"Depression Is Humiliating..."

Saw this on a Tumblr page while surfing the net and avoiding my life:

"...It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed.

"You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation.

"Depression is humiliating. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. 

"Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression..."

WORD.

*smooches...and nothing else*
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I think this blogger said pretty much everything I was thinking and feeling.

"Ai Se Eu Te Pego!"

I blame Mari for getting this song stuck in my head. Usually I only listen to old, jazzy bassa novas (think: "Girl from Ipanema") but now THIS is the latest tune to enhance my Portuguese vocabulary:



If you say your toe wasn't tapping along, you're lying to me, yourself and Baby Jesus.

*smooches...trying to nail the perfect Portuguese accent*
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it's what us dateless wonders do while the rest of y'all are out having sex

Ciao, Bello!! Ciao, Bella!!

On a recent visit with my Penzo Grandmother (whose name, I just learned, isn't even Penzo because she was never married to the Penzo Grandfather...CHILD...scandalous!) I happened to ask the question I've been meaning to ask my whole life: What the hell kind of name is Penzo anyway?

I don't know any other Latinos with that name (that aren't already related to me) and when I've Googled my name in the past, I just get a bunch of Italian people. And now I know why.

Way back when, a Sicilian Penzo did the horizontal watusi with some locals on the island of Hispaniola and KA-BLAMMY! Now you have to deal with my American-Dominican-probably-Haitian-not-at-all-Trini-and-now-Sicilian ratchet ass.

This flag is weird. Yeah, I said it!

All of a sudden things make sense. Like this Romanesque (translation: BIG) nose we all have. Or the fact that my Italian teacher in high school kept insisting that my name was not Spanish. Or that time some random Italian guy hit me up through a genealogy site asking if we were possibly related because he was tracing his family line and it lead him to me (I told him "Nah, bro, my people are darker than a muggg and they're all from DR!").

Does this mean I will be grand marshal of the Columbus Day parade in New York City? Fuggetaboutit! You already know how I feel about that Eurotrash and his harbingers of oppression. Does it mean that from now on you should check under your covers for the heads of your beloved pets before you turn in for the night?



Abso-fucking-lutely!

*smooches...buying a shiny, pinstriped suit and fedora*
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also, I'm gonna need another flag for my collection.

I Want Gerlado To Shut The Hell Up.

The problem with freedom of speech is that you have to extend the right to morons, too. This never upsets me more than when so-called journalists and people with a lot of notoriety are reckless with what they say publicly.

Last week, Geraldo Rivera tweeted that Trayvon Martin's hooded sweatshirt was as much to blame for his death as the man who shot him. That Blacks and Latinos need to warn their children about wearing the popular garment, as it may result in them being perceived as suspicious troublemakers.

First of all, I want to punch Geraldo in the face SO HARD for that statement, which, I tweeted back to him, is akin to telling a woman her mini-skirt was to blame for her rape. Are we still on this clothing shit? We're blaming the victim because he wore a garment that is worn by young men and women--of all backgrounds--across the country? A basic piece of outerwear that's meant to keep us warm in the spring and fall? Get all the way the fuck out of here, Geraldo, and have a seat.

Second, it divides us as a people, GERALDO, when you sit there trying to rep your Latino background but then do us a disservice by not acknowledging what's really going on. People who look to you (for whatever reason) might take your comment and feel like they're wrong for being upset with the system or with the shooter. Don't shame us in this way. We have a right to be outraged. A hoodie had NOTHING to do with this.

Lastly, his ignorant statement trivializes the fact that a young Black man was pursued, shot and killed by a racist, wannabe cop who targeted him for the simple fact that he was black and walking around in a gated community, even after the 911 dispatcher told him not to get out of his car.

I've always thought Geraldo was full of it. Even as a little girl the sight of his stupid, mustached face annoyed me to no ends. His latest comment (an attempt at hogging the spotlight?) just validated my initial opinion.

*smooches...tired of these pundits twisting the truth*
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y'all wonder why I don't bother with the news...

