TAWANDAAA

I am Tawanda. These are my stories.. Copyright 2011 Natalie Jackson

[tawandaaa-blog]

I can't believe in this thing called God

I CANT believe in this thing called God. I can't wrap my head around it. I can only understand that life is not fair, and it never will be. Some humans suffer and some don't. Some laugh and some never will. Some die of old age, but many die of cancer, accidents, murder, disease, depression, genocide, racism, rape, terrorism, bombings, fires, starvation, natural disasters, etc. Some humans are in so much pain, they beg to be taken out of this world and some die in the most inhumane ways that if I think too hard and too long about it, I could vomit. I just can't wrap my head around a loving God who would allow such pain to be felt by any human-being. We kill one another all in the name of God for GOD'S SAKE. What I CAN understand is that you only live once so you gotta listen to Nelson Mandela and live with Ubuntu (human-kindess). You gotta live by the wisest words ever spoken and you gotta love hard, find beauty in the little things, and ya gotta stay up so late it's early because once you die, you're dead and gone for a long fuckin' time. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

The Bullet

Boy: Daddy why can't you kill the soldier with a knife?

Father: He would just shoot me with his gun baby. Why do you want me to kill him?

Boy: Because he took my Phil away. 

You put a bullet into the body of a beautiful elephant, but little did you know the bullet of hate you were putting into the heart of a 4-year old baby. A baby who now wants you dead. A beautiful baby boy who wants a knife in your heart because you took his elephant away. Did you know that; did you? I cried so hard for the elephant because I felt the loss so goddamn hard and I'm not even sure why. He's dead because of the hope he brought and the love he gave to those around him. He's dead because of the despicable people like you who kill because of the fear you hold for others who have powerful ideas; not powerful weapons. He was beautiful and my breath stops for a quick second when I ponder the absolute beauty of his size, and the bonds he held with those around him. He's rotting in the ground now but his spirit lives in the heart of many, including the 4 year old baby who will one day be a man. I can only hope that the bullet of hate will turn into something more beautiful, but I fear that is not possible. I fear that the loss of his elephant has created a hate that will erupt inside of a grown man one day. Would it be so wrong? Would it be so wrong for that baby boy to want to seek revenge? You have no idea the pain you have caused, for no human can fully understand the pain that is felt when an elephant bond is broken and that is a force to be reckoned with. Rest in Peace El-Phil.

[tawandaaa-blog]

The Consequence of Life

Megan: How do I get rid of the dark circles under my eyes?

Me: Makeup helps, but that can only do so much. Sleep is always good and I'm sure if you cut back on smoking and drinking that would improve your under eye bags.

Megan: Great, so exactly what I was afraid of; stop living.

[tawandaaa-blog]

Going Solo and Workin the Mojo

Going Solo is a book written by Eric Klinenberg about the rise of individuals who now choose to live alone. He describes this trend as the biggest unidentified demographic shift since the baby boom. The book explores the life-style of these individuals who choose to live alone. And guess what? They are fucking happy. They are happy and in comparison to married couples, these "loners" have a more active life-style. They are more likely to eat out, exercise, go to concerts, volunteer, and other things that get their asses out of the house and their mojo's workin. 

Now the idea of this book definitely struck a cord with me because I'm "going solo," but I'm also on a constant witch hunt to find my soulmate. I dream of the day I will meet a man who will completely knock me off of my feet, wrap me in silk, feed me bacon wrapped chestnuts, and carry me to the oceans edge where we will stare into each others eyes while our feet sink into the sand. But this book has opened by eyes to the possibility that this may never happen. And I'm okay with that too because I will never settle for the wrong person.

"I'm living alone now and a lot of my friends and family worry about me being lonely, but let me tell you something. There is nothing lonelier than living with the wrong person." According to Eric Klinenberg, this was the most common thing he kept hearing from people he interviewed who are now living on their own but were previously living with significant others. When I heard that, I wanted to scream HALLELUJA AMEN SISTA FRIEND because I couldn't agree more. 

I do not believe that life's mission should be so consumed with who we'll end up with because we may end up solo and that's OK. There are other things on this earth that can get our mojo's workin! TO WORK THE MOJO WE MUST FIND THE MAGIC IN WHAT WE DO! 

