What Depression Looks Like: A Review Of Something Is Killing Tate

This is another post that was previously written for one of the blogs I used to have that I recently shut down. Y'all wasn't checking for me over there anyway...you barely check for me HERE. But anyway, this is a movie I really loved, and I watch it over and over when I'm feeling down. It's just a reminder, I guess, that things could always be worse. I mean, not that my depression is any less important than his, but you know... things could always be worse.
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Netflix is a beautiful thing, because it allows me to view a plethora of films from the comfort of my beautifully smooshy sofa. Which is exactly where I sat as I watched Something Is Killing Tate- a tale of internal demons, depression and learning to love.

Tate (Jocko Sims of Dreamgirls and the "Crash" TV show) is hella depressed; you know this in the first five minutes of the movie because he downs half a bottle of aspirin and washes it down with drain cleaner. Dude is no joke about being dead, but as his story unfolds you can easily see why.

After his dance with the devil, Tate's friends, fiance and family (Luz Beato, Myron Davis, Vashon Caprice; Aliza Pearl; and Robin Dionne Smith and Kevin Nichols, respectively) attempt to get at the core of what's bothering him, but all Tate wants to do is sit in the dark and smoke cigarettes. And I can hardly blame him.

For an indie flick with virtually unknown actors, Something Is Killing Tate is very well done: the acting, dialogue and direction (by writer/director Leon Lozano) leave one wondering why this never made it to big screens around the country. Then I remembered: nothing blew up and there's only about 5 seconds of nudity... there just isn't a market for smart, African-American films heavy on intellectually alluring content. Maybe if Tate's great-aunt was Madea... but I digress...

The themes covered in this movie- child abuse, fidelity, self-worth- are handled in a realistic fashion. While the characters could have been more fleshed out their dialogue was believable even in the most contrived of situations. Sims shines in his role as Tate with an exceptional ability to depict the true face of depression on the screen.

Heart Wrenching Moment #1:
Young Tate being forced to eat food from the trash at the hands of his evil stepfather.

Heart Wrenching Moment #2:
Grown Tate...and a gun... I won't say more so as not to spoil the film for you.

Heart Wrenching Moment #3:
Young Tate finding his sister... well, I don't want to ruin that for you, either.

Very rarely do I find a movie like this, one that I can watch over and over and never tire of it, but Something Is Killing Tate is one of them. My only complaint: the cookie-cutter resolution towards the end. I could've done without that for sure. Still- two Jaded Thumbs Up!

Get you some!

*smooches...not recommending this for those easily brought to tears*
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Something is Killing Tate (2008). 78 min. Written and Directed by Leon Lozano. Starring Jocko Sims, Aliza Pearl, Luz Beato and Robin Dionne Smith.

Appearances And Book Signings

First, let me thank all NINE of you who bought my book in the first two weeks of it's release. Clearly I'm not breaking any sales records with this little baby, but it was fun to put together and see on the bookshelf in my room. I make art for art's sake, after all. The money is definitely nice, but more importantly, I have a book- it's the coolest feeling!

All that said, I'm starting to organize a summer schedule of readings; a "book tour" of sorts without actually calling it a book tour. It's not like I wrote a novel or anything, but I'd still like to promote my hard work.

If you've bought a book and want it signed, want to buy a book and have it signed, or just love me and literature in general, here's where you can indulge and stalk me:

Sunday, July 1, 7PM: 

Bodega Wine Bar//24 St. Nicholas Avenue//Brooklyn, NY

Monday, July 2, 7PM: 

The Nexus Lounge//76 East 1st Street//New York, NY

Friday, July 6, 6PM: 

Word Up Community Bookstore//4157 Broadway//New York, NY

Sunday, July 22, 4PM: 

La Casa Azul Bookstore//143 E. 103rd Street//New York, NY

Also of note, not only can you purchase my book on CreateSpace and Amazon, it will be on the shelves at Word Up Community Bookstore and La Casa Azul Bookstore starting in July. Get your copy today!