For The Love Of Wellness

In February, I hosted a wellness workshop with The F$%K-It List, something she and I had chatted about last year and we somehow, in between our very busy family and professional lives, made happen. We invited two trainers to demonstrate fun workouts to our attendees, and a holistic health counselor to offer tips on lifestyle changes that will help improve your overall health. It was a success.

Soon after we realized if we wanted to plan more events, we'd need to really get organized. So we officially started Baobab Wellness, a comprehensive site to help our readers find the perfect mind-body-soul balance in their lives.

We're super proud of this endeavor and I hope you all visit our site (often). More importantly, we hope you use the site to take whatever isn't working in your life and make it better.

(c) 2012 Marcin Kaliski

Who'd a-thunk that your favorite, Jaded couch potato would help start a wellness site? Child. End of days, for sure. Repent now!

*smooches...excited about this new venture*
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special shout out to the homie Michelle for not strangling us through the whole site-building process. we owe her many cases of alcohol!

Sums Me Up Pretty Well

"I don't stop eating when I'm full, I stop eating when I hate myself." -comedian Louis C. K.

No amount of dance classes will conquer the power of salty potato chips and 1AM bagels. Fuck my life!

*smooches...pissed off with myself*
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I just want to crawl into my brain and fix whatever shit won't let me stop binging.

If You See Me Rockin' A Haitian Flag...

...and sporting rock-hard abs, this is why:



I'll be taking this class from now on. I had a taste and now I'm addicted.

It's the drums; it's gotta be. "It be calling me, man!"

Just...don't tell my grandfathers, okay?

*smooches...taking shit up a notch*
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this body isn't going to mold itself, you know!

And The Song Remains The Same

Even after all these years...

• the sight of my own blood makes me light-headed and nauseous. Yes, even THAT blood that comes every month like clockwork.
• I try to delegate messy medical stuff for the girls to their dad. Like teeth extractions and vaccinations.
• all of my favorite movies- "Gone With The Wind," "Love Story," "West Side Story," and "Grease," still make me cry like a little girl.
• I always feel bad after I punish my kids. Sometimes I even want to cry, too.
• I'm still in love with John Cusack. And Slash.
• my grandmother's death is the biggest tragedy in my lifetime.
• I have delusions of being a singer (even though I can't carry a tune to save my life).
• the thought of eating liver or eggplant makes me gag.
• I'd still choose writing over science as my career.
• I'm not comfortable with someone calling me "mom."

*smooches...firmly set in my ways*
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old dogs. new tricks. ain't happening.

"...I Came Here To Get On Bad..."

Because I cannot afford to travel to Trinidad and Tobago just yet, the Carnival season doesn't start for this newbie until after the Soca Monarch winners have been announced. So roughly right around Ash Wednesday is when I'm in full swing obsession over the latest tunes. This will be my second full year as a soca music enthusiast and let me tell you- my love for this genre of Caribbean music is not waning. Not even a little bit. I honestly can't recall listening to much of anything else since February 22.

So while I'm busy planning and plotting to hit up as many stateside West Indian carnivals this year, I thought I'd leave you with two different DJ mixes to download (click HERE and HERE) of some of the best 2012 tunes, as well as some of the accompanying videos below.















A lot of my other faves don't have actual videos or performances so I'm only putting up seven videos even though it's making my left eye twitch to not have ten. But be sure to look up Destra Garcia, Benjai and Swappi for some more hotness. Or just keep it planted at IslandMix.com.

You can thank me later. In cash. Or plane fare to TnT Carnival 2013.

*smooches...waving my rag and mashing up di place*
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how can you not love this music? it's great for an instant pick me up!

Swimming, Yes; Capoeira, No: A Healthy Jaded Update

Hello my lovelies, and welcome to another Monday full of possibilities! I don't know why I'm so chipper but just go with it; The Spiral will be back soon enough.

I just wanted to offer an update on my fitness journey... it's pretty much as stagnant as my writing career. I mean, it's not as drastic as "I've gained back all the weight I lost" because I'm still holding steady at 177lbs (that's a guesstimate, seeing as my clothes all fit the same), but I'm not as pressed and devoted to it as I once was. No worries, though, I'm working on re-motivating myself.

