Category Archives: Rattling Around Musique23’s Head

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June 23, 2018

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I’m Trying, Honestly….

Okay!  I am back.  I was gone.  I was gone for a really long time.  The last thing I posted was in March of 2017.  My bad.  I AM SORRY.  It was a rough year, okay!?

Some quick updates/explanations:

  • I lost my job and was unemployed for basically all of 2017.  It sucked, it came out of the blue, I still don’t really understand why, and creative juices really dry the fuck up when you are in your late 20s and your parents have to pay for everything again.
  • My laptop broke!  This was one of the bigger reasons.  Some stupid hacker got my laptop and locked me out of my own laptop and I gave my laptop to my beau Scott and to fix and I just didn’t have a functional laptop for like 4 months.  And I tried writing posts on my Kindle, it wasn’t for me.  However, this “nicely” (you’ll see the reason for the quotation marks in a second) lead into the next biggie…
  • Scott and I parted ways.  And it sucked.  And if I’m being honest, random people on the internet and maybe a few coworkers who I gave my card to (I’m trying to be legit here, people!), every time I even thought of writing something, break-up melancholy would seep into my soul and no one wants to read that.  But you will!  Because I need to get it fully out of my system and oh the fuck well, don’t read it if it doesn’t float your boat.
  • I got a new job!  And a full time one at that!  Look at me, being a whole, actual functional adult and member of society with health insurance and shit!  However, my full time job, which I LOVE, involves staring at a screen all day and I just haven’t had it in me to open up my private laptop after work and stare at another.  But I’m going to try to.  Because I love writing.  (And they encourage us to basically use small words at work for our notes and if you know Musique23, you know that I do enjoy my verbose vocab.  Why use one word when you can use four?!)

So, that’s been what’s up.  Again, sorry non-existent readers for abandoning you.  But I have had some experiences over the past year and I am going to try to get back on it and grow this more.  A lot of people don’t know this, but I’m trying to turn this into my legitimate side hustle.  I want more readers, I want to own this blog outright, I want other people to hire me to write stories/essays for them, I want authors to think “Yes, that young lady is brilliant and thoughtful and funny and I would love to hire her to edit my own work.”  (I would also like for book people who scour the web for bloggers such as myself who have had novels in the works since they were like 12 to find me and offer me a nice check cause I am ready to sit Sallie Mae down and talk to that hussy about our relationship.  Just saying…)

So bear with me.  And read what drips out of my head, through my blood and out of my fingers.  (That was horrible.  Just awful.  But I have a BA and not a BS in Psych and I don’t feel like thinking of a better visual for the creative process.)  And hopefully, I’ll make you laugh, make you feel, and soon enough, make you sing my praises.

Thanks,

Musique23

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March 18, 2017

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Because I'm A Lady, Big Wide World, Deep but not Really, Random, Rattling Around Musique23's Head

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Bumping your head on the ceiling and other such bullshit

So, for those who don’t know (I honestly can’t remember if I’ve talked about this or not) I’m a pretty tall lady.  5’11.5″, and yes, I do legitimately believe and say that “and a half” because the last time I was at the doctor’s office where they measure things like that, the nurse/physician’s assistant/medical personal told me that I was five-eleven and a half.  So what I’m saying is that I know how to quickly judge a doorway before I just barge through, I put things on the top shelf with complete ease, and I am all around familiar with the struggles, trials, and tribulations of being a tall[er] woman.  There are also some awesome things, but I’m talking about the cons in this post, so work with me.  This, in my opinion, are the 14 most aggravating things about being a lady long legs.