*smooches...buying more ink for my Mont Blanc*
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after I dazzle audiences with my amazing talent, I just know the books will fly off the shelves!

How The Kardashians Pissed Off This Dominican

"Keeping Up with the Kardashians" is my trash TV guilty pleasure. There, I've said it. I relish in all their crappy, fake problems and eat it up like an endless batch of delicious Buffalo wings. I also indulged in the spin-offs and specials; basically, whatever they televise I WILL WATCH. Don't judge me.

The latest episode, however, had me questioning whether or not I can continue to support their shenanigans. Why? Because they kept botching up the name and "image" of my beloved motherland!

FIRST OF ALL the entire clan kept referring to DR as The Dominican. *side eye* Last I checked, we were still a republic and it was reflected in our country's name.

SECONDLY, during scene changes, etc, they kept playing mariachi music and talking about going to snack on some chips and guacamole. *double side-eye* Listen here, non-Latinos, because I'm about to explain something to you once and for all:

DOMINICANS ARE NOT MEXICANS. MEXICANS ARE NOT PUERTO RICANS. PUERTO RICANS ARE NOT VENEZUELAN. VENEZUELANS ARE NOT PANAMANIANS. And so on and so forth. Yes, we all speak Spanish but each country is different, has different roots, a different history and even a different way of bastardizing the Spanish language. You can't just lump us together all the time and expect that shit to go over well, RYAN SEACREST (yes, I blame him. We all know he's the puppetmaster behind this bullshit).

Now, I'm gonna watch the rest of the season ONLY BECAUSE Khloe and Lamar cancelled their show and I'm obsessed with them and I hope to see glimpse of them in future episodes. Still, the Kardashians are officially on Jaded Alert!

*smooches...tired of TVs racial agenda*
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that's right, I SAID IT! TV has a racial agenda and I won't stand for it anymore...right after this season of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians"...

House Keeping: A Jaded Poem

I'm in the process of deleting and consolidating the 50 trillion blogs I maintain, and intertwining them here. From time to time you will see a repost from those other blogs that you never, ever visited (hence why I'm shutting them down) so in essence, it's all new to you, right? Enjoy, bitchezz!
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we were a tangle of limbs the
morning you left
echoes of screeching tires sang
along the parkway below our window
and last night’s fried platanos were still on the table, forgotten.
you stole a kiss from me that morning. as I
stared at the sword encased above your desk
you mumbled, “What are you thinking about?”
“Montauk,” I whispered. “The waves at Ditch Plains.
And the roach spray we bought at that 99-cent store in Miami. Remember?”
you planted another kiss on my face to hide
your lapse in memory. You didn’t remember any of it.
still, my face found a temporary comfort in the curve of your neck, your cologne still lingering with our last trip together,
and we both let sighs escape from our lips.
we were a beautiful mess that morning: me the girl from Brooklyn with too many memories and you the boy from Yugoslavia with none, waiting to be tidied up.

*smooches...showing you some of my writing versatility*
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this is a poem produced as a result of attending the Acentos Writing Workshop at Hostos Community College... in this assignment we had to create a poem using ten words that were written on the board (seen here in bold).

Chicago On My Mind

View from the Field Museum

I've been threatening to visit Alex aka Jack in the Windy City for a while now, and this weekend I finally made good on my promise. What a difference a job makes on my ability to travel, you know? Anyway, let me say this: Chicago was never a place I was itching to visit (except for John Cusack's home in Evanston, which I didn't have time to track down this time around) but I'm so glad I did.

The food, first of all, was amazing. We ate at a Cuban spot, a Cajun spot and a yummy brunch spot and everything was delicious. I'm especially yearning for the tostones rellenos I ate at 90 Miles Cuban Cafe. I'll be cooking those at home sooner rather than later; trust!

Then, I must add, the city itself was correctly described by Alex as a "smaller, cleaner version of New York City" and I have to agree. For being a major city, Chicago is incredibly tidy! We decided it's because the city has and utilizes the alleys for it's trash instead of the curbside system that works so well (sarcasm!) for us here in NY.