To that end I started swimming on Saturdays through the NYC Dept of Parks & Recreations' Learn To Swim program. Mind you, I already know how to swim, well, the basics, anyway, but I didn't have any proper form to my strokes. I'm glad to say that my freestyle and backstroke have improved a lot, and I've even begun to take breaths on every third stroke without swallowing or breathing in water, or drowning. That breathing shit has been a monkey on my back for ages; I'm truly happy that I've begun to conquer it.

However... This past Saturday my instructor attempted to get us started with the breast stroke. CHILD!! ::moment of silence for my dignity and patience:: He's only taught us the kicking part so far and already I'm OVER IT. It just doesn't feel like a natural movement my legs should be making! And to go from pointing my toes to flexing my feet and then pushing out and snapping back LAWDAMERCY my ADHD can't remember all that mess. What's going to happen when he adds in the arms? I might just up-and-exit the pool.

Of course, this heffa right here makes it look super easy:


but it's not. And look at the explanation:

• When the leg motion starts, the knees bend, and the feet are brought towards to the buttocks.
• While the feet are brought towards the buttocks, they also flex towards the tibia (dorsiflexion).
• During this motion, the knees should stay close together and not be brought forward too much. It's rather a motion where the lower leg folds onto the upper leg. The upper leg only flexes slightly at the hip.
• Once the feet are at the buttocks the knees separate and the feet turn outwards.
• When the knees are about two feet apart, the propulsive phase of the kick starts. The legs extend and the feet, while still turned outwards, flex forward again (plantar flexion).
• Finally, once the legs have completely extended, they are pressed together. The feet turn back inward until they are parallel.
• A short glide phase ensues before the cycle starts anew.

Man, listen. Fuck the breaststroke and everything it stands for. I am not looking forward to next week's class at all. (I'm lying. I love swimming. I just don't like not being good at something in the water.)

NOW let me tell you about a special kind of humiliation in my life I like to call Jaded Tries Capoeira. First of all, this is what it's supposed to look like:



Here's what I looked like in class:



I. Was lost. The ENTIRE time. As soon as I was taught a move I forgot it. My brain and body refused to retain any information whatsoever, and the instructor just kept moving forward with the lesson, yelling out things like "Don't give up" and "Keep moving." NEGRO. If you don't shut the hell up... is what I wanted to say, but I held back and just let him do his thing. This class, though, it was just too much for me. The workout itself was good; I enjoy feeling the sore muscles the next day because it means I did something awesome with my body. But in general, capoeira will just be one of those things I can say I tried and just keep it moving from there. God bless all y'all who do this shit because I'm NOT the one!

*smooches...still recovering from Saturday*
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did I mention that swimming has been fucking with my vertigo? yeah, man, all that water in my ear canal = no bueno. now I have to be the dork in class who wears ear plugs. BLERG!

This Brand Means______

Recently I sat in on a little presentation by AIGA/NY on in-house branding and marketing teams (of which I'm a part of at work). Not something you'd think I'd be into, huh? Well, when offered the opportunity to attend, two thoughts crossed my mind:

1- I really like my job, and anything I can do or learn to be a real contribution and asset to the organization is more than welcome on my TO DO list.

and

2- This blog, and everything I do under the Jaded Empire umbrella, is my brand, so it would serve me well to run it as best I can.

While the panelists- Jeffrey Keyton of MTV, Sandra Monteparo of Victoria's Secret Beauty, and Steve Rura from Google Creative Labs- discussed how their in-house teams work their magic, I sat there and applied what I could to me, my job and my blog. Things that came up included staying fresh in the consumers' eyes, avoiding burnout and what it takes to run a successful team. It was especially timely as I prepared to embark on yet another professional endeavor (that I'll share with you all soon).