I know that when I think about my dream vacation (traveling to Thailand to bathe with elephants in an elephant orphanage) I get excited. When I think about wearing my black leather jacket in the fall my arms tingle. When I think about super size bags of skittles, red wine, live music, previews before a movie, being with friends, margaritas, bacon wrapped chestnuts, family, blogging, reading, learning, success, helping others, laughing, working and a thousand other things that make me excited to continue on the journey of life, I feel alive. 

So for all you solos out there who are conquering this unknown world without a lover by your side, this is a shout out from me to you. There is no shame in never taking the plunge. There is no shame in ending something that is no longer making you happy. There is no shame in going solo. You are kicking this world's ass one day at a time on your own and if love falls upon you, so be it, and if it doesn't you may unveil a magical side of yourself you never knew existed. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

It's a Vagina and a Penis

I understand that this is not a new question, but I have decided to ask it again. Why do parents insist on telling their daughter’s that their vagina is actually called a toot-toot, wee-wee, poonani, foo-foo, foo-fi, coochie, privates, and the worst one in my opinion- “down there.” Jesus, “down there” makes it seem like a forbidden place that should be feared. And why do parents insist on telling their sons that their penis is actually called a pee-pee, tallywacker, willy, hot dog, and “down there.” You know how I feel about that.

Attention to all parents: these parts already have names, so I must ask; why are you not using them? You are not teaching them to call their legs and arms something equally as ridiculous. This is why my generation has a hard time saying PENIS and VAGINA in conversations. Please stop this ridiculous cycle. It is a vagina and a penis, and there is no embarrassment or shame in that. 

From The Complete Cartoons of the New Yorker. ;)

[tawandaaa-blog]

You've Got Email

You may find this story to be an act of desperation, but I simply find it to be a story of an awesome friend (She who cannot be named) helping me in my search to find my soulmate. She is constantly doing awesome things like this.

I had never gone on a blind date before, and that was something I definitely needed to cross off the ol' bucket list. In my mind I would be waiting at a table with a rose in a book of my choice-The Secret History-waiting for my soulmate to walk through the doors of some lovely cafe, you know, You've Got Mail Style.  She who cannot be named agreed to help me out. The following is what She sent out via email one day a life-time ago...

"Ok...it's not really a contest, but it really is a blind date.

"Recently my dear lovable friend Natalie expressed her desire to go on a blind date.  Considering this was a completely feasible goal, I offered to assist in helping her manifest this intention in her life.  I mean, why not, right?  See what happens....and you can even say you've had the experience of being on a blind date! "You are receiving this because either I consider you to be eligible or perhaps you may know of someone who may be eligible and interested.  I mean why not take advantage of this incredibly spontaneous opportunity to say, "What the heck? .....who knows what could happen?"  (Trust me, it makes for an interesting kind of life.)  =)  So please send this email along if someone does come to mind.  (Intuitive flashes are always a good bet.)  We are currently looking for men in the New York City vicinity, but are open to men who frequently travel to NYC or perhaps would prefer rather to fly her out to them.  It's just a blind date so logistics can be made for any location, providing they are reasonable and mutually agreed upon. "You will find a photo of her attached to this email and you may also find the following info about her intriguing: Name: Natalie Marie Jackson Occasionally also known as: Natty J, Nat, Natalia, Natalie Height: 5' 7" Body Type: Athletic with Real Boobs Eye Color: Blue-Gray with a slight ring of Hazel around pupils Hair Color: Brown Piercings: Ears Tattoos: None Religion: Open to Anything Hobbies: Reading, Music, Movies "Accomplishments: Made her own rap song titled: "Just Play"; Starred in mock infomercial for fat supplement; Starred in real commercial for "Hot Music & Games"; Was awarded the "Heart & Hustle Player of the Year" award in her senior year of college basketball; worked for a non-profit Jewish organization and was the only non-Jewish person in the company "Dreams, Goals, Aspirations: Work in an elephant orphanage; To Be Happy and discover the meaning of life; Learn Spanish and another language of love "What Natalie is looking for in a Man: Ultimately finding the love of her life, but for the moment, someone who values patience and is willing to explore the possibilities of what life has to offer right now.  She is open to all ages and types. "Activities Natalie would enjoy on a date: She is open to anything; but also enjoys Live music, wine, good conversation, & movies (but not for a first date) "Hear what others are saying about Natalie: "....a gentle and uncomplicated Soul." - Agata, wise woman from the other side of the world "A marshmallow interior and a rock 'n roll exterior." - Anonymous, actor "I don't know." - Joel, a happy little man "She's a descent and sweet person.  She cares for other people." - Carlos, arepa stand owner; Brooklyn, NY "Esta bien buena." - Jesus, chef "...the most sincere and genuine person.  She is always herself, even and especially when she's awkward.  I once witnessed her hi-five a potential suitor to avoid a public display of affection.  But in all seriousness, you will not find a person more invested in being human and its condition.  What is beautiful about Natalie is that it's not about her being beautiful on the inside or being beautiful on the outside.  Natalie is beautiful just because she is who she is.  It's neither inner or outer with Natalie. It's more holistic and raw.  She's unknowingly graceful in her apologetic authenticity....I hope to see her with someone who can appreciate this about her, with someone who isn't concerned with the inner or outer nature of beauty and the cliché need to analyze or look for it, but instead, I would really love to see her one day with someone who knows how to simply enjoy being with it... because [she] is." - Anonymous, professional e-mailer "Natalie's Theme Song: " HOME ", by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros "*Should you be interested in being set-up on a blind date or pass this along to someone who may be, please respond (or have them respond) to this email and I will set it up.   "Thanks everyone for reading and let the festivities begin!"