Finally, HOLY SHIZNIT- THE BEACH IS ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY HOTEL! I'm in love with the entire concept of Lake Shore Drive and Navy Pier and Lake Michigan and I'm already trying to see if I can return in the dead of summer so I can chill on the beach in an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow, polka-dot bikini!

Finally, someone lighter than me!

I also need to go back to ride the train, which I forgot to do this weekend, and to visit some more galleries, shops and of course, to party in Boystown. Oh yes, I shall return!

*smooches...already looking at my next travel dates*
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I have so many trips to take this and next year, though, I should pace myself.

For Sanity's Sake

Whenever I go a few days without posting, and it's an unscheduled Jaded Break, I get really anxious. The order of things get askew. The Voices get antsy. So here I am, on a Tuesday morning, posting some calming tunes and dating it for Friday.

Because that's the only way I'll be able to sleep tonight.











This nervous breakdown intervention is brought to you by the soothing sounds of Jazz artist Jamie Cullum. Get you some!

*smooches...feeling better but not really*
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I'm at a crossroads with this blog and it's fucking with my internal ecosystem.

Stress Is My Trigger: A Healthy Jaded Post

Confession time, folks: Healthy Jaded has fallen off the wagon, sadly. About a month ago I was dealing with a stressful financial situation, mixed in with a stressful career situation and topped off with a stressful health situation, and that trifecta of stress triggered all of my bad habits. They all resurfaced. Even the bad habit of not giving a fuck and wanting to stay home and wallow in my not-giving-a-fuckedness.

The results are, well, I feel AWFUL. My allergies have kicked into high gear, my skin looks blah, I'm sluggish, fatigued and sad most of the time. I look like a sickly person and I haven't even gotten the final diagnosis yet! And to make matters worse, my last doctor visit proved what I've been trying to deny-I've gained some weight back. It may or may not have pushed me over the edge and caused me to buy food from the Halal cart on Church Ave everyday this week. Allegedly.

The weight gain did slap some reality into me, though, that being: "Raquel, if you don't snap out of it now, everything you've worked toward and all the money you invested into these improvements will be for naught. And no one will ever want to fuck you ever again." (That last part might not be true; I've seen some truly FUGLY pregnant women so clearly somebody is fucking them. Still, don't tell my brain that.)

I realize now, finally, for real, for real, that I do not know how to manage stress and I never have. As soon as I come across an obstacle I freak the fuck out and reach for a bag of potato chips. Or order 2 pizzas. Or bury myself in some Haagen Dazs. And we all know that this DOES. NOT. WORK. But try and convince my brain of this...

Where am I now? Theoretically, I'm enthusiastically motivated to continue eating right and participating in frequent physical activities. I've even purchased some more workout-related Groupon vouchers in the name of getting back to Healthy Jaded status. The reality is that I'm struggling with thinking positively, and until I hear the final word from my doctor, straighten out my money or see some more progress on my writing career I don't know if I'll survive it all.

Feel free to show up at my door with Paleo-friendly casserole dishes and cash gifts. And the number to a literary agent who is going to make shit happen!

*smooches...hoping I haven't let you down*
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I'm thinking up ways to handle the stress, don't worry.

Books Create Lasting Memories

When my girls were little, I made it a point to make books and reading a big part of their lives. We had TONS of books in the house and read to them often, and I'm proud to say my daughters are both still big readers. Seeing their eyes widen with excitement when discussing a favorite book or a great new find makes me excited for them, too.

I was contemplating this as I cleaned out an old USB drive and found a children's book I had been working on, A Tale of Two Sisters, that was based on K & N (I think with the 20 days of InDesign that I have left, I may work on printing it for them as a gift), and that jostled up an old memory of their favorite books growing up.