All the while I also had in mind a few tweets I'd received lately, tweets that associated my Jaded brand with machetes, speaking Spanish and being angry all the time. Is that what my name makes people think of? For realzz?? I'm not sure that's all I want to be known for. I mean, sure, I'd like you to know that I would not hesitate to take your life if you come at me, but I don't want it to be the only thing you know me for. Maybe it's time to reevaluate the message I'm putting out into the web-o-sphere.

So you guys tell me- when you think of The Jaded NYer, besides envying my total existence and/or lusting after me something awful, what images and concepts are conjured up in your mind's eye? Leave it in the comments!

*smooches...actually seeking feedback*
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'cause y'all know usually I give nan a rat's ass what y'all have to say...lol!

Shit Mami Says, Part Tres

MAMI: (telling me what she told an old friend who was complaining about being depressed) You're still on that? Didn't you read that book already?

ME: (laughing) Oh my god, I'm stealing that line- "Didn't you read that book already?" Hilarious!

MAMI: Well that won't work for you; you keep reading the same book over and over again...

*smooches...thinking I may have to take another Mami break*
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like, for real though, where is she getting her information??

Talk About White Privilege...

King James took that shit to the next level. His OWN version of the bible? The book supposedly written by god n shit? Really, James? Oh, okay.

And y'all swear by that version, too. I know you do. Isn't it the official version of most non-catholic Christian churches? Do y'all realize you're reading a version of the bible that some monarch decided to edit to suit his needs? Like a renegade, blasphemous copy writer? Correct me if I'm wrong...

But when this first occurred to me years ago I just had this vision of KJ sitting on his throne, all pensive-like and then

KJ: You know what? I'm gonna edit the bible. That's cool, right? I'm as good and important as god, right? Also, I need it to appeal to my subjects. Everyone else can suck it!

What? Oh, you don't think King James told people to suck it? I guarantee you he did. Besides- how are you going to prove me wrong?

That said, how do I go about editing the bible to reflect the TRUE story of Adam and Eve?

*smooches...getting an old thought off my chest*
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I've been sitting on that one for a while now.

She Called Me Out, Yo!

*smooches...hearing stuff I already knew*
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Patti is the main reason I quit all carnal activities almost two years ago. She be knowing.

Before She Goes Off To College

In just a couple of short years, my eldest child, K, will be a college freshman. ZOINKS! And even though most of the schools she is considering are on the Right East Coast, I'm starting to prepare all of us for her departure.

Her 1st birthday; Hornell, NY

I need N to be more independent of her older sister and take charge around the house more. I need K to be fully prepared to cook her own meals, wash her own clothes and avoid dangerous situations college freshmen get into as much as possible. And I need to be at peace with the fact that she'll soon be an adult who will make mistakes I cannot prevent. And also that she's not my chunky little K-Bear anymore ::weeps into keyboard::

To that end, I've been looking for ways to spend one-on-one time with each kid, starting with K. They both have different core interests so it's easy to split this us: K likes artsy, showy things; N prefers sporty and crafty things.

Wicked fanatic

Last month I took K to see the Broadway musical "Wicked" as her belated Christmas gift. Not only did we take in a show, we took advantage of Restaurant Week in Manhattan and had a pre-theater grubfest at Le Cirque. And if you're sitting there thinking the word grubfest shouldn't be in the same sentence with Le Cirque, you're right. That place is faaa-aaan-CEE! So we dressed up. As in real shoes and makeup and combed hair. It was the most amazing production I've seen since "West Side Story" and "Chicago" and "The Lion King". I mean, y'all just have to go see it. We're going again in October so maybe you should come with us?

Two WOTLESS gyals

And just this Friday, I took K to her first concert (according to her, but really her first concert was Michelle Branch, Gavin Degraw and this other guy I can't recall Joe Firstman; she just refuses to acknowledge it because it was at Manhattan College and not at a real concert venue). We reveled in the soca greatness that is Kes the Band, David Rudder, Swappi and Benjai. OH WHAT FUN WE HAD!! So much so that we'll be seeing Kes again in September.