In the end, we had a couple of interested parties, but no real commitment was made, and my soulmate was not found. But honestly, I wasn't sad because I realized I have met some unbelievably amazing friends in my short life thus far, and those friendships mean just as much to me, if not more, than a "soulmate." Although, I do still dream of the day where I will meet THE man who I will make sweet sweet love with; one who will make an endless amount of bacon wrapped chestnuts for me, and who will squeeze my pinky toes on command (you will have to refer back to my first blog post to understand this).

[tawandaaa-blog]

Wedding Bliss

Ok, so I know weddings are supposedly a time of "joy and laughter," and I've only been to 5 weddings, but thus far I'm not the biggest fan. How in the hell can I enjoy myself when I'm forced to wear a pink dress with a bow meant for a 4-year-old. Can I please just wear my black leather jacket for the love of GOD? I hate dresses and more than that, I rarely wear color. I'm not gothic or anything like that, I just love black, and I look good in black, at least I think I do. 

Envision me standing in front of a mirror at David's Bridal wearing a pastel dress (meant for a 4-year-old) that won't zip up the back; because lets face it, my body isn't what it used to be.

Consultant at David's Bridal - "Honey just remember it's not about you, it's about them."

Me: "Why? Why is it about them? They will be happily married, meanwhile, I'm the single one desperately looking to snag anyone at this God-forsaken wedding, and how in the hell am I going to accomplish that wearing THIS?"

Three of the five weddings I attended were extremely religious, and sometimes I feel as though I'm sitting through a sermon rather then celebrating the love. It's all about the love, MAN. I dibbled and dabbled in religion for a year or two in high school when the fear of burning in hell was driven into my brain. But now that I'm older and have a brain of my own, I find all religions to be quite fascinating, and cannot allow myself to buy into the belief that other people will burn in hell simply because they have their own religions that are just as beautiful, if not more so, than Christianity. Anyway, there is a time and a place for religion, but in my humble opinion, weddings are not the place!  

My brother's wedding was absolutely beautiful and I almost couldn't complain except that I had to wear a pink dress with a bow. If you know me at all, you know this is an abomination of everything I stand for. I really make an effort to look like a badass all of the time and when I'm forced to wear a pink dress with a bow, a part of me becomes suicidal. 

And then there was the wedding where I was shunned. I went stag because I didn't have a date it was a small wedding in bumfuck Ohio, and I knew I would recognize some fellow classmates. I did, and I walked up to their table and asked if I could pull up a chair. They said no, but not before mumbling something about other people joining their table. For the record, I didn't ask to take an existing chair at their table, I asked if I could pull up a chair, God Dammit. Fucking assholes. I ended up at a table with a family of four who didn't drink alcohol; oh joy. But I did get to wear black because I wasn't in the wedding party.

Maybe it's not weddings I hate as much as I hate our traditions. I'm already giving you a day of my life for the actual wedding, and then you expect me to go to the rehearsal dinner as well, not to mention the engagement party, the bachelorette party, and then the wedding itself. How many gifts do you want from me!? And then in the end, 50% end in divorce, and that number doesn't include all of the cheaters and sex addicts out there. Can I get my money back please?

And the white fairytale dresses that women spend thousands of dollars on? You will never wear that dress again, but I guess at this point, I will admit that it makes me cry every time I see the bride walking down the aisle in that white fluffy gown.

