My Life As A Brain Dead Vegetable

Before I get started, I have to ask- who decided to call people who reside in a completely comatose state a “vegetable” in the first place? I mean, haven’t we been taught since we were little kids that eating your vegetables was supposed to improve the health and performance of our brains?

Does it sound like I’m making light of victims of tragic accidents or trauma who suffer from being completely comatose? Of course not. If you are thinking this, you should probably stop reading now, because I plan to use this terminology a few more times to make my point.

Now, what is my point? If you have ever read my dusty blog, you will know that I actually never know my point until I get to the end of the post.

This October, I will be 27 years old. I can’t help thinking lately that I’m missing something. You know how scientists (which ones, I don’t know) say that humans only use 10 percent of our brains? Lately I’ve been feeling like all this time I’ve been operating on a solid 7 percent, and the other 3 percent is alluding me.

I can’t explain exactly why I feel this way. My relationship with God is growing, I have a great family, decent paying job, a nice apartment, a degree, a heap of debt, a new-ish car, a ridiculous size 10-11 high heel collection, a ton of unruly hair, and an almost completely drama-free life. What more could a girl want?

Okay wait, wait, don’t even start. I can see the eye rolls and the knowing looks. “All she needs is a good man in her life.” 

Can we just not? Can we assume for the sake of this post that I am perfectly content/relieved to be single, and perfectly not content with the state of my Tiarra? Yeah? Thanks.

Okay so back to my brain. I don’t know if I’m in a rut or what. Maybe I need a life coach. Or a makeover. I bought a couple of redlipsticks a week ago and I love them, but can’t seem to manage applying them without looking like a clown.

Perhaps a personal trainer will help me kick my butt into gear and clear the cobwebs from my brain. You know, get those endorphins flowing? Although, I have to admit washing a hot Krispy Kreme down with some hot chocolate with extra marshmallows has nearly the same effect on my endorphins...just saying.

 My doctor did mention I’ve picked up some pounds. I thought it was just break-up weight from my recent break up…almost 12 months ago. Yikes. (Sn. Remind me to never date a personal trainer again. It’s just too much pressure, especially if he has egotistical douche-bag tendencies.)

I know! I could go back to school and get my Masters. It’s not like I’m using my Bachelor’s Degree these days anyway. Now that I mention it, it’s not like I’m done paying for my Bachelor’s either.

Darn you FAFSA!

It’s like, I had my whole life planned out, all these goals and things I wanted to accomplish before I turned 25. And because of the amazing God I serve, the list is pretty much complete!

So the question is…now what?

The Perfect Girl: A Note on My Personal Awesomeness

Until recently, I was convinced that there was no way I could ever teach teenage girls. Little bitty kiddies? Fine. Teenage boys? Sure. But something about the cattiness of teenage girls never ceased to irk me, and I resolved within myself to avoid spending lots of time with them unless I was authorized to punch them in the chest.

You think I’m playing?

Anyway, a somewhat recent experience seemed to confirm a suspicion that has been growing in me for almost a year now.

I believe I have discovered the secret to why so many women have such a hard time getting along with each other!

*Drum roll please*

We don’t know how to disarm each other.

Act Like a Lady, Think- and then Act Like a Lady Some More

I’ll be straight with you- me and Steve Harvey aren’t friends. I didn’t buy his book, I didn’t check it out at the library, and I haven’t even bummed it off of my friends.

“But Tiarra, how can you say you don’t like the book if you didn’t even read it?”

I didn’t say that.

I said Steve Harvey and me aren’t friends, and that I didn’t read his book. That doesn’t equate to me not liking the book, or thinking he doesn’t make some good points in it. I wouldn’t know.

I didn’t read it.

Anyway, I have something to say about the title of his book.

The Woodwork

In the highest and lowest moments of our life, there is a group that hovers and descends that I like to call the Woodwork. You know them? They like to make appearances at weddings and funerals in particular, I've noticed.