For N, I've already plotted out which baseball and basketball games I will be taking her to, as well as trips to go rockwall climbing and to the bookmaking workshops at Michael's (it's an art store here in NYC. Do y'all have those?).

Before I know it this time will slip away from me and BOTH my babies will be gone. My plan here is to make the most of it, plant some seeds of hidden wisdom and then sit back and watch my babies bloom into womanhood with great heads on their shoulders. So far, so good. I'm going broke with all these fancy dinners and shows and trips out of the country but in the end I know it will be worth it.

I mean, you can't take it with you, right? The memories, however, will last a lifetime.

*smooches...just realizing my babies aren't babies*
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now please excuse me while I go somewhere to look at their old pictures and sob inconsolably.

No. She. Didn't.

ME: But y'all don't even do anything around the house in order to get an allowance.

K: WHAT? You mean besides living, breathing and being beautiful young girls?

ME: Let me get this straight: you want me to PAY YOU FOR BREATHING?

K: Why not?

ME: You want me to pay you for sucking up the oxygen in the apartment I pay for? You should be paying ME!!

K: You don't pay for [the oxygen]...it's just there.

ME: So why should I pay you for breathing something that's already there?

K: What? You're not making any sense right now.

ME: I'M NOT MAKING ANY SENSE?!?!?!?!

*smooches...suffering from a wicked headache*
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this is how most of our conversations go. that girl, I swear...

The Spiral.

I've been meaning to write this post since 2006. However, every time I sat down to write it I told myself it was too much.  

Your readers don't need to know ever single detail about every single misfiring of every single neuron in your brain, Raquel. 

This is going to garner a lot of unsolicited advice. 

They're going to send Bellevue right to your door, stop playing!

But, this is the year I've chosen to be fearless, so here goes.

It usually starts immediately after a string of really great days: my hair is behaving, my belly isn't protruding and the plumbing in my bathroom is running smoothly (no, seriously, this house has the worst pipes ever. It must be a gazillion years old. And that's not a metaphor; I literally have to call my landlord every three months because a shower turns into a flood in 2.7 seconds. But anyway...). I'll have a seat and think, Life is great!

Then it gets out of control:

Well it's great except for A. Yeah, if A were all straightened out, life would be great. Oh and B, too. That is something I've been meaning to take care of for years. What's taking me so long? UGH and I forgot to take care of C like I said I would this week. Dammit, my entire TO DO list went to hell and it's already Thursday so there's no time to catch up. And I need to handle D right away. I'm running out of time on that and if I don't fix it the repercussions will ruin everything. Whatever, everything is ruined anyway. I'm so fucking lazy and stupid! Why didn't I just take care of this shit earlier?

And then I get online, not to take care of business but rather to distract myself from all the thoughts that won't shut up. But what the internet does is accentuate all the people who have seemingly better lives than I do and that makes it worse.

They have their shit together, why don't you? Y'all are the same age and that person over there is way younger than you and they have it together. What the fuck is wrong with you? I swear you're a waste of skin sometimes. I'm so over you!

That leads to my old friend Binging. And Sloth. And I sink into a hole so deep but it's comfortable there. I know this place well. My ass groove is still cemented in the couch down there. It's hard to breathe and it's foggy and I can't really see the doorway that leads out, and that part is a little scary, but it's comfortable. It's cold and it makes me feel numb and apathetic and I find it hard to care about anything, even my own children, but it's comfortable.

Sometimes the only way out is to be forced out by an outside force: a threat from Cablevision that my service will be shut if I don't pay this bill or a note home that N missed an assignment- surely a sign that I'm a bad homemaker and mother, respectively. But sometimes something inside makes me snap out of it. It's like only one of The Voices wants me to be happy but she's been kidnapped by the others and every time this happens it takes her longer and longer to escape. She breaks through somehow and gets me to feel something, anything, and she's so loud and powerful that I cannot ignore her.

You have to do something or you're going to die here. And it's just not our time.

So then I come out of it and begin the task of assessing the Katrina-like damage left in the wake of my Spiral. I put together a plan for how to fix it all and become overwhelmed because there's so much to repair.  
How can I do this all? I'm only one person. Why can't I do this? I need so much help!

