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.

Don't Fall in Love With Preachers or Musicians Unless...

...you're his second love. After God that is. One of the difficult things about falling in love with preachers and musicians is the fact that it is easy to find yourself competing with music and ministry for his time and attention. The long nights away from home are hard enough, but if his love for God is not first in his life, I can almost guarantee you that your place in his life will be #3, not #2.

Getting the Kinks Out

Have I ever told you how much I HATE washing my hair? It's an hour long process if I take the shortcut, forty minutes if I'm rushing. If I want to do it right? We're talking about two or three hours- and that's if I'm not even planning to style it.

You see, the most time consuming part of the process is detangling. Honey, it's no joke. 

I know at the end of it all I'll be able to run my fingers through my 'fro, and my curls will be clean and shiny and bouncy, but the process isn't simple and pretty. 

Which brings me to this here blog o' mine. 

I took a 2-year hiatus for several reasons:

1. I needed to finish school (I'll come back to that later)
2. I was working at a job that didn't allow much time for sitting down at a computer. 
3. Alot of the motivation I had at the start of this blog shifted to other areas of my life.  

Well, I'm back in D.C. at a job that allows me to sit at a desk, and a niggling sensation has been at the back of my brain for a while. I find myself thinking about things during my commute, and a blog titles often pop into my head. Or lately I will hear a really awesome message at church and think, "Ooh, I could definitely blog about that." The last straw was a friend of mine who finally called me out on Facebook the other day. And I have decided to go for it again.

So...I'll need your patience and prayers, dear readers (if there are any of you still out there).

I'm going to have to work the kinks out of my writing muscles. I'll have to call on some old friends, some old emotions, to get my juices flowing. Some of the first few blog attempts might sound a little too transparent. They may not flow. They may be too short, or too long.

I'm not promising much of anything right now. But if you and I are patient, we can work those kinks out. And who knows? Perhaps we'll all get something good out of it.

All my best,

♥Tiarra♥

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 :)