For K, it was The Foot Book by Dr. Seuss. This child was completely obsessed with the book and made us read it to her multiple times throughout the day. My favorite story to tell is that once, I tried to skip over a few of the pages because I was so sick of reading it, and with her limited motor skills K reached over and turned the page back to what I had skipped and smacked at the book. She was basically saying, as only a seven-month-old can say, "Bitch I ain't stupid! You skipped this page with the clown!" It's safe to say we all had that book memorized! She eventually outgrew The Foot Book, but for almost a year it was all she wanted.

For N, her obsession in a particular book manifested itself when she was a toddler and could speak a little bit; that's when she fell in love with Spike & Tonya Lee's Please, Baby, Please. This reading experience was much better than I had with the The Foot Book, however, because N only sat still for one story at a time before wandering off to stare at whatever shiny thing caught her attention. But I have to say, I'll always remember how she cackled at the baby's naked butt in the story during the bath time scene and would yell out "PEAS BABY PEAS!" as she tried to read along.

Experiences like this remind me of a couple of things: 1- motherhood sucked a lot of the time, but the sweet moments were super sweet, and 2- good books and the stories they contain stay with you forever. This is what I'd like my stories to do.

This is why I write.

*smooches...hoping one of my tales will be your favorite*
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but I suppose they'd have to get published first, huh?

Remnants Of A Young Mother On The Brink

I've been on a mission to get my life in order. I've sorta got a plan in place for my health and fitness (although recent doctor visits have thrown me for a loop. BLAH. You don't wanna know.) and I've tiptoed into the financial security level of adulthood. But the mountain I've yet to conquer? Maintaining an organized apartment.

This month, however, I just dove into making sense of the mess that engulfs me- emptying out one bag of unopened LATE NOTICE bills from 2007 at a time and shredding papers as if the feds were on their way to indict me for insider trading. And let me tell you, I've been coming across the most interesting artifacts from my life as a frustrated wife and then as a new divorcée.

One such trip down memory lane found me face-to-face with the realization that, at one time long, long ago, I used to look up to Oprah. I thought she was an amazing person who only wanted good things for me, so I subscribed to her magazine as a way to compensate for the fact that I didn't have time to watch her show.

If you were (or are) a subscriber, and I don't know if she still has this as part of her magazine, then you'll remember that she always had these tear-outs with poignant, introspective questions for you to answer in order to become the "best you" you could be. I LIVED for those tear-outs as if the meaning of life were embedded in the folio text of each one. One of the folders I dug up in the Hoarders episode I call my room contained at least two dozen of these sheets, one of which was filled out:

My handwriting looks crazy, too.

My heart went out to that 25-year-old who found herself burdened with two small kids when really, she never even wanted ONE, and a husband who, well, wasn't the one for her. She was losing it on the inside but didn't know why or how to fix it.

Somehow I made it through my marriage, and I'm seven short years away from surviving active motherhood, and I can't even really tell you how I did and am doing it. How am I still here, sober, relatively in shape and able to wear a smile sometimes and mean it? White Baby Jesus only knows.

Now, let's see if that same chick, supposedly older and wiser, can survive her student loan payments and finding a place for all the laundry she washed last weekend...

*smooches...realizing how resilient humans really are*
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when you notice all the shit we can adapt to, it really blows the mind like a two-dollar hooker with no teeth!

For Just $10 You Can Own A Piece Of Jaded History

Last month I was invited to participate in a reading in Princeton, New Jersey, and was told that there would be a table for us to sign or sell books if we had any. Well, obviously I didn't have any, but I thought "How cool would it be to have books to sign at this reading?" However I didn't have a novel or a collection of short stories anywhere near being published, and either way I wasn't keen on self-publishing them-I am insistent on waiting for a publisher to woo me-but I did have this blog and its 1300+ blog posts. Thus a project was born.

After months of selecting posts, editing and laying out the interior pages just right, I'm now proud to say I have self-published a pocket book of my blog posts on writing. It's called My Ego Likes the Compliments...And Other Musings on Writing, and you can get it via Amazon's self-publishing company, CreateSpace. (It won't be available on Amazon for at least a week; the Kindle version is in the works for next month.)

