Good, bad decisions.

I stared at my phone for almost 30 minutes before I finally sent the text. I took half an hour going back and forth with myself, adding and subtracting letters to what would finally end up being a measly 3 word sentence. The second I sent it, I could feel something punch me through my chest, reach down and tear out the little dignity I had left in the pit of my stomach. And let me tell you, there wasn’t much left.

A minute or so later, I heard a ping and saw a familiar number on my screen (Not sure why I even bothered not saving his number when I remembered it by heart anyway). I smiled, but my heart was mourning. I knew I shouldn’t have sent the text to begin with. I shouldn’t have replied to his. And I definitely shouldn’t have been getting ready to go to his house. You would’ve thought that with all this foreshadowing I would’ve did better, yet minutes later I still found myself in his car pretending to be chill. 

Looking back on all the bad mistakes I’ve made in my relationships, there wasn’t one bad decision I wasn’t initially aware of. Texting him when I knew I shouldn’t have. Still seeing him after I caught him lying. Saying “yes” when I knew it was a bad idea. Saying “no” when I  knew I was lying. Pretending to be OK. Holding back my feelings. Not saying anything. Saying too much. Sending him a birthday gift. Saying good-bye. 

Why do we make bad decisions despite being well aware of them and their repercussions? That’s the exact question that popped in my head after watching the season finale of Insecure where Molly continues to fuck Dro, and Issa moves in with Daniel. I first yelled, “Noooooo,” then “Fucking knew it,” then shamefully shook my head knowing that I may or may not have done the same thing. Going back to my previous post about Insecure, I now have my answer.

The reason why Insecure stabs a special place in our hearts (or at least mine), is because it not only covers the topics we are familiar with, but the bad decisions and less than ideal outcomes that other shows stray away from. While we’re all rooting for a happy ending, we know that not all endings are happy. 

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Acid Reflex.

Every other day I find something new that reminds me of how old I’m getting. This time, it was realizing how I actually want to spend time with my family. Over the weekend I went on a family camping trip in Coloma (highly suggest this place btw), and smoked with my new stepdad. Anyone that knows me knows I don’t smoke cigarettes, so I’ll let you put two and two together. I’ve never smoked a cigarette before, never even tried and it’s something I and others pride myself in. This is what makes it even more hilarious/absurd when I confess to people that the very first drug I’ve ever tried is acid – in the summer of 8th grade. 

Yes, I am about to tell you about the first and only time I tried acid. 

Let me set the scene, I just graduated middle school. Barely had boobs yet. Well, I’m still waiting for them to come in, but you get how young I was. I was at my close friend’s birthday barbecue at Orange Park with her family in broad daylight, when she handed me a tiny square of paper.

“What do I do with it?”
“Just place it on your tongue”
*A few minutes later*
“So how long am I supposed to keep it in my mouth?”
“I spit mine out a long time ago”.
WHAT. THE. FUCK.

6e5b37b2327604ecde060dd2f5ad1fdeI don’t exactly know when it started to hit, but I know it wasn’t until we got back to her house. We were playing Taboo and I just couldn’t handle myself. I still can’t, but I’m talking laughing uncontrollably. Thank God I was always a little kooky, otherwise, her family may have caught on. It wasn’t until I started to sit on my hands during a round when I told myself that I should probably take a break. In a room. In the corner of the house. Far away from adults. Or anyone.

And so I went to an empty room and watched TV. I can’t remember what I was watching, BUT THAT SHIT WAS HILARIOUS! I must’ve been in that room for at least 20 minutes staring at the screen, and laughing until tears streamed down my face. That is at least 20 minutes until I realized that I was just staring at a blue screen. Maybe it was telling jokes or something? I have no idea. I walked out the room puzzled, and eventually the acid wore off.

Pretty anticlimactic right? No neon pink butterflies circling over me. The clouds weren’t trying to give me a high five, and the floor tiles didn’t  perform a conga-line. Maybe I got duped. I’d like to think I got lucky. Would I ever try it again? Sure. Maybe not at a friend’s family party though, I have my own to do them at. 

 

 

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Find Your Happy.

The first time I did yoga I nixed the gateway drug, and dived straight into Bikram. For those of you unfamiliar with the practice, imagine standing in uncomfortable poses for 90 minutes … in hell. While it wasn’t my favorite thing to do, I kept going for as long as my Groupon allowed me to. Because it made me feel healthy. Because, why not? Because … I was depressed. 

I stopped going, because my trial expired and I just couldn’t afford it full price. But I started going again about 4 years later. Again, because I had a Groupon. Again, because it made me feel healthy. And again, because I was depressed. 