An average wedding costs around $20,000. I know you're probably thinking I'm about to go on a rant about feeding the hungry and etc. I won't go there, but I will say that I would use that money to fly to Thailand and roll in mud baths with beautiful elephants - my dream vacation - before I would ever spend that much money on a wedding. 

And why in the hell are we still taking our husbands last names? I mean, I understand if you have a last name like ButterFluffer, but when you have an awesome last name like Jackson, why in the hell would you ever get rid of that? 

I know by this point you're thinking I'm the most miserable bitter person you've ever met, but I must report that I've cried at all five of these weddings. I really have. I love these people with all of my heart, and I'm the sappiest person you will ever meet, but I'm just not a big fan of attending weddings. This could change if one of you single ladies out there would throw a wedding where I could wear a sexy black pant suit instead of a stupid fluffy pink dress, provide me with unlimited cocktails, free the entire ceremony of religion, and give me a roasted pig. I would joyfully attend your wedding and leave my complaining behind. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

The Scarlet X's

This story isn't so much a story as it is me asking YOU for advice. I'm a 25 soon to be 26-year-old woman and I'm attracted to a 20-year-old man. Boy? A 20-year-old who seems wiser beyond his years and falls into the category of "my type," ie. nice eyes, dark hair, hairy, musician, interesting, and last but certainly not least, a prominent nose. But something tells me that as a 25 soon to be 26-year-old woman this is somehow morally wrong. Let's face it, we couldn't even go out for drinks together without him having huge X's on his hands. I would honestly rather be seen with someone that sported a scarlet A on their chest.

Now, it's not so much my fault you see, because I didn't know his age when I realized I was infatuated with him. That was something that came after the fact. My friend, in an attempt to snap me out of this fantasy that it could ever work with a man not legal to drink, sent me a picture of myself at 20 years old. The sight of this made me realize that I am a completely different person now than I was 6 years ago, and thank God for that, because the truth is, I was an asshole. 

I was a despicable, immature asshole with only half of a brain, and I would like to think that now, not only do I have a full brain, but my heart has softened. This picture did snap me back into reality that yes, he still has a lot of change to go through before he becomes the person he is meant to be, but do we really ever stop changing? I don't think that we do. And if this is the case then age ain't nothing but a number, right?

Did I mention that I have no idea if this 20-year old is infatuated with me. This may quite possibly be all one-sided. However, we did exchange numbers with the intention of “keeping in touch.” If only I was 10 years older, I could be considered a cougar and this situation would be completely acceptable. Or if I was a single mother of two, I could be the MILF and that’s always a sexy situation. If I was a man infatuated with a younger girl, no one would even bat an eye. But unfortunately, I’m a 25 soon to be 26-year-old woman who is actually considering what it would be like to date a younger man. Boy? 

Do I need a slap in the face? Is this completely unheard of? It’s not rape, is it? He’s technically an adult. For the love of GOD tell me I’m normal and that’s it’s okay to be attracted to a younger man. Boy?

[tawandaaa-blog]

Only Weigh Yourself in the Nude

                    I was just recently watching a new show on HBO called "Girls" and the main character told her gynecologist that she thought it was rude that they had weighed her with her clothes on. I knew exactly how she felt because everytime I go to the doctors, I come back thinking, sweet Jesus, I need to lose some weight. 

Without a doubt I always weigh in at 150 pounds at the doctors, yet at home in the nude I stay around 142. Why wouldn't you weigh yourself in the nude? It's the only accurate way to know how much YOU really weigh. Are these doctors trying to force us into unhealthy crash dieting routines? I swear I used to go straight home and look up ingredients for a juice detox. The next day I would miserably suck down juice all day until I felt dizzy enough to call it a day at 7 PM. 

I'm here to confirm that the weight increase at the doctors office is due to the fact that they make you stand on that damn scale with your clothes, shoes, and most of the time you still have a coat on as well. Make sure to always drop your purse; I know what you crazy people are carrying around - me included - and that could easily contribute to 5 of the additional pounds. Anyway, it's bullshit, so don't fret if you weigh more at the doctor's; it's a scam people! I think these offices are receiving huge bucks from Jenny Craig and other weight loss organizations in an attempt to make us feel fat enough to spend our money on phony weight loss programs.