Some people refer to them as haters, and spend lots of time giving them shoutouts on Facebook and Twitter, thanking them and blowing them kisses. Some people threaten them, call them out by name, and cuss them and their mama from here to Sunday. They vow vengeance on their Woodwork/haters, even though I remember a little verse in the Bible that leaves revenge in the hands of our Father. Today I was thinking about something, and God showed me something special about the Woodwork.

Have you ever thought about how people come to be a part of your Woodwork?

Woodwork people are part of your past, usually. They are people who you were once close to, people who once played a consistent, significant role in your life. And due to the circumstances of life and the fragility of human nature, the bond was broken, you went your separate ways. And they became a part of your Woodwork.

You don't talk, but somehow they always know what's going on with you. It's irritating! But it is a reality for almost everyone.

Like or not, you need your Woodwork. They keep you humble, and they never let you forget where you came from.

Be kind to your Woodwork folks. They forever float on the outskirts of our lives, never able to be fully in your life or out of it. They only come out when they think it is safe to be in your world again. And you will never know how they may suffer.

You never know, one day God may work them out of the wood.

Foot Fetish

It was early September, and still warm enough to wear sandals. I was strolling through the suburban general store, also known as Wal-Mart, looking for shampoo or something.

When he showed up.

He didn't just walk up to me, he did one of those stalker moves. He slowly peeked his head around the corner to the aisle where I was, and started cheesing really hard.

I tried to pretend I didn't see him, but that didn't last long. I glanced at him and looked back at the bottle of Suave I was holding. He must have taken that for a green light, because suddenly the rest of his body appeared in the aisle to join his head.

HIM: "Uh, hi."

ME: "Hi." I began scrutinizing the ingredients of the bottle. Water, Aloe extract, stearamidopropyl PG-dimonium chloride phosphate...what the devil do they put in this stuff??

I chanced a quick look up to see if old boy had gotten the hint.

He hadn't. 

I noticed though, that he wasn't staring into my eyes and trying to look seductive or irresistable.

Nope...he was actually staring at my feet.

HIM: "My name is Ty." 

ME: "Hi, Ty." Sodium lauryl sulfate, methylisothiazolinone...

HIM: "I just couldn't help coming over here, because you're pretty."

ME: "Oh, thank you."

HIM: "I also see you just got your feet done. Looks nice, REAL nice."

Hold up.

Uh.........did he just lick his lips when he said that??

I'll spare you the rest of the conversation, but I promise you old boy spent the rest of that little chat talking to my FEET. He told them about his budding military career, and how he was looking to settle down in the area and could he hit me up?

Sorry Ty... my feet are spoken for.

For real though. Can somebody explain to me what was up with that?

 

♥Tiarra♥

Lately...

I don't hate my blog, I just dont....have the time. Pure and simple folks. Not that I was ever a weekly blogger or anything, but for the past four or five months I simply have not had the time or energy to devote to stellar blogging.

Let me put an anti-disclaimer here.

I hate it when I read someone's blog or watch a YouTube channel and they post something that goes like this:

"OMG I'm Sooooooooooooooooo sorry I haven't been blogging/vlogging in like, forEVER. I've just been sooooooooooo busy with [insert life story] lately. I really miss you guys though! And I PROMISE to blog/vlog more often."

You want to know the truth? I would much rather blog than write all these dumb papers for college. I would much rather think of something witty and snappy to say on Wearing This Tiarra or my other blog than read 14 jillion pages of mind-numbing nothingness.

But I NEED that darn piece of paper. My degree that is.

And nothing, and NObody, not even YOU, dear reader...is gonna distract me from reaching that goal.

So...back to the books. *sigh*

See? This is me being studious...and definitely not me taking pictures of myself pretending to look studious :)

Pesky FAQS

I touched on this lightly in an older post, but I wanted to highlight some of the questions I am asked most frequently about my pescatarian diet.                             