  1. Airplane seats.  I love to travel.  I suspect once I have a job and steady income and am traveling more than just for family vacations or trips to see my sister out of state I’ll fly more and generally see more of the world.  The most annoying things about flying?  The tiny ass seats with their minimum amount of leg room!  God help the traveler who sits in front of me on a plane, because I will not let you put your seat back.  I realize that you want to take a nap.  But seriously, you can’t.  Like, I literally cannot allow you to.  I’m honestly surprised you couldn’t feel my knees in your spine before, but you definitely will I you lower your seat onto them via reclining.
  2. Shoes.  Being tall equals bigger feet.  Straight to the point.  I wear a size 12 wide.  Do you know who makes a size 12 wide consistently, so that I could potentially have a designer that always creates cute shoes in my size?  NO ONE.  If you do, let me know because that would be manna from heaven.  Seriously, shoe shopping is one of the biggest pains in my ass.  Equally as difficult?  Dealing with people’s opinions over your shoes because of your height.  “Oh, you’re going to wear HEELS?  Don’t you think you’re tall enough?”  I could touch the moon with my fingertips and I would still occasionally want a nice pair of heels to look sexy, dammit.
  3. Insecure men.  Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.  Seriously.  No, I am not at least 6’4″ because you want to believe you are six feet tall when you are obviously no taller than 5’8″ if I am being generous and no, I do not want to start a conversation about my height because I have tall lady things to do that do not include you because honestly I just want to buy my ice cream and Goldfish crackers and leave because I did not come to Target to talk about this.
  4. Sundresses.  Obviously, not all the time.  Musiqe23 is kinda chesty, okay?  And, like the majority of human beings, I experience temperature differences and at times wear articles of clothing that allow for higher ventilation.  I AM SORRY THAT MY DOUBLE DS WERE IN A TANKTOP OR SUNDRESS AND WERE THEREFORE BASICALLY IN YOUR FACE IF YOU ARE 5’5″ OR BELOW, OKAY!?
  5. Low seats.  Oh joy, you expect me to sit on the floor or a pillow or one of those little kindergarten chairs or a sinking couch with limited support.  What you THINK I’m going to do is fold gracefully onto the seat and instantly maneuver into a sitting lotus position to manage my long legs.  What I’m ACTUALLY going to do is plop down like a spastic tomato, stretch my legs out (possibly inadvertently kicking either the person across from me or the table or both), and wait until everyone leaves before even attempting to get up, looking like spider with an inner ear problem.
  6. Literally, bumping my head on the ceiling.  I have done this.  I have cursed in front of children due to doing this.  I have had knots on my skull because a ceiling slopped and I was unable to tell that my surroundings would suddenly go from me being able to walk upright like a homo sapiens to hunched down like some sort of troglodyte.  Fuck you, unexplainably low ceilings.  Also on my shit list: unexpected low door frames.  I was in the clear, walking around with my spine straight and everything and then WHAM!  Never cool, always shocking in the worst way.
  7. Clothing.  I am tall.  I have longer body parts.  My torso, legs, and arms are not your average length.  Most clothing stores leave me with unintentional crop tops, an inch+ of wrist showing, or pants that look like I am prepared for a flood.  It is annoying.  What is equally annoying is that buying tall/extra-long clothing almost always means that it is considered a specialty clothing item and the price therefore reflects a special, because-fuck-you-we-can upcharge.  Longer legs do not equal bigger paycheck, trust me.
  8. Too-short things that you lay down on.  Do you take relaxing bubble baths?  Lie down on couches regularly and put your feet up?  Recline in Lazy-Boys and expect not to have your ankles hang over the edge?  I DON’T.  To quote my fabulously fellow tall cousin, “My dream is to one day have bathtub in which both my boobs and my legs will fit under the water.”  Don’t we all…
  9. Asshole short people.  You might be thinking, “Didn’t she cover this in number 3?”  Oh no, assholes come in both sexes and this covers them both.  I am tall.  I can literally rest my head atop of yours, and it is only due to my lofty graciousness that I don’t use you as a human arm rest.  Let me have the front seat.  Obviously, it would be better if I could sit in the aisle so that I don’t develop a cramp from having my knees touch my elbows for the whole damn concert.  There is an unspoken pact that my kind have with yours: Show us some common damn decency and we won’t put the snack food up on top of the refrigerator.
  10. Regular towels.  Long torso + average length towel=I guess my behind just doesn’t need to be covered.  Seriously, buy bath sheets.  They are longer and wider and altogether better.
  11. People with higher expectations for me because of my height who I feel like I disappoint because I am neither a model not athletically inclined.  No, I don’t play basketball.  No, I do not play volleyball.  Nope, that wasn’t me at the track meet because I’m not fond of walking, let alone running.  Why yes, I am the model from Chicago, thank you so much for calling me a model, excuse me while I walk away statuesquely and avoid you after the fashion show when you try to ask me follow up questions because you don’t think you saw me on the runway.
  12. Bathroom stalls.  I am so sorry, I am not trying to be a peeping Tomina, it’s just that I am in heels and I didn’t realize that I could see over your stall and I will let you pee in peace now, again, my bad.
  13. Having people think you’re a guy.  More when I was younger (and boob-less) than now, but every now and then someone approaches me and thinks I’m trans, which doesn’t really bother me but if you think that I’m a trans-woman then calling me sir would still be disrespectful, no?
  14. Meeting other, taller people and having to be the beta tall person.  Look, my friends are short.  Our friendship is not based on our height discrepancies, but it is what it is and I have gotten used to being the go-to tall person.  Don’t suddenly introduce a new lady who is like 6’3″ to the group!  How am I supposed to take that?  Is she gonna be the one who reaches for stuff on the top shelf now?  Who does this tall heifer think she is?  Look, there can only be one, and I’m already in the group chat.

