded to "want to" play with these items or "need to" play with these items. They should stop selling them. Girls will be doing those things soon enough, and if they aren't cooking and cleaning and taking care of screaming babies by the time they're 25, then they feel that their entire "fantasy," childhood world full of these memories were for nothing. They feel failure. Trust me, I've been shopping for groceries for myself for years now. There was no need to introduce me to the oatmeal package that I consume, alone, on a daily basis at the age of 5. I would hate it 15 years later. Women get depressed, and angry because they get nostalgic for a world they can't help to create without the marriage part. That's where Ken is supposed to come in. Honestly, we could probably be okay if we just got rid of the Ken doll. We really should just blame our entire quarter-life crisis on Ken.

If you're wondering what I ended up buying: a Kai Lan tree house play set. I carried that in one arm, and my wine bottle in the other. Truth be told--they do have better games than we did. I mean CLUE now has a Harry Potter version. Now that, I was actually very tempted to buy.

Trading Cards

I'll tell you one thing I'm tired of: business cards. I almost always know I didn't get the job when the interview ends with a business card. "Let me give you my card before you go," employers say. Why? So that I can keep it as memorabilia? A souvenir? What they are really saying is, "I feel bad that you spent all of your make-up, gas and time on this interview that isn't going to result in a job opportunity. So, here's a little treat to serve as compensation." I'm wondering if I can save them like baseball cards--I wonder if they will be worth any money in the future if I were to trade or sell them.

It's the same situation when a guy gives you his number after meeting you, but never asks for yours. It's because he never intends to call you, more so, because he doesn't want to. So, as a pre-rejection for rejection, he gives you his number, hoping that you wont have the courage to call him, and if you do--he can screen it.

Business cards are the same way. Why would I want to contact someone who didn't hire me? I'll tell you what-if I were to turn all of the little paper cards that I have collected so far, back into their original form, I'd have a whole freakin' tree sky-rocketing through my roof right about now.

C'mon people, this isn't very eco-friendly of you. Save the trees, save my wallet space, and just don't give me any more business cards.

Rah-Rah's

My cousin introduced me to this guy. He's really nice, good looking, like 6ft and built. After a saturday night out of dancing, he asked for my number. The next day, I find out that he reads too. We swapped book titles on the phone. His dad is a pastor, his mom was a chef, and he plays guitar and keyboards. He's also really involved with his church.

Perfect.

No.... no no no no no.

1st Downfall: He used to cheer in high school and got a scholarship to do that for college so he does that on the side.
2nd Downfall: He's 21. As in he's a junior in college.

Beer Pong, anyone?

I don't babysit.

Let's get back to the cheerleading part. A male cheerleader has arrived in my life. I used to be a cheerleader in elementary school. After being voted as the girl who showed the least enthusiasm--I never did it again. I asked him, "Do you chant and stuff?" He replies,"No i don't do expressions" (I guess the correct term for cheering). "Does it feel weird to wear a uniform?" He answers, " No, why?

"WHY!? What do you mean "why?" Because you're a freaking male cheerleader who claims to be straight. WHYY?? Because it's the one detail I'm leaving out when I tell people about you. Because it's the detail that I'm going to pretend I had no idea about when you decide to talk about it in front of others. Can you imagine how people would look at me? It's like, if I were to ever go to a game that he is cheering for--who am I going to look at more? The guy with the "V" on his chest screaming " Let's go, Let's go, L-E-T-S- G- O?" Or the quarterback shouting, "lets get 'em boys," through a mouthguard?

I'm all for the scholarships and educational assistants. But for dating--for dating me, I mean, there are no scholarships, passes or grants that are going to help these boys to get in. What was my cousin thinking? People don't know me at all. Like, AT ALL. I guess its a crime to be a 23 year old Hispanic who is NOT married. That makes two on my record.

JESUS' HOMEBOY

My friend from childhood is religious and nice. He says he can count the number of times he's been to a bar, never did the party scene in college, doesn't swear, etc, etc, saint- like stuff. Well, he got tickets from family members to a game at a new stadium thats been getting so much hype all over the country. We've spoken several times on the phone, but mainly about past relationships, since he just got out of a 5 1/2 year relationship in july. He's pretty heartbroken. So, I assume a night out at a game will be fun for him--and I accept the invitation to go with him.

Prior to the game, I get calls, texts, page-length of fbook messages consisting of material that belongs in a journal. Quotes about life, about me and how I haven't changed (because in 5th we know each other so well?), about how weird it is that I'm back in his life after his breakup. I'm nauseous. You try to be a good friend, to anyone, anytime, anywhere, and guys just take it as fate.

No, not fate. Free tickets. They should always see it as girls do, "free tickets."