Attention nurses: Don't make me get on that scale until you have me down to my knickers and that weird backless gown that you make us wear. It's not ok to emotionally abuse your clients! We need you and you need us, but if you continue to make us feel insane in the membrane about our weight, we will refuse to step onto your damn scales! 

[tawandaaa-blog]

Walter White: A Love Story - Part 2

As you may know, Walter White is my present day Jack Bauer. He is the main character in the AMC series "Breaking Bad," created by the unbelievably talented Vince Gilligan. Walter White is a bad-ass mother fucker who I absolutely love and admire, and that love led to my decision to dress as him on Halloween of 2010.

I put on a pair of tighty whities, a green button down shirt, a gas mask, and boots in an attempt to recreate his look from the very first scene of season 1.

I strutted myself to the Upper East Side of Manhattan to sit at the bar of the restaurant where I was currently employed. I was going there to wait for my comrades to get off of work. My roommate at the time, Lindsay, had a miniature statue of herself that I decided to bring along for company. I wasn't exactly comfortable going out on Halloween night solo. I can't even imagine what I must have looked like to passer-bys on the street. As if it wasn't enough that I was walking confidently down the street in my underwear; I was also carrying mini Lindsay, and I even talked to her sometimes. 

(Mini Lindsay and I drinking at the bar) Lindsay was wasted! 

The tighty whities were super comfortable, the green shirt was airy, and the outfit allowed ample room for slamming down 1000-calorie margaritas. In my underwear I kept a rolled up picture of Walter White (the same picture from above) because I knew people would wonder who in the hell I was trying to be. I had to whip him out quite a few times throughout the evening. 

Completely unrelated to Halloween, I have a Breaking Bad t-shirt that I wear all of the time. When I went to the Breaking Bad Season Finale at the movie theater last year, I wore this tee with a hat that I found in an attempt to pull off the "Heisenberg" look. You won't understand what that means unless you watch the show. (And yes, I took this picture of myself-creepy I know- in an attempt to look like a bad-ass mother fucker)

I bought my creator a t-shirt that says WWWD, (What Would Walter Do?) and like the Breaking Bad-loving humans that we are, we went to the finale dressed to impress. 

As I mentioned in a previous story, Breaking Bad is coming to an end. Although, they are breaking the finale into a two-part final season, so I won't be guzzling whiskey, rocking back-and-forth with knees pulled to chest as soon as I thought. Good thing because I have much to accomplish before I reach my demise. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

One Fine Morning

I was love struck once for a very brief moment in time. And by love struck, I mean I was completely infatuated by a dumb man solely because he had a beautiful face. This face was hypnotizing and once you stared into those baby blues; there was no going back. However, the affair was short-lived because he did the unthinkable one disastrous morning. 

It started out almost perfect because he offered to order breakfast in bed for the both of us. I was thinking in my head, "Ok he’s dumb, yes, but he is beautiful AND understands the importance of breakfast in bed, and that is something I can definitely live with." He called the diner below his apartment and took it upon himself to order me a coffee with spenda and skim milk!

I could not believe my ears. What kind of woman drinks coffee with splenda and skim milk? Certainly not me! It would have been acceptable had I ordered the atrocious drink in question. When a man orders you a zero calorie breakfast, he's basically screaming to you in every way possible,"Lose Weight Chubs!" Men of the world: When a woman thinks of breakfast in bed; she imagines waffles, strawberries, and a beautiful coffee with cream and sugar; not cocaine in a mug. 

But then he began to show me family vacation pictures, which included pictures of his cute little grandparents. So of course, I quickly forgot about the zero calorie breakfast, and I Ooooed and Ahhhhed over him all over again while guzzling down the atrocious drink. I swear to GOD this tactic would not work on me now, but I was young, naive, and from Ohio. 

A couple of nights later, I was out with some friends, and a friend of mine who knew of the beautiful, yet dumb man I was "seeing," approached me and asked if he had shown me the family pictures yet. My jaw dropped. She went onto say that he does this to everybody! Apparently it is his morning routine that he uses on all girls! Sucking us in with his good looks and family pictures which makes his lack of brain mass acceptable! The sneaky little bastard.

Nowadays, if a man ordered me crack and then showed me pictures of his family, I would laugh my ass off. Actually, now that I'm older with a brain, I would never go for a dumb man, because when I'm wrinkled with curly white hair shitting my diaper in a urine-smelling nursing home, I want my loving soulmate by my side, not a dumb man who is no longer beautiful. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

Just Take Your Pants Off

Before I start this story, you must know something about my body; I have large calves.