 

Yes, there are some great things about being tall (the good does outweigh the bad), but I was in a complaining mood, so there you go.

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December 2, 2014

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Terrified

This is going to be a somber piece.  I might try to inject a little humor into it, but this has been rattling around my head (mayhaps my soul) for a while and I felt like I needed to say my piece.

Darren Wilson was found not guilty.  I’m not surprised.  I actually would’ve been really shocked if the grand jury had decided to indict him for the simple fact that they almost never charge police officers in cases such as this and they really never charge White officers.  Not being [openly] cynical, merely reporting a fact of life in these United States: our police officers are underpaid, under-trained, and overworked, but we don’t let them get charged with murder.  Ferguson went wild.  Fires were set, stores were looted, police made their semi-ominous appearance in riot gear, the streets were packed with angry and upset people.  However, most importantly, a mother felt crushed that the death of her son would go unpunished.

Now let me inject this: I don’t know enough about the Ferguson Incident/Michael Brown shooting to have a well-thought out, decisive opinion on the matter.  I have worked really hard to stay out of it with my friends and family.  I neither approve nor disapprove of the actions that have been taken in Ferguson, Missouri as a result of this incident and the loss of life.  I stand on the sidelines, watching these events with a heavy heart and a hope that we can learn from this.

And I wish I could stop there, because my post isn’t about Darren Wilson/Michael Brown.  This post is about me.

I’m afraid.  I am scared of many things in this world (spiders, sickness, and failure among them), but I am usually afraid for me.   Even if its about my parents, like when my mother was in and out the ER a couple of years ago and we still don’t know why, it’s ultimately selfish.  It’s how the tragedy will affect me, my family, my world.  But now, it’s a deeper, primal fear that I am not really equipped to deal with at this time in my life and there is nothing I can do to lessen it.

I am terrified for my son.

He doesn’t even exist.  I’m not in a place to raise anyone but me at the moment.  He is at least 5 years away from conception, and I’m terrified for him.  Because no matter what race his father is, no matter how much money I/we make, how he is educated, where he is raised, the fact remains that he will be a Black man in America.  And that terrifies me.

I realize that this seems strange.  I just got done stating that this wasn’t about Michael Brown.  But the fact remains that it is hard to be a Black man in this country, and I am scared for my baby before he is even a possibility.  Look, I’m not blind to the faults and problems within my community.  My sister is right, black-on-black crime is such a bigger problem than police brutality yet we’re up in arms when we feel that someone else has hurt us.  Like most forms of abuse, you are much more likely to be hurt by the ones you know and see and are the same color as than a stranger.  And that’s why I’m afraid.

