The World…As I See It: (What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You) Stronger…Or Jaded

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…or jaded.”

Jokingly a friend said that a few months ago about an expected ending to an unfortunate romantic endeavour. While we both laughed about it, saying it out loud (or typing it as it was actually over Facebook chat) made both of us pause. (Thanks, Lesbro.) Sure getting hurt makes you more adept to recognizing the warning signs and being able to deal with something similar in the future (…stronger). BUT it’s rarely a happily learnt lesson (…jaded).

Shades of Understanding: Finally a Black Disney Princess

Over the Christmas holidays, I took my mother and grandmother to go see Disney’s “The Princess and the Frog”. Three generations of black women sat in a movie theater in the middle of the day on a Wednesday to somewhat celebrate Disney’s first black Disney princess.

Quarterlife Crisis: Old Soul (a.k.a. You’re Only 25?)

I’m not trying to put a negative label on mid-20-somethings but when people are shocked that I’m only 25, I’ve decided to only take that as a good thing. Granted, they could just be saying I look old but since I disagree, if that’s what they mean, to hell with them and their opinions. I’m only embracing the positive. The older you get, the closer to 19/undergrad-ish 25 sounds. I get that. I am, however, no longer on that level. I grew up quick (seemingly voluntarily) and have no desire to go back. Although, every now and again, I’ll give in and have a Halloween Ho moment. I am afterall only 25. I’m allowed. Haha.

Eye of the Beholder: Late Bloomer

High school was especially interesting. I had the personality of a 40-year-old with the body of a 12-year-old boy. (Maybe not really the boy part but that’s how it feels when you think everyone else looks like a coke bottle and you more closely resemble a ruler.) That was not exactly a winning combination. I never really had to worry about the boys falling head over heels. To be honest, I’m a little thankful for that lack of attention now. I, at least, never have to deal with losing that level of interest. I can imagine that change would be even more upsetting than never having it. But, trust, it sucked then. The only people who paid any attention were good friends who just seemed to realize I was a female. Very flattering.

Eye of the Beholder: Vanity of Sight

As hormones started to kick in and the pretty girls were identified (for at least the next 10 years), being scrawny and boyish was bad enough. But I had to wear these thick plastic glasses too?! They were just setting me up for social failure. Beauties never wear glasses. You don’t see singers, actresses or models with glasses unless they’re playing the part of the nerdy and the less attractive. Glasses were like having braces, being flat-chested and having short hair. You just didn’t want that. Glasses did not equal attractive.

Quarterlife Crisis: Reminiscing: A Double-Edged Sword

With karma making itself entirely too comfortable on my couch, I’ve spent unnecessary hours reminiscing; when things were good, when my life sucked more than it does now (or at least it felt that way at the time), when someone made me feel loved, when someone (or the same person) made me feel pathetic, when I had friends forever and new enemies everyday, when I liked the way I looked, when I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror, when I was smart, when I felt stupid. It always amazes me how much I remember and how much of it I wish I didn’t.

Eye of the Beholder: Brown Sugar, Can I Love You?

In Iowa (or just about anywhere else in US), I would not have been the 1st, 2nd or even 3rd person someone would look at in our group. However, in Florence, to my surprise (and that of some of my roommates…), I was often the object of attention. How odd it was to be walking to class through the market and hear “Brown Sugar, Can I love you?” in a thick Italian accent. Well of course you can’t but thanks.

Romantic Cynic: What’s on Your Men-U/Fine List?

I’m not sure if the items on my Men-U have grown or shrank but I am sure they’ve evolved at least a little at the same time. Nice arms and over 6’1 would still be great but I’d be more than happy to give up a little firmness and a few inches for a similar sense of humor and the ability to just sit in silence together. Little things, really. In high school having a boyfriend/girlfriend was almost a status symbol. Now it seems like it means you’re lucky or skilled enough to draw someone else willingly into your craziness.

Quarterlife Crisis: Quarterlife Crisis or Just Boredom?

If I’m living like I’m 40 now, what’ll be interesting about actually being 40? I’ve joked (but was secretly terrified) that I’d regress about that time and look and/or act like a Ricki Lake guest. I need to act like I’m in my twenties while I’m still technically in my twenties. And I’m already half way done with that.

Romantic Cynic: Reconnecting

There are few people I loathe… Everyone else, exes, old friends, etc, has pretty much just faded into the past. You miss the memories of being with them but don’t regret any of it or make any real efforts to recreate them. But what about when they come back into your life? How do you handle introducing the new you to someone who knew the old one?