Bikram was able to silence my thoughts. It allowed me to focus only on the present. Not because I was on some spiritual Ghandi type shit. It was because it was hot as fuck, and all I could think of were the poses, water, and not trying to pass out. During shavasana (my favorite pose), where you’re basically lying down on your back I would silently repeat The Serenity Prayer. It never worked, and as soon as I would leave class the anxiety and self-loathing would follow.

Today, I went back to my old studio and did bikram for the first time since 2014. Not because I had a Groupon, and not because I’m currently experiencing a bout of depression. I went … just because. I was a little rusty, but did better than I thought I would. I found myself not being able to hold certain poses as long. I found that my Empower classes were definitely helping me. I found solace. I found my happy. 

This time during shavasana, I went straight hippy-dippy-hummus-and-hacky-sack and silently thanked the the universe (or whatever/whoever makes shit happen). I thanked it for the class, for my health, for my amazing bf, for all the good in the world amidst the chaos, and for how far I’ve come since my very first bikram class. I left feeling exhausted, but ecstatic

Yoga isn’t for everyone. Neither is the gym or meditating. Everyone’s happy is different. Some people find their happy by distancing themselves from people while some find it by diving head first into their social circle. Some get shit-face to find their happy, some go on diets. Some take on a new hobby, some get a rebound. Whatever it is, I truly hope YOU find your happy. 

I hope it makes you smile. I hope it makes you feel beautiful. I hope it makes you invincible. I hope it makes you heal. I hope it makes you inspire. I hope it’s EVERYTHING.

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The Color Factory made me feel like a little kid. I also found my happy there.

 

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Be Kind and Rewind.

As you get older, you tend to do a lot of contemplating. As for myself? Shit, I’m pretty sure I started overthinking out the womb. When in deep discussions with friends, I’ll sometimes ask them if they would take advantage of the opportunity to go back in time and start over. To no avail, the response is an astounding “No” followed by some variation of, “Everything happens for a reason”.

Good *clap* for *clap* you *clap* boo. No regrets right? 

That’s probably what you’re supposed to say, because any deviation from that insinuates that you are unhappy or ungrateful. Unfortunately, I ask myself the same question, and can’t decide which time I want to revisit because there’s just too many. Taking 3 shots and 4 beers just last Friday would definitely be on the list.

In all seriousness, I genuinely admire those of you who would do it all over again – the same way. For me, the first thing  I would change is college. I would’ve found some way to attend college outside of California, specifically New York. If not then, I would’ve moved to NY right after graduating college. If not then, I wouldn’t have moved back when I actually did move (there’s a theme here in case you couldn’t tell).

Asides from that, I would’ve said “No” when accepting that free t-shirt in exchange for signing up for a credit card. I would’ve NEVER gotten off the pill when I did, causing me catapult into a downward spiral of CRAZY. I would’ve never posted that one FB status. I would’ve never slept with him – again. I would’ve never cut my hair that short, or wore those shoes with that outfit. I would’ve called Steve Harvey’s producer back ASAP. I would’ve submitted that highlight reel. I would’ve quit sooner. I WOULD’VE TRIED HARDER TRIED TO BE A PROFESSIONAL WRITER. I could’ve would’ve and absolutely should’ve. 

But I didn’t. 

I know you aren’t supposed to think about the past, but the reality for me is it’s hard not to. I just know there were so many better decisions I could’ve made. I can’t rewind time, which I suppose is a good thing. I’m an emotional cutter, and would end up reliving moments I wish I could forget. But the good thing is I can’t fast forward time either. What I can do is not beat myself up over the past, appreciate and LIVE in the present, and not make the same mistakes moving forward. Like take that one, last shot …

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Time keeps on tickin’.

It really trips me out when people ask me for advice on how to let go of/get over someone. Not too long ago, I was in the same predicament – probably worse off. And back then I didn’t even bother asking, because I felt like a lost cause. 

I still have a long way to go on this journey to self-love, but today I can honestly say that I am proud of how far I’ve come (HOLY SHIT. Did I just say something nice about myself?). I wish I could tell you the process didn’t seem long. In actuality, it felt longer. 

Time seems to stand still at the most inconvenient of times. It streams tears down your cheek in slow-motion, and holds onto moments of resentment with an unwavering fist. The clock beats moments of anxiety like a dead horse, and presses pause when you’re in the darkest of places. Yet, it’s as if happiness is fleeting and joy is only seconds away from turning into turmoil.

Next to myself, I’d have to say time was my only other adversary. I know it doesn’t have to be, but when you’re up to your soul in a pool full of depression and nothing but time, it’s your worst enemy. 

It’s true: time heals.  Unfortunately, it can also wound. I’m not going to be one of those people that say you need the saddest of sads to make you appreciate the happiest of happy’s. Because really, who knows? And who the fuck am I to tell you if you are or aren’t happy? However, I will admit that everytime something good happens to me, I think about the bad things that have happened to me and it seems to make that moment of happiness last longer. 