While I don’t have an opinion on the Darren Wilson/Michael Brown case and while I have never had anything but helpful, courteous service from police officers, I am not naive about the relationship between the police and the Black community.  But I’m a woman.  When I had a flat at night in the suburbs, where you have to be careful DWB at high noon, when a police officer saw a car at an empty gas station and a strange Black person peering through the windows for a clerk, when he asked what was happening, I whirled around, flashed a smile, and clutching my coat around my curves, proclaimed that I was so happy to see him because I needed quarters for the air pump and the gas station that I thought was manned was actually closed.  At which time he shut off the flashlight that had moved to my face, got out of his car, and offered to escort me to 7/11.  Do I think that would have gone differently if instead of being female, I had been male?  Hell yes.  And I’m not a small girl.  If a 6 foot, statuesque Black man had turned around and said that he was looking for the clerk cause he needed some change, there would have been some friction.  And that’s the problem.  I will have to teach my son not to be afraid of cops, but to always be actively non-threatening to a population that will often view him as thus.  No matter how educated he is or what his reasons may be, I will have to teach him a whole set of rules that he will have to follow or risk the grave consequences.

I will have to teach him to not antagonize his fellow brothas if he doesn’t know them well enough.  I will have to make sure that he doesn’t go out at night in dark colors that make him look like a suspect.  I will have to drill into him to never run down the street if not in obvious running clothes after the age of 10, and that he should probably find a closed track or treadmill to be safe.  I will have to teach him how to make sure that his footsteps are heard so that he won’t inadvertently sneak up on someone.  And I will have to comfort him and prepare him for the shock, surprise, assumptions, and fear that he will inevitably eventually encounter, from members of other races and his own.  For not getting angry when a woman clutches her purse when she sees him.  For being amused and not insulted when people think he’s in college because he plays a sport and not for a career (for any son of mine WILL go to college and earn a good education through academia, even if he might also be on the basketball team).  For forgiving people like me, who will judge him against their will.

Because I have.  I do.  And it is a horrible thing, that at 25, I am afraid that my eventual son will face some of the shame I carry.  How I froze when a Black man all in black ran toward me, and the anger I felt towards myself when his valet uniform was revealed and he plucked keys from the person standing behind me.  The way I clutched my backpack tighter on campus when a Black male student with his scarf covering half of his face walked toward me a few weeks ago during an especially vicious MI cold spell and stopped as we passed to compliment my dreads.

I am afraid that he will be treated the way Black men in my life have already been treated.  I am afraid that he will be arrested for driving erratically within his lane like my father.  I am afraid he will be ticketed for loitering while sitting on a bench outside his apartment like my cousin.  I am afraid he will have a gun drawn on him by cops while reaching for his wallet like my boyfriend.  And I am afraid that I will be a heartbroken mother like Sabrina Fulton, Sam Rice, Wanda Johnson, Alice Faye Williams, and so many others.  I am afraid of the pressures he will face, of the judgments made concerning him before knowing him, of the struggle he must overcome.  I am afraid of him being afraid to ask for help, I am afraid of him befriending those who might lead him down a bad path, I am afraid of him succumbing to the stereotypes and I am afraid of being so scared that I separate him from the community that could help and hinder him, but a community that he will need nonetheless.

I am terrified for my son.