During the skinny jean fiasco, which I think is still currently going on, I had a hard time getting these jeans over my huge calves. Getting them on was always easier, but taking them off caused me a bit of difficulty. 

One afternoon, my Creator and I decided to get our disgustingly abandoned toes and nails professionally done, and yes, I was wearing the said skinny jeans. With some effort I was able to get my jeans to push up over my calves before placing my feet into the whirlpool of hot water.

After my toes and nails were complete, and after I had sat under the dryer for ten minutes, I attempted to pull my jeans back down over my calves. It was a little awkward because I was trying not to mess up my newly painted nails, and attempt 1 yielded no success. I decided to let my nails dry a bit more.

After about ten more minutes I attempted to pull my jeans down again, with a little more force and frustration, and again with no success. By the third attempt I was becoming frustrated and embarrassed because there were a couple of women waiting to use the driers and the circulation in my legs was cut off. I know I should have just left, but it was the dead of winter and I didn't want to walk home with my pants rolled up to my knees in the freezing cold.

My creator and I began to yank and pull on my pants meanwhile I completely ruined my nails. By this point, I just wanted my damn jeans to come down and I really didn’t care how badly I fucked up my nails. My Creator pulled scissors out of her purse, but I refused to let her cut my jeans. I honestly could not for the life of me get these jeans to go down, and a petite Chinese woman who worked at the spa had taken notice of my situation.

This woman was so tiny; Chinese women have metabolisms I would do just about anything to have, other than eat liver. She kneeled down at my feet and instructed me to put both legs out in front of me. She took a hold of my pant legs with a grip so tight that her veins were protruding out of her hands. She then leaned all of her weight back and grunted as she yanked at my jeans. I honestly loved and hated this woman all at the same time. She was making such a scene, but she really was giving it everything she had to make sure my pants came down. Finally, with my feet pressing into her shoulders, and blood, sweat, and tears streaming down her face, my pants gave in.

My nails were ruined and everybody in the whole damn salon had turned their attention to us, but my toes looked great. Like always, I wanted to crawl into a hole. As we were leaving, my Creator said that I should have taken my jeans completely off before getting my toes done. She honestly thought it would have been normal for me to have just casually slipped off my jeans prior to receiving a pedicure. Although she did have a point because I would have caused way less of a scene chilling in my underwear versus the grunts and moans that had come out of this tiny woman. Not to mention I would have saved us both a hell of a lot of heart ache. Screw skinny jeans; hello bell bottoms. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

The Bundle of Rose

Gillian Welch is a singer-songwriter who I grew up listening to, and to this day I remain a huge fan. If you ever get the chance to see her perform live, I promise that she will blow you away. My creator whom I occasionally call Mom took me to see her perform at the Byham Theater in Pittsburgh. As you can see the theater is beautiful and we had the cheapest seats in the house, but the view was still great. 

But that didn't stop my creator from using her ginormous binoculars. These fucking things were not inconspicuous in the least bit, and the young man sitting to her right did a double take when he noticed her using them. It's not every day you see someone using binoculars at a show. She kept nudging me to try them out, and she would say, "You can see all of Gillian's expressions. This is really great." I finally gave in and used the damn things, but only once, and it was actually pretty cool.

Before the show, my creator and I had gotten Gillian a rose. One single rose that was wrapped in so much plastic wrap you would have thought we had gotten her a dozen roses. At the bottom of the bundle was a handwritten note that took us about an hour to compose. When you are trying to give a message to someone who has impacted your life in some way shape or form, you put a lot of pressure on yourself to deliver something meaningful. In the end, it was just a couple of sentences telling her how much we've always appreciated her music, and to please come to Ohio more often.

I'm not sure when throwing roses on stages to show your appreciation became extinct, but at some point it did. Apparently, nobody does this anymore; in the United States at least. If I was a successful musician, which I will be in approximately 9,940 hours according to Malcolm Gladwell and his 10,000-hour rule, I would want hundreds of roses hurled at my face all of the time.

Intermission came and my creator said, "Well it's now or never." I didn't want anything to do with that damn rose at this point. I was embarrassed we had only gotten her one single rose, I realized nobody does the rose thing anymore, and the bundle was huge, loud, and obnoxious, but my creator was bound and determined.