It would be really awesome to see this little baby of mine "fly off the shelves" so please don't be shy. Buy a book. Give them out as graduation presents to aspiring writers. Use them as stocking stuffers at Christmas. Hold on to them for when I blow up, you can say you have a first edition copy of my very first book. And if you live in NYC, I'll even invite you to the "book-release" shindig I'm throwing and sign your copy. That, my friend, is PRICELESS.

Thank you to everyone who helped in the making of this book and to all of you who are about to buy the hell out of it. The Jaded Empire will remember and reward you accordingly.

*smooches...moving on to the next project ASAP*
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I have a free trial for Adobe InDesign that ends in 20 days so I need to HURRY!

Friday Tunage...

Putting Spotify or iTunes on shuffle while I clean is awesome. Songs get played that I normally wouldn't choose but still love, and as soon as they start playing I'm using my broom like a microphone, like the lonely, spinster loser that I am.

Get into it:











Smooches...wishing you all a wonderfully random weekend*
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I'll just be here shredding junk mail until my brain explodes from the monotony

A Mother Is Not A Father And A Father Is Not A Mother

Father's Day is coming up and unfortunately that means that all over Black Twitter and Black Facebook, some single mothers will be on some ol' "It's my day, too, because I'm his mother and his father!"

Ma'am. Sit allllll the way down.

Unless you are able to produce and contribute sperm cells in the life-creating process, you are NOT a father, regardless of what your household duties are. Hard as you may work, all you are is a single mother who doesn't have a male role model/father figure in your child's life. This is not to discredit all you do for your child; this is to smack some reality up in you.

You cannot be a father. There are things that only a man can teach his children. Please just accept that and move on with your life. No need to sully the day for real dads with your bitter feelings toward your baby daddy. There are quite a few men who take their job as dad very seriously and your encroachment of their day is rude and annoying.

And fellas, please note that this same sentiment applies to you. Regardless of how useless or ratchet or just plumb not there your baby momma is, you are NOT a mother and will never be. Again, there are some things that only a mother can teach her children and you don't have it.

Men and women are DIFFERENT. We just are. And each of us brings something unique to the parenting table. Enjoy your role and work it to the max and your child will have a fighting chance in life.

Besides, as The F$%k-It List so eloquently put it:

"How about: this is a made up holiday and maybe the focus should be put on parents that do what they need to the other 364 days a year."

Amen, sister. A-MEN!

*smooches...knocking multiple chips off of multiple shoulders*
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I'm sure my opinion won't be popular but whatever. deal with it.

Another Cool Victory For The Jaded Empire

So remember when I started hosting readings a couple of years ago? They were sporadic and all over the place? Well, in an effort to establish my "brand" I reached out to a new community bookstore in Spanish Harlem and guess what? My New Voices Reading Series will be a regular event at La Casa Azul Bookstore on 103rd Street and Lexington Avenue every quarter starting next month! Isn't that exciting?!

In light of this awesome news, this post is serving double duty:

1- Call For Writers: We need some new voices up on that stage. You've been working so hard on your stories and poems; come read them out loud! Contact me at rpenzo@plumaytinta.org for details

2- Save The Date: On July 22, La Pluma y La Tinta will make its debut at La Caza Azul in Spanish Harlem, and it would be truly awesome to have your support! Details will soon follow.

The wheels are turning on this train, y'all. I have so many other things a-brewing and I can't wait to tell you all about it (in due time). Thanks for riding along this far!

*smooches...truly excited for the summer*
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I almost feel like it's the Summer Of Jaded!

On Monday, Buy My Book & Come Hear Me Read

It's been a long time coming, and I wish this was an announcement for my first novel or collection of short stories, but I won't dwell on that and just be happy for myself and this small achievement.

As of Monday, June 18, barring any laziness on my part or unforeseen crap from The Universe, you will be able to visit Amazon.com and purchase my book, My Ego Likes the Compliments...And Other Musings on Writing.

The book is a compilation of articles (read: blog posts) I've written over the years about my experience as a writer in New York City and all the craziness that comes with that.