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October 9, 2014

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But Without Snacktime

Hello blog readers! If I have any followers, I applaud you; y’all are some loyal sons-of-a-gun because I haven’t posted anything since before my birthday in July. Sorry… But I’m back now! (sidenote: No, I’m not really.) Look, I’m a college student okay? I am writing this while I’m supposed to be studying *You see the theme? Posts when I shouldn’t be posting?* for my Psychology of Women exam but I have been in the library–not at school, just in the library–for going on eight hours now and I’m pretty positive I’ve hit my saturation point. One more chapter to read, and frack it, I’m going home and probably picking up chicken wings on my way there because I have had a PopTart and a cookie to eat today and I’ll probably start gnawing on my Kindle soon because it looks like a delicious big blue sandwich and now I’m hungrier and off topic. What I was going for was the fact that I’m a graduating senior *yay! I SAID “YAY” FOR ME INTERNET!* and I’m taking a number of classes that keep me quite married to my laptop/backpack and getting constantly bombarded with advice THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN HELPFUL 2 YEARS AGO about what to do and expect when I graduate and how I’m never going to make enough money to survive AND pay Sallie Mae back and how I really should have majored in business or been smarter and pursued an engineering degree like my sister wanted me to. And I didn’t even spell engineering right. *bangs head on desk, effect somewhat lessened by sheer volume of dreadlocs* But hey, its all good because that brings me right to this post’s point: how being a senior in college, and probably high school, is like being 7 again.

Now I know what you all (what, I have like 3 readers twice a month?) are thinking. “Musique23, you’ve been in the library too long and the stress of learning about modern sexism has broken you.” Well you’re wrong, 3 readers! Actually, you may be right, I am quite overstudied at the moment… But hear me out anyway. The question that I by far hear the most is, “So what do you want to do after you graduate?” Seriously, my top heard phrases these days are “Hello,” “How are you,” “What did you do this weekend,” and “So what are your plans after graduation?” In all actuality, I have no idea. Psychology graduate school is NOT going to happen (we won’t talk about my dreams of being a music or sex therapist went so wrong. Also, that combo would have been AWESOME!). In an ideal world, I think I’d like to be an editor: read books all day, correct them of their grammatical mistakes (seriously, whomevers’ jobs those are: you are slipping), send notes back to the authors about changes and either recommend or reject them from publishing. I would get paid to read and drink hot chocolate in baggy shirts! I’m actually calling this plan D, not because I have to go through my other options first, but because I don’t really know how to get to that point. At all. Will I need another BA, this one in English? *I would totally be willing to do that.* In a practical world, I’ll apply for a job with the UAW and also put my feelers out in the city I hope to move to, but I have no concrete plans. And that isn’t the point of this post! Quick, ignore the last 10 lines so I can get back to my glib point!

See, the thing about being asked what I’m going to do after college EVERY 5 MUTHA FRACKING MINUTES is that it triggered a memory in the deep reaches of my brain. (I don’t know what they’re called, if I were good at biology I would probably be pursuing a Bachelor of Science instead of a Bachelor of Arts and probably wouldn’t have this issue cause I’d still be on my failed-because-frack-biology-that’s-why premed track.) When I was just a wee lassie, EVERYONE asked me one question: What do you want to be when you grow up? Teachers, my sister, family members, friends of my parents, other kids; you name them, they asked it. I think I got asked that question at least once a month. I had a lot of potential future occupations over the years. This is what I remember, in as close of order as I recall: Ballet dancer, stripper (look, I just knew they always were portrayed as having singles [for the vending machine] and they seemed kind of magical and powerful. Why can’t I write/study about THAT in my Psych of Women class?!), astronaut, President, scientist who would discover the cure for cancer, Broadway actress, opera singer, psychiatrist, musical therapist, sex therapist, UU minister, and finally, currently, someone who was done with school and had a full time job and her own insurance. (And possible future senator: it’s just an idea I throw around my mind like every other day.) (And also a writer. I need more followers so I can accurately judge my potential/talent.)

When you’re seven and you’ve just mastered the tying your own shoes thing, the world is your oyster. You don’t even know what oysters are or what that expression means and its still your oyster! And, in theory, that’s the situation when you’re finishing up in school. When I was 17 and applying for colleges, I had no idea what was going to happen in my future, but I knew it was going to be great and I was going to crush it! Oh, to be 17 and full of spunk again! *Dirty joke registered and deleted with the comment “But some of my friends…” left for inappropriate chuckles* And to be honest, I needed some of it. *SOME of it, life; I think I’m strong enough now, thanks, you can stop throwing stuff that could kill me …* Learned some life lessons, sun rose again when I thought my life was over, grew as a person, met some cool people, sang a lot of karaoke. (Learned the signs that the guy you’re dating also likes guys! Undervalued but still important.)