So he picks me up, and it turns out that he bought me a book and a tshirt. He opens my door, buys all of my meals, etc. No, no no no no. He offers to buy me a beer at the game. I say, " are you getting one?" "No," he says. Well then no, obviously, neither am I.

I try to toughen him up, let him in on some of my bad college stories that don't mirror signs of the angel he thinks I am. Nothing. After several tales of when I "behaved badly," He says, "it's so good to know you're the same sweet, nerdy girl I always thought you were, and knew you would be when you got older." Is he deaf? I think he's confused, and he's looking at me through some sort of weird beer but sober goggles, bc he thinks i'm perfect. I'm tempted to pull a cop over and show him my driving record on the monitor.

Before we get out of the car i say something semi-sarcastic and joking as he pulls out the tickets like, "dude, your family loves you." He turns to me and says, "Yea, when I think of my little sister (who is completely fine and alive and well btw), I just...and he starts to cry. He's crying. It's half hour before kickoff, we're sober, and he's crying. I get out of the car.

At the game he pulls, " what are your top 5 favorite movies?" What?! I'm trying to watch the extremely hot player score, and you want me to tell you my list of mafia movies? Then after the game he wants to go out. I tell him, I just moved here, and it's late, I dont really know what's around. He says, " Well I brought a dress shirt and shoes so we can go dancing." I'm in sneakers and a tshirt. I say, "No, I'd have to change to go dancing." He says, "oh, you have to fit in with what they're wearing?" I say, "No, but most places on a saturday night in the city have dress codes, and i cannot walk in there with attire from a sports game." He says well how about a restaurant, (at 1130 at night), I say fine. We get lost for an hour. So we decide to find an IHOP on the way back to my house. I'm so tired at this point, I just want to go to sleep. I put my "clown card" (this is what I call it when i have to entertain people for free, as I almost always end up doing) down for a while to just enjoy the highway ride. After a minute of no talking he says, "what are you thinking?"

WHAT AM I THINKING? Hmmm... well, i'm thinking how comfortable sweat pants and my pillow sound right about now. I'm thinking about how 3 beers would have made for a better night, i'm wondering if maybe IHOP went out of business and we never run into one on the way home.

But I just say nothing. We go to IHOP. He wants to talk about life, I want to tell more funny college stories. He starts preaching about GOD. I say I should be getting home. He says he wishes he could freeze time. Speaking of freezing I mention how chilly the night is, and he gets a blanket out of the trunk and gives it to me. UGH! enough with the gestures. GUY FRIENDS dont do this stuff. This is the kid who has been in a relationship since he was 12. Every 3 years-- a new girl. So another relationship is out, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. I'm not his next girl. I don't need saving. His seriousness and intensity is so exhausting.

I thank him, give him a hug goodbye, and tell him to stay single for the next 2 years.

I get a text from him at 4am, " you should have seen the stars--and the sunrise."

Crap.

Scrambled Egg

I feel like I'm being pushed this way and that.

My mom gives me advice on how to audition for talent contests
My dad gives me advice on going back to school
My cousins set me up on blind dates in order to snag myself a husband
My aunts give me advice on how to become more religiously devoted
My networking contacts advise me on the best way to begin a career
My friends advise me on the newest wine to get through it all (and which will help me sleep, they swear).
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My brother gives me "harsh-love" lectures on how I should combine the top 5 and just get it together.

Easier said than done. But, I do all of these things.

I apply on the websites they tell me to apply for
I try to attend church every sunday
I use my good makeup and attend the family, social gatherings with feigned positivity (but, hey I'm there right?)
I have saved drafts of emails for potential recommenders for schools and programs I have no clue which to try for
I go to lunch with the people who know these people who know those people, etc. etc.
And, yes, I am absolutely tasting the wine.
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Truth is: I'm a scrambled egg.

I was cracked and spilled onto a burning pot (we will call it life), and then people take different turns at the spatula and start tossing me this way and that.

Half of the time I don't ask for advice, but rather, I plead for patience on everyone's behalf to allow me to unscramble myself and become a whole, hard egg again. From broken relationships, to broken careers, to broken friendships, to broken family ties---common word: broken. Hence, me, myself, the broken egg.

I have constant headaches bc my brain is full with all of the best ways, remedies for this for that bc it worked for someone who knew someone it worked for, if not they themselves. But my life will work itself out on its own. The way everyone else's did. And, I will never advise another person later in the future to do it the way I did it. Because, quite frankly, I'll never really know how it'll all fit together in the end. And, when it does, I don't think I'll remember the strategies for how I ended up there. I do know, that grease, a hot pan, an over pour of salt and pepper and a spatula are not the ingredients needed for a well-mixed life. I will never take my turn at the scrambling for someone else.

The funny thing behind all of this: I don't even eat eggs.