I waited up in the balcony while she went downstairs and marched rapidly up the aisle way that led to the front of the stage. She hurled the bundle of rose onto the stage, and I heard the crinkle of the plastic paper all the way up in the balcony as it flew out onto the center of the stage. She turned and hurried back down the aisle way as about 20 heads turned to see who this woman was. About 30 seconds later a stage hand retrieved the rose, and we can only hope it reached Gillian. But that doesn't even matter, because what matters is that my mother had accomplished our mission.

She did what I was too embarrassed to do. I try way too hard to be cool, but sometimes you have to let your freak flag fly and not care what other people think. You have to use those damn binoculars, hurl that bundle of rose onto the stage, and I swear to you, you will be the coolest person in the room. My Mother was that night, and I've never been so proud to be in her company. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

Nora's Advice

Nora Ephron wrote in "I Feel Bad About My Neck" that one of her biggest regrets is that she didn’t spend her youth staring lovingly at her neck. Apparently they start looking pretty rough around age 43; so I set aside time one morning to stare lovingly at my neck in the mirror in an attempt to appreciate it. But due to the fact that I'm already battling an early double chin, I wasn't all that impressed by my neck. 

My Aunt once told me that, "the women in our family are like spiders because we have skinny legs and arms, but we all have the bulge in our midsections." Great. Just what I needed to hear. I had thought, I'm already battling an early double chin, and now I know that there is no hope for my mid-section either. On top of the spider genetics, I love all things food and drink, so my future is not looking too great. And I could never give up Two Hearted (my new favorite beer) with pizza, assorted cheeses and wine, a dirty martini with spiced nuts, a glass of merlot with a medium-rare filet mignon, Herradura Silver margarita with guacamole and tortilla chips, and etc. I absolutely refuse to give up the finer things in life. 

Anyway, in an attempt to keep the double chin/neck region under control I slather moisturizer on my entire neck. I then stare straight ahead and smack the bottom of my chin with the back of my hand. When smacking, I begin slowly and after a few smacks, I increase the speed. I was told a few years ago, that this is a good exercise for double chin prevention. My mother and I got a body wrap for the first time a couple of months ago (Groupon), and we asked the wrapper if she could put the ace wrap around our necks in an attempt to tighten that region up, but unfortunately, she said that she could not. My spider belly is something I've been working on for years as well, but with no such luck. Honestly, if I was a man I would want a woman with a little meat on her bones.

Now, because my neck and mid section aren't really anything I want to stare lovingly at, I went on a mission to find another body part that would suffice. I do agree with Nora Ephron that while we're young and still looking semi-decent, why not appreciate something about our bodies, because they will not always look like this. One day we will be wrinkled with curly white hair, shitting our diapers staring out the window of a urine- smelling nursing home trying to remember what our names are; meanwhile wondering what in the hell we did wrong in a past life to end up at this God-forsaken place. Or we could end up looking like this...

Either way, it's an extremely depressing thought. We are all so screwed. 

With much difficulty, because I swear I'm aging terribly and everything is already starting to wrinkle and sag, I found two parts to appreciate; my breasts. They are far from perfect, but they aren't sagging (yet). I don't stare at them with love, but I do stare at them with contentment, and quite frankly that is enough for me. My advice to you is to get naked right now, stand in front of a mirror, and find something, anything to appreciate about your body. It could be your eyes, or your back, or your hairy butt for all I care, but please find something while you're still young.

Thank you, Nora.

Love,

Tawanda

[tawandaaa-blog]

Everything's Better Wrapped in Bacon

A great friend of mine (She who cannot be named) has a brother who was recently visiting her in Hawaii. She asked her brother about his significant other, and if he thought she was "the one."

Brother: "All I know is that when I do ask someone to marry me, I'm going to wrap the ring in bacon."

She who cannot be named: "Why?"

Brother: "Because everything tastes better wrapped in bacon. Who doesn't like bacon?"

Who knew such a man exists in this world? I most certainly did not. And I had thought it was a little far reaching to think that possibly somewhere in the world my future lover was making more bacon-wrapped chestnuts for me, when a man located just on the west coast wants to propose with a ring wrapped in bacon!?

The universe is definitely on my side. Now without a doubt I know there is a man for me somewhere out there, and if he would ever propose to me with a ring wrapped in bacon, I would most definitely scream yes. I would scream yes, and together we would eat the bacon-the triple smoked bacon-that will be delicately wrapped around my beautiful ring with a black glistening stone. 