Cover design and photos by Marcin Kaliski, artist to the stars!

I'm not sure if Amazon will let me make a bulk order and sell out of my cubby apartment, but either way, if you purchase a copy I'd be more than happy to sign it for you (obviously this only applies to my NYC readers) at a book release reception of sorts that I'll schedule for the end of June. A purchase link will be up next week so SAVE THE DATE!

*throws confetti*

IN THE MEANTIME...

If you're free on June 18, I will be at the NYC Open Mic Joint at the Nexus Lounge (76 East 1st Street) at 7PM. It would be nice to see a few friendly faces in the crowd as I try out some new material.

The Empire is busy, y'all; we're trying to make shit happen!

*smooches...full of excitement and anxiety*
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If people don't buy my book I will truly cry myself to sleep every night!

My Weekend in Pictures

I saw a Prince tribute band with Elisheba

If you squint and take a few shots, he looks like Prince

I visited the CUTEST baby in all of Yonkers

Dude, I could so have another one

I attended a Subway Series game with Irene

Who knows how we stayed friends so long!

What did YOU do?

*smooches...living more and blogging less*
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I hope you don't mind

Bad Writers Make Us Weep

Recently, a friend and I were briefly discussing a "poet" we both know who is just...not that great a poet. Basically his work has not evolved past the pandering-to-women-who-wouldn't-know-real-poetry-if-it-Chris-Brown'd-them-in-the-face stage, but I guess to each his own, right?

Anyway, we were baffled at what appeared to be a scheduled showcase for him, and we were all "WHY?? He sucks!!" But then I reminded my friend that this guy writes what he writes because stupid girls fall for it and swoon and boost his ego about it. To which she replied:

"Girls drop their panties for the least nowadays. That's why we can't do better; [this guy's] poems are why pay equality didn't pass."

And then I died from laughing hysterically. This is my ghost typing. Say hi!

*smooches...trying not to be a snob and failing miserably*
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so instead I'll just embrace my elitist attitude and move on

Fancy Jaded Cooking, vol. 1

Since I got a little smarter about what I eat I've had to be creative in the meals I prepare, especially since Frick and Frack are hating my very existence for switching to a modified Paleo lifestyle. K's exact words were "You won't let us eat ANYTHING!!" Typical dramatic 16-year-old. So I make an extra effort to incorporate things they will eat and throw in some stuff they don't like but will compromise on.

The other day I made a dish that made them happy and even got them eating SOME veggies, even if it was only a piece or two. It was "breaded" jerk shrimp on a bed of steamed mushrooms and green beans. Delicious!

How cute are my dishes, though?

I'm not the type to measure stuff for recipes- I'm a sight-cook like all the women in my family. It's how I learned, but the ballpark of it is like this:

1- Season the shrimp with lime, jerk seasonings (dry or wet) and whatever other stuff you usually add to shrimp. Just don't go overboard and confuse the flavors or make it too salty.

2- Coat the shrimp with almond or coconut meal. I don't use flour anymore and either one of these have made a pretty decent substitute.

3- Pan "fry" in a little bit of olive oil until done. Shrimp doesn't take long.

4- Throw the mushrooms (I use sliced baby bella) in with the shrimp at the last minute and cover so they can cook in the steam; cook the green beans separately.

5- Assemble in a fancy-schmancy way to disguise the fact that there's no bread or rice on your plate, top with homemade guacamole (optional) and enjoy!

Let me know if you try this at home and if it was as delicious as mine!

*smooches...thanking meals like this for my new waistline*
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just more proof that healthy eating can still be fun and tasty; why didn't I ever do this before?!?!

Why My Alma Mater ROCKS!

Because it produces young minds that do stuff like this:

Protest letter from one of K's peers

*smooches...so proud of my baby and her peers*
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our future might not be so perilous after all, with smarties like these at the helm.

Irrational Thought Of The Day: Fuck Matt!