And now I’m at that point again. May 2015, unless I seriously frack up (in which case you all will never hear from me again because my mother has honestly threatened to kill me if I don’t graduate by the end of the year), I will walk across the commencement stage and be done with my academic journey. *For now. I fully intend on getting a Masters and hopefully a PhD someday.* Once again, I’m at a point in my life when I can try to decide what I want to be when I grow up. And I find it flipping hilarious! *Whoops, you thought I was gonna be all serious! I have to keep you on your toes internet, keep you guessing! …and I’ll [probably] be serious later, as is my style.* 18 years later, and I’m still getting asked what I want to be when I grow up! If I didn’t know when I was 7, why would I know when I’m 25?! Sometimes, I wish the world were like “Futurama” and I could have an assessment that let me know what I would honestly be best and happiest working as. Then again, that hand chip piercer thingy looked quite painful and I already have enough holes as is… *In my EARS you hentai! Three piercings in my EARS!*

Because you see, I really, honestly have absolutely NO IDEA what I want to be when I grow up. *And don’t give me that mess about how no one really knows, parents/sister and boyfriend! All of you are employed/retired and have at least your first secondary edumacation degrees already!* Honestly, part of me wants to drive a truck across country, because why the hell not? Careers discussed by my psychology advisors, aka the people who have been out in the real world with their undergraduate psych degrees and now what my prospects realistically are: customer service advisor, waiter, retail manager, hospital administrator, and graduate student. I kid you not, they don’t even know! One of the leading factors in me choosing psychology as a major was that I didn’t want to sit in a cubicle all day. Now, I honestly don’t care. I, Musique23, have absolutely no idea what/who I want to be as an adult. And it stresses me out. Until it doesn’t. See, I tend to get a little tunnel-visiony about the future. I skip right over the class tomorrow and stress that I won’t find a nice guy to marry in Philadelphia. Jump over the MEAL I SHOULD BE EATING RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND and right into how am I going to save up money for retirement. One of my biggest obstacles is focusing on the present. And I am determined to do that. I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, and I don’t care right now! All I can do is worry about my here and now. Whether or not I find a job in Philly is out of my hands at the moment. (However, if any of my readers know of any upcoming jobs for recent college graduates with psychology degrees, absolutely no real work experience other than movie ushering/condiment standing, and a starting salary of six figures, please feel free to leave a comment. And a moving stipend. Philly is far and my car is old…) I am going to retreat into the innocence of Musique of old, and believe that it will all work out as I munch on Doritos. *No, seriously, they had a sale on Doritos at Kroger’s. And it brings my title back into play so roll with it!*

Because push come to shove, stripping really is still an option.

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July 20, 2014

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Feliz Cumpleaños

I have a birthday coming up. Musique23 turns 25 in less than 2 weeks! A quarter of a century, I have been on this planet, breathing its air and hopefully contributing to its existence… That’s kind of heavy. I may need to take a minute…

And I’m back, since this is a blog and not in real time (thank heavens, or the few post I have so far would have sometimes taken y’all months to read, fully completed and edited) and you only see what I want you to see and I feel that the “…” properly portrayed my angst at the time.

I am a Leo. A lady lion. Also know as a lioness. Because that is the proper title for a lady lion. Making my second sentence unnecessary. Anyway… As A Leo, I am supposedly feisty and fiery and fierce and apparently a lot of positive f words. I’m also passionate and loyal. I am a fire sign. I am Hestia. There are those who know who I actually am, behind (actually, in front of) the booty-less-ness. THEY WILL GIVE ME PRESENTS. Everybody else just knows me from my picture and I hope (please God) that no one has become so taken with my blog that they’ve hunted my actual identity down, because what’s the point of hiding behind a made-up persona on the internet if people actually know you? Even though I would be flattered that my writing moved you that much and it might cement my interest in pursuing a MFA in Creative Writing which my family often tell me I should be doing. (Keep it together girl, there was a point to this post!)