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Woman to Woman.

After impatiently waiting for all my favorites shows to come back into rotation, I gave in and started watching Power. It’s not great, but I can’t stop watching. Maybe it’s because I could look at J.R. Ramirez any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Whatever it is, I’m currently almost done with Season 2. 

The manfriend came over the other day just in time to catch me finishing an episode. In an attempt to summarize the show, I broke it down like this:

  • It’s a show about drug dealers in NY
  • Tommy is crazy
  • ANGELA IS A WHORE
  • Ghost is cheating on his wife with this chick Angela
  • ANGELA IS A WHORE
  • Angela works for the Feds and is investigating a case involving Ghost and Tommy
  • ANGELA IS A WHORE

“What does that make Ghost then?” Mr. Manfriend asked. “Oh, he’s a piece of shit,” I replied.

Ultimately, he was at fault. He was the one who made a commitment of fidelity to another person, then willingly made the decision to break it. Yet, there I was yelling “Pinche puta!” at the TV everytime Angela’s face showed up. Why was I so pissed at her? Asides from the fact that she continued to see him even after finding out he was married, I realized it was a “woman thing”.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I would cheat on my partner before I ever became the other woman. For ethical and selfish reasons. There is not one excuse* you could ever give me to justify being a homewrecker, so be gone with your “You can’t steal someone’s man unless they want to be taken” and “But it’s different, we’re in love” reasoning. Not today Satan, NOT TO.DAY. 

The worst part? I bet she doesn’t even think she’s a whore. 

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That’s probably what annoyed me the most about Angela’s character on the show. Minus the homewrecking, it gave me PTSD about the horrible decisions I’ve made in the past. It was her lying to herself about the relationship, her lame attempts to end it, and her self-inflicted fits that made me want to throw something at the TV. WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S JUST A SHOW??!!

It reminded me of all the times I said, “I’m done” when I knew I still had a little lot more dignity left to lose. And all the times I told myself we were just going to “talk” even though I knew what it would lead to. I would’ve saved myself a lot of pain if I had just accepted things for what they were instead of lying to myself about it. Similarly, Angela would’ve been less annoying if she had just owned her whoredom. 

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Bitch please, you knew what you were getting into.

Again, I’m very aware of the role Ghost plays in this whole love triangle. I am not any less pissed at him for his adulterous act, I’m just unfortunately less surprised. Whereas, I expected more from a self-proclaimed independent woman trying to prove herself in the “Boys Club” at work so I was disappointed and disgusted with Angela throughout the entire season. Obviously, this is deeper than some fictional television series. In general, it’s hard being a woman to begin with. What more the other one. 

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Hella Relatable.

::Season 2, Episode 1 SPOILER ALERT::

I watched the entire season premiere of Insecure on my tiny ass iPhone y’all. I planned on watching it the following morning on TV like a normal person, but since you chucklefucks on social media got trigger fingers, I didn’t want to risk a spoiler. It was that serious. Thankfully, the episode did not disappoint and the blurry vision from staring at a 5″x3″ screen in the dark was worth it. I’m usually left with the feels after watching Insecure and this time was no different. 

It got me wondering what exactly about the show got me waving my hand in the air and praying to the ‘chuch of Issa. Not since 2:45 of this Sex and the City scene has a television series had me clutching my chest and saying, “Gworrrrrrl” so much. I’ve watched plenty of shows about heartache, friendship and infidelity, so what made this one any different?

The likely culprit would be “White people problems”. Meaning this show is more relatable to people of color like myself. However, I eliminated that notion early on. While it’s definitely true, it wasn’t true for me. I don’t care if you’re white, black, Puerto Rican or Haitian … getting cheated on makes you feel the same way regardless of what color your skin is. For me, the homie Jeyel hit the nail on the head when he said it’s the specificity of the topics that make the show stand out. 

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Insecure is able to take a topic and break it up into tiny pieces that make up all of us. Sure, “Becky” would’ve had a yacht party where some rich douchebags came and crashed it instead of a bunch of bloods starting a trash fire, but almost every Becky and Issa and Sundeep and Consuela has tried to impress an ex and failed. The show talks about common issues like being a ho, which is nothing new round these parts. But what makes it resonate to the point of me writing a blog about it are the details. Because I am absolutely positive I’ve asked someone to “Teach me how to ho” before. 

Editors Note:: There was one scene in the last episode I couldn’t relate to.  You know the part where Lawrence finally picks up his mail and they bang it out really quick? Not that part. If you’ve read my blog for a while then you’ll know I can absolutely relate to bad decisions. It’s the part after that when he gives her the homie kiss and leaves her on the couch by herself. She smiles afterwards. DAFUQ? Blasphemy! I for sure thought she would break down into tears. At least that’s what I did when I was in that situation. 

 

 

 

 

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