So I'm on the phone catching up with a friend and he mentions a news article about an Olympic archer named Matt Stutzman...who just happens to have been born without arms. The normal person would, of course, hear about Matt and think, Wow! That's so inspirational. He's amazing!

Well I'm Raquel. I'm not normal. And FUCK MATT!

Why? Because I was born with all my necessary parts in perfect working order, brain firing on all cylinders and above average beauty and intelligence (SHUT UP!!). And what have I done with my 37 years on this planet? A whole lot of motherfucking NOTHING!

"Raquel, you haven't made your first million yet? Well did you hear about this dude, Matt Stutzman, he's an archer with NO ARMS and he's going to the Olympics! Fuck you doing with YOUR life?"

Matt, you make me sick!

*no smooches today...go ask MATT to kiss you*
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I can't explain why this was my reaction; it just was.

Where Were You?

Jaded in full gear

I'm closing this post to comments because I really don't want this memory marred by people who think they're funny with their Anti-Mets jokes and whatnot, as if us Mets fans don't know our team. Let me tell you something about us: we are loyal. We love our Boys of Summer, so much so that we still go to Citifield even though we preferred Shea. Even when they lose, which we are aware is often, we love them. We follow them in the good and the bad, knowing that when it's bad it's fucking terrible, but when it's good? Violins strum while a drumline pounds out the soundtrack to a thousand back-to-back orgasms.

On Friday, June 1, 2012, MY BOO JOHAN SANTANA, did this:



I am SO PROUD to be a Mets fan right now. While Santana is getting all the panties glory for this Amazin' feat against the 2011 Champs from St. Louis, his team members were there to help make it happen, especially Mike Baxter who nearly fucked up his shoulder to keep the no-hit bid alive.



And if that weren't enough, R. A. Dickey pitched 9 innings of a shut out game on Saturday and Niese won Sunday's game 6-1. Bravo, my loves. Bravo. Fuck whatever happens from now on... this is our World Series!

*smooches...just for the Mets tonight*
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I've been wearing my Mets gear all weekend...the biggest bonus? Twice the games ended with pitches striking out that wack ass Carlos Beltran. WHOOP WHOOP!

Jaded Photographs: June 2012 Edition

"Almost Home"

*smooches...plotting on how I can grab one of these off the wall*
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it would make the perfect graduation gift for K!!

A Jaded Moment In History Presents: A Friend For Life

You ever think back to the day you first met one of your closest friends and pinpoint the exact moment you knew this new person would be in your life forever? Last week I experienced this as I remembered how Celia and I became BFFs. (She's probably going to be embarrassed by this but whatever; she'll get over it!)

AU selected us to be roommates but we got along right away. In fact, we got along better than any of the other roommates on our whole floor! But it wasn't until this one crucial moment that I knew we were a match made in the ResLife office.

Young Jaded + Celia in an AU photo studio

I had just started dating my now ex-husband, C, and I'd slept over his dorm after spending a whole evening with him. NO JUDGMENTS. That morning, C and I were talking and he said something to the effect of "Don't take what we have too seriously" or "Don't fall for me" implying that we weren't a real couple (I'M SO STUPID FOR NOT PICKING UP ON THAT SIGN!). I was so hurt and enraged that I stormed out before he could see me cry and stomped all the way across the valley to my dorm room, tears and snot clouding my vision.

I burst open the door to my room and Celia's there with one of our classmates, and in between sobs I explained how that jerk hurt my feelings, etc, throwing myself on my bed oh-so-dramatically. Then Celia said, "Don't worry, we still love you! And look what we got you!" She pointed to the area next to my bed and what did I see? My beautiful roommate had swiped some townie's mailbox. Just for me.

Older + Wiser at a Stamford Bar. Allegedly.

Instantly I forgot all about that morning and my sobs turned into hysterical laughter. In that moment everything was right in the world (well, maybe not for the townie who was now missing a mailbox...).

Who knew that the cure for a broken heart was a stolen mailbox? Celia, that's who. Tis why I still love her to this day!

*smooches...still smiling at that random memory*
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this is proof that boys come and go, but your girls are forever!