Love stories definitely exist; dreams do come true, and no, I am not high. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

Wine Presentation

My first waitressing job was during college working at a fine dining establishment in downtown Marietta, Ohio called Austyns. One evening a nice couple ordered a bottle of red wine. I had never presented or opened a bottle of wine at a table before, but I figured how hard could it possibly be? 

I went to the bar and retrieved the bottle of wine and two large red wine glasses from the bartender. I approached my table, sat the glasses down in front of the couple, and started sawing at the neck of the bottle with the mini knife on my wine opener to get the foil off. I then squirmed and let out a few grunts to get the cork out. Getting that damn cork out and maintaining a professional demeanor is harder than one may think. The next part is quite shocking. I poured the entire bottle of wine into both of those wine glasses. I smiled faintly, and walked away with the empty bottle in hand, feeling proud that I had accomplished my first wine bottle presentation.

I know at this point you are probably wondering what in the hell was going through my head. The only thing I was thinking about was the two-finger rule when serving wine.  This means that you pour until two fingers amount of space is left at the top of the glass. Unfortunately, this rule only applies when a single glass of wine is served, and it does not apply when a customer orders a bottle of wine, and it certainly does not apply when you are using large voluminous wine glasses.

The feeling of pride that had swelled in my chest was short lived because as soon as I threw the empty bottle into the trashcan the bartender said, “What are you doing I just gave that to you.” I informed him that I had already served it to the table. He frantically grabbed my wrist and peered at my customers. If only I could have taken a picture of the look he had on his face, it was fu*king priceless.

He went to the table and dragged me along with him. He apologized and said that I was new and had never opened a bottle of wine before. I stood there like an imbecile as they laughed at me. I would have laughed at me too, knowing what I do now. As I've said before, you live, you learn, bla bla bla. 

[tawandaaa-blog]

Jack Bauer and Walter White : A Love Story

I was completely obsessed with the TV series "24" my junior year of college. Once I started watching Season 1, I could not stop. Because of this, my life was entirely consumed by the show. I was skipping classes, I wasn't sleeping, and my relationships with friends and my significant other were spiraling downward. I literally did not leave my futon, and I even began using my futon as a bed for this two month period. 

I was a die hard fan. I had the CTU (Counter Terrorist Unit) ringtone and a framed picture of Jack Bauer beside my futon. I would watch the episodes in real time. For example: If the episode was happening at 4:00 PM, I would watch it at 4:00 PM. I would call AC (the friend who hooked me to the series) anytime something sad happened. Sometimes it would be 2:00 in the morning and AC would receive a call from me sobbing over the death of one of my favorite characters. I think Edgar Stile's death hit me the hardest because I still think about him occasionally. 

I even went as far as to friend every Jack Bauer on Facebook, until finally one innocent young man accepted my friend request. Not only did he accept my friend request, but he accepted my plea to have my relationship status read, "In a relationship with Jack Bauer." We are still Facebook friends to this day. I used Jack Bauer's face as my Facebook profile picture for awhile as well. 

I followed Kiefer Sutherland once. He was eating fries out of a McDonald's bag in Chelsea, and I followed him for seven glorious blocks. He is such a bad ass! A millionaire eating fries out of a McDonald's bag? I freaked out and couldn't bring myself to talk to him. It was too much pressure. What could I possibly say to the one and only Jack Bauer that would leave a lasting impression on him? Instead, I chose to semi-stalk him, but then he hailed a cab and I lost him forever. 

Anyway, my real friends in college had an intervention with me during this obsessive phase. They were worried about my social life, and my overall well being. "Natalie you have pretty much fallen off the face of the earth because of this stupid show." They just didn't understand my love for something so fucking brilliant. Tensions rose really high when my significant other had to say that he felt like I was picking 24 over him, which I was. He was a really great guy, too. Damn you, Jack Bauer. 

After 24 came to an end, I never thought I would ever truly love another TV series as I did 24, but then it happened. In 2009, my creator whom I occasionally call Dad, introduced me to Breaking Bad, and my love affair with fictional characters was able to continue once again. The last season of Breaking Bad will be airing this Summer, and I really don't think I will be able to bear the loss of it. It's too much for one person to handle. Walter White is my present day Jack Bauer, and the thought of it all being over makes me want to cry, pull my knees to my chest, rock back and forth, and guzzle a fifth of whiskey. My love for Walter White is a story I will save for another day. I think I'll go put on my Breaking Bad t-shirt now.