Who's going to help you? There is no one. You made this mess. You have to fix it. Stop burdening people with your shit. How old are you, still looking for bailouts?

That Voice is particularly hard to argue with because she's right. I'm almost 37, still looking for someone else to fix me. And that's when I realize my "strong Voice" has been abducted, again, so soon, and now even she can't help me. So I'm half in and half out of the hole, knowing that I have this list of things that must be done but lacking the courage and strength to put on my big girl drawlz. Eventually, she'll escape again, and in that window of freedom I'll make more lists and maybe even get a few things done, but how long until then?

I don't know what I'll do if she never makes it back.

*smooches...hoping I didn't scare you off*
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listen, this is just my reality. that's what you come here for, right? Also, Bellevue is spelled incorrectly in my tags and it's driving me even crazier that there isn't an easy solution to fix it. It's all I can think about and it's keeping me up at night. Welcome to my brain.

1983 Up In This B*tch

I keep hearing this song everywhere, even in my dreams. I don't know what the Universe is trying to tell me. What groove am I not supposed to disturb? WHAT GROOVE?!?!?!



*smooches...letting paranoia destroy me*
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but more on that next week. I'd rather not creep you out my first week back to regular posting.

This Is Your Artery On Fries

A few years ago, Cathi and I went to the Bodies exhibit at the seaport to get a real good look at what our innards look like. It was fascinating! Mostly, it made me think about the impurities I allowed to enter my body and how the amount of body fat I allowed to linger on me would affect my health. I dare say the exhibit contributed to Cathi giving up cigarettes for good. It was an eye-opener and I recommend everyone see this exhibit if it's in your town.

I remembered this trip to the museum when I recently read an article where famous southern foodie, Paula Dean, was quoted as saying "I didn't choose diabetes..." after admitting to having the disease for a couple of years, even as she promoted severely unhealthy recipes on her cooking show (I was shown a link for her Deep Fried Butter recipe and I almost threw up).

www.eatingrules.com

Oh, Paula. You may not have chosen diabetes, but you certainly invited it into your temple every time you ate the crap you were eating and opted for a night on the couch instead of in the gym. Listen, I read the Science Times. I watched my grandmother suffer the effects of and finally succumb to diabetes. You can't tell me that in Paula Dean's case, diabetes was just lurking about waiting to pick on an innocent bystander and afflict them.

A Jaded original drawing/re-enactment; may not be accurate.

That's not how it works. She facilitated it; regardless if she wanted the disease or not, she did nothing to prevent it. People who develop all types of maladies born of their own actions, in my opinion, need to stop acting like this was something awful that happened to them out of the blue. I do wish Ms. Dean well, but I found her statement to be irresponsible. We're in an age where people want to blame the alignment of the planets n shit for their problems and it needs to stop. Obesity, poor health, lack of proper physical fitness is a huge problem in this country, and Ms. Dean's passing-of-the-buck just won't cut it.

You did choose diabetes, Paula. One piece of deep-fried-butter at a time.

*smooches...sick and tired of excuses*
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sometimes I just want to SHAKE people...

"...El Agua No Esta Cerca..."

Forever unrequited. That's what it will say on my tombstone.



*smooches...for this knack of wanting the unattainable*
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...and discarding what's readily available

Jaded Photographs: March 2012 Edition

"Shouldn'tna Been Talking Shit"

*smooches...takin' out you suckas*
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and you don't know how I did it

Non-negotiables: Men Wearing Fur

I don't care if it is Kanye West or some pimp from East New York, a fur coat looks stupid on a man. There. I said it.

I deserve the best and in my opinion, the best doesn't need to hide behind the extravagant flash of a fur coat. I refuse to be associated with such idiocy!

*smooches...being choosy because I can*
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I'm too cute to settle. y'all know this!

Shit Mami Says, Part Dos

"Raquel makes good guys run away crying. She is tough."

*smooches...not amused. at all*
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I don't know how I got this reputation for being a meanie