KidCare 101

I have this thing for kids. No, not a Michael Jackson (rest his soul) thing. Let's call it a special gift for teaching and working with kids. I have never met a child who didn't like me. I may scare them to death at first, but kids always warm up to me. The older I get, I realize that there's a part of me that never grew up. When I was a kid, I would probably have sold my soul for some candy, and there was nothing you could do to persuade me to stay inside the house if the weather was nice outside. And oh my, if the ice cream man showed up on my street?? It was over.


Despite my arrival at adulthood a few years ago, the kid in me didn't go away. More like, it scooted over and made room for eyeliner, men, and bills. I think children sense this in me. 



It blows my mind the way some adults constantly underestimate and undervalue children. I won't get too far onto that soapbox right now, because that's not why I started this post. 


I want to help my fellow grownups get back in touch with their inner child. I want to see more adults bringing out the best in the kids they encounter. And so I give you...KidCare101.

Awkward Social Situations

What do you do when you are walking in the hallway and you see someone you know, but you don't know?

Do you smile at them as you pass?

No, because if they don't do it back you look like a dork.

Do you look somewhere else and pick up the pace?

No, because you are then obviously avoiding them.

Do you wave and speak?

No, no, that's just doing too much.

I think America needs to come up with some more rules regarding these kinds of situations, because I promise you they happen to me all the time...

Why I’m Converting To Pescatarianism

Yes, you read that right. No, it is not a religion. And no, it may not even be an actual word. But that is beside the point. Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting on a chair in my parent’s kitchen after eating a meal that had me feeling sluggish and heavy, and I saw that one of my favorite YouTube natural hair gurus had posted a video about her diet. I clicked the button, watched the video, and it hit me like a brick-

I have GOT to change some of my lifestyle habits.

I’m not kidding. It was like the girl was speaking directly to me, and it made me do some real thinking. You see, when it comes to diet and exercise habits, I have a few major things going against me:

Give Me Something to Fight For

They keep telling me my generation is apathetic. 

Apparently we don't care about anything or anyone but our cell phones, FB pages, and Twitter accounts. 

"Back in my day, people talked to one another and worked things out. We didn't need all of this social media mess."

Oh really? I beg to differ.

50 years ago, my grandparents were revving up to fight for civil rights. 20-30 years ago, my mother was breaking the glass ceiling and my father was fighting to uphold Black pride.

What is left for my generation to fight for?

If I open my mouth and mention the fact that I still see serious racial problems among the Black community, everyone shakes their head quickly in agreement and inwardly labels me militant before changing the subject.

If I mention that as a woman I still encounter sexism on the job, I get smiled at and shooed away while being labeled a feminist.

What is left for my generation to fight for?

If I mention that Black women choosing to go natural, and Black women who prefer relaxers are constantly being shoved into boxes labeled "Afro-centric" and "Self-hating", I find myself being pushed into a box myself.

If I mention that as a Bible believing Christ follower, I do not agree with homosexuality, I find myself condemned as homophobic, and accused of judging.

What is left for my generation to fight for?

If I mention that as a student I find it nearly impossible to pay for my education and live in an economy like this, even though I know it's the only way to get a decent job, I get hushed up while tuition rates increase and financial aid disappears.

If as a young person, I cry out against all these things through the use of social media, it's called a fad.

And when I am too frustrated to say anything at all...I am called apathetic.

Give me something to fight for.

~Tiarra

Black People Don't Sing Opera

Oh heck yes they do! I'd like to introduce one of my most fabulous friends, Dei Nikoi. Not only does she have a bangin' blog, she also has a bona fide solo opera recital scheduled for this Saturday! Mucho proud of her, and I will be screaming my head off in a most uncouth way during the recital...because that's what I do.

Uncontrollable Anger

I have anger issues.

I don’t know how else to say it.

Looking at the words make me feel strange, because kindness and generosity are such big parts of my personality, I hardly ever pay attention to this “little” one.  But I realized for the umpteenth time tonight that I am a woman of extreme emotions.