As I inch ever closer to this milestone birthday, I have decided to stay [mostly] positive. I had a bad birthday last year. I was going to celebrate it and be happy but then my mother kind of told me that I hadn’t done much with my life to celebrate and then I was all depressed and she acted surprised which made me mad and I like to hold grudges which is hard to do when you’re parents still mostly support you and require regular check-ins to make sure you’re still alive… This birthday, I shall be happy! True, I may not be in the place in my life that I originally envisioned when I started high school or college, but hey, I have no babies, I haven’t been arrested, and good books are still being written every day. Life could be worse.

However, a rosy post gushing about all the Snow White-esq things that make my life tolerable would be beyond boring to read and write, so I’m going to take a honest look at those things that both made me happy and sad as I approach the end of my first quarter century.

  1. CON: I haven’t really started my life yet.   No job/career, no apartment/residence of my own.  Still kind of in limbo here…
  2. PRO: This is the last birthday I’ll spend as an undergrad in college because I GRADUATE IN MAY!
  3. PRO: I have travelled quite a bit.  Four continents, ten countries.
  4. CON: I don’t have a real resume.  About four months working in a movie theater in my twenties, that’s all I got.
  5. CON: I didn’t have a semester abroad.
  6. PRO: I have a pretty good relationship with my family.
  7. PRO: I don’t have any mortal enemies. Except Paris Hilton.  She just irks me.  But I’m 99.99% positive that hatred is one way.  Unless you want to start something?!
  8. PRO: Have I mentioned that there are good books to read and how happy this makes me in general?
  9. CON: I don’t think I’m going to be able to pledge this sorority that I’ve wanted to since I was little while in college.  And it’s much more expensive doing it via grad chapter.  And my mother was going to pay if I did it while in college.
  10. CON: I have no money.  None.  That sucks so much.
  11. PRO: I have quality friends who make me happy.
  12. PRO: I have an awesome boyfriend who makes me happy.
  13. PRO: I have big boobs.  Is it altruistic and helpful to the world in general? No.  But I’m tall and I have feet that it’s hard to find shoes, especially cute ones, for, and it helps that I have pretty awesome melons to cope with all that.
  14. PRO and CON: I hail from Detroit.  (This is a post in and of itself; I’ll get there eventually, I promise.)
  15. PRO: My music taste is superb.
  16. CON: My sister doesn’t live in the same city or state as me and in less than 2 months, she’ll be moving farther away after she gets married and leaves me as the only LAST NAME OMITTED FOR SECURITY REASONS and I’ll be a fifth wheel in my immediate family.
  17. PRO: I have an awesome older sister
  18. PRO: I never truly went hungry.  I came from a family of not modest means and that afforded me opportunities that have shaped me into the woman I am.
  19. CON: I really worry that I’m not going to be able to provide that experience for my own kids.
  20. PRO, and I’m going to continue with PROs from here on out:  I honestly consider myself in the top 90% of readers in the world.
  21. PRO:I have a wonderful voice (that I should probably take more lessons for).
  22. PRO: I took 10 years of piano and I loved it and my teacher was one of the nicest piano teachers in the land of Michigan.
  23. PRO: For my last piano recital/competition, I beat this one student who won 1st place EVERY YEAR and even had his own students and I realize that it shouldn’t really matter, but I still feel pretty damn good about that over 5 years later.
  24. PRO: I have awesome style.  Not for a big girl, not for a Black girl; I have awesome style in general.
  25. PRO: My future, despite all my worrying, is still pretty damn bright.

And thusly, I greet 25 with open and honest arms.