Tag: friendships

The year of the B

January 3, 2018

giphy (25)

2017 was a total bitch.

(And I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.)

For me, this year was particularly brutal. And littered with other B words as well. Breakups. Bar bannings. Bed-Bugs. Black eyes. Bail bonds.

Like I said …. brutal.

I follow numerology (lightly) and 2017 was a 9 year for me.  It’s the final year of a 9 year cycle and it’s theme is about endings and closings and ridding yourself of anything that might hinder the next 9 year cycle.  It can be easy, if you’re willing to let things go and accept the lessons you’ve been given over the past 9 years.

Or it can be difficult, if you’re like me and stubborn AF.

I stupidly chose the latter, refusing to let go and fighting these lessons and this year with a vengeance. And the 9 year fought back. Hard.

Continue reading “The year of the B”

Carrie Bradshaw, mohawks and neck tattoos: Or how I found where I belong

December 14, 2017

giphy (24)

I’ve come to the conclusion that Carrie Bradshaw and I would likely have not been friends. (gasp)

This has been a tragic, upsetting realization as I adore her and her friends and that lovely show which inspired the name for this blog. And quite frankly, inspired my life. But I’m starting to think Carrie and I are two very, very different people.

And that’s not a bad thing.

I began to realize this the other night while out with some gorgeous, fabulous women in an area of Dallas known as ‘uptown’. This is a part of Dallas I rarely venture out into. It’s filled with posh night clubs and upscale bars and young 20-30 somethings completely glammed out. Their eyebrows are on fleek, their skin glows, their cheeks are contoured, their eyelashes … lush.

It’s not that I do not like these people. I applaud them for their ability to look like a walking Instagram filter. I’m kind of envious too. It’s just I don’t feel like I … belong. Ever. No matter how much makeup I slather on, no matter how sassy and cute my clothes or how high my heels, no matter how hard I’ve tried to fill in my brows (I still do NOT know how to do this well) .. I feel like a fraud. An imposter. Like a kid dressing up in way-too-mature-for-her clothes … and it’s all the wrong size and I look like I’m playing a part in a tragic play and I know none of my lines.

Continue reading “Carrie Bradshaw, mohawks and neck tattoos: Or how I found where I belong”