When I’m happy, I’m very happy.

When I’m hurt, I’m very hurt.

And when I’m angry…woe unto the creature that experiences my righteous wrath.

The situation tonight that provoked my anger had me so blinded, I didn’t even realize that I was yelling in public over the phone for all to hear. I really didn’t. All I knew was, someone had done me wrong and I had a right to let them know how I felt. And I expected everyone to agree that yes, I was right (I was). But then a loved one approached me and threw me a curveball I certainly didn’t see coming-

That’s My JAM!

Wanted to do something a little different. Have you ever met someone who has a song for EVERYTHING? Every one of my sisters has this habit, me included. Riding in the car with us can be super annoying unless you plan to join us in belting out our favorite tunes. Wanted to share some of the ones that take me in EVERY time. Enjoy!

What I Won't Give Up For Love

I took a sociology class my last year in high school. Academically it was an easy A, but content-wise, we covered some tough subjects. I remember when Mr. Teacher tried to make us define love. That was a disaster...I still remember some of the answers-

"Love is what makes you all sparkly inside!”

“Love is, ummm, like, special and good.”

“Love means that you want to be with that person for rest of your life, even they are poor and ugly and mean to you.”

He then asked us if we would be willing to drop everything and everybody in our lives to follow someone we loved. Several of the girls said yes, and a few like me, were vigorously shaking their head no. (My answer has since changed several times...)

This post isn't going the direction I planned, but let's see if I can make my point.

I think everyone has one thing they would not be willing to sacrifice for Love.

Don't get me wrong, ya'll. Love is wonderful. It's delicious and exciting and moving and powerful.

BUT.

I think everyone has one thing they would not be willing to sacrifice for Love.

Go with me here. Before I reveal my one thing, I'll lay down a few givens:

-We will assume from here that I am referring to the love of a man. (Woman, for my male readers.)

-We will assume that my relationship with God is unquestioned. Meaning, we will automatically assume that I would never give up my relationship with God for a man.

-We will assume that I am sharing this out of a desire to be open and honest, and NOT to bash anybody, anything, anywhere. Seriously, it's all love =)

And now....my one thing...

Some Men Walk



Photo from StreetEtiquette.com



Some men walk as though they don’t know where they’re going. Each foot seems to want to go in completely opposite directions, while the body lags and slouches behind, willing to be led wherever it is pulled.

Some men walk deliberately. Their body throws its weight forward on the feet. Neither left nor right foot has a say in the matter; they go where the body commands. And do trust, body knows exactly where it is going…hopefully my way?

A Poem About Men and Their Pants

 

I like to watch the way a man’s dress pant moves around his ankle and shoes when he walks. It floats and swims lightly and easily around the solidness of his shoe. It goes where he goes, embracing the ankle, and then releasing it just as quickly…but it never strays too far. It seems to know that ankle and shoe aren’t going anywhere; it will always be there to anchor it, and pull it back into another embrace.

It reminds me of the relationship between a man and his woman for some reason. But who is the pant? And who is the shoe?

~♥Tiarra♥

NOTE: For more pics, please visit Street Etiquette! A urban fashion blog for men.

The (Spiral) Notebook

Good afternoon readers,

I found an old notebook of mine last night. It's a notebook I usually always keep with me in case I'm struck with a brilliant idea...so, there're alot of empty pages in it. LOL!

 

Anyway,often when I'm on the train or the bus a silly or serious thought will strike me, and I'll grab my pen and write whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it's cheesy, sometimes it's personal,sometimes it's cool.

But I want to share it with YOU. In a series of installments.

Enjoy =)

~♥Tiarra♥

Steve Urkel Voice: “Did I do thaaaaaat??”

Recently, I had another one of those “moments”. Heart pounding, mind racing, the whole nine. Because I think I might possibly have found a way to stick both feet in my mouth at the same time. See, I have several bad habits, but this one in particular tends to get me in trouble…