What I Learned From Peeing the Dressing Room Floor:
My Painfully Embarrassing Story About Wasted Opportunity
A few months ago there was this party. It was a theme party with specific colors that everyone had to wear. To the mall! My friends and I declared. So off on an adventure we went. We went store to store in search of the perfect outfits and with every passing store, my bladder said “hey, let’s go!” And every time I’d say, “We can hold off a bit longer.” Seeing how it’s 2019 and malls are practically ghost towns, especially for chubsters like me, it’s no surprise that I didn’t find what I was looking for at the mall. So I disappointingly drove my friends home and headed to my own house where the bathroom awaited me.
That’s When It Happened
As I pulled up at the red light close to my house, I remembered there was a plus sized clothing store around the corner that was going to close in 30 minutes. I can make it! I told myself zooming through the red light and making a sharp u-turn to the store. As I shopped in the store I felt the weight of the water in my bladder grow. I can hold off a little longer, I convinced myself as I pulled on a sexy tight white dress and checked out my perfectly amplified ass in the small dressing room mirror. Suddenly, the slight pressure in my bladder became a heavy set man sitting on a water balloon. I gasped for air, crossing my legs as tight as I could and breathing like a pregnant woman.
Whoot whoot whoom. Whoot whoot whoom.
When I felt a bit of reprieve I began peeling the tight white dress off my body, now damp from my nervous sweating. As I attempted to wriggle the dressing room dress up and off me, my legs still hugging one another for dear life, I felt a warm tingle of dread crawl down my vag, through my panties, and onto my legs. Fuck, I murmured pulling harder at the too tight dress. Who the fuck did I think I was squeezing all this into a damn XL anyway?! I thought as I finally got the dress off and whipped up my own clothes but alas: it was too late. The flood came gushing out of me like the damn Niagara Falls, loudly hitting the linoleum floor and worse of all: leaving a stretch of urine in the air.
What This Tale of Woe Taught Me:
Since this embarrassing event, I do two things:
1. Never step foot in that damn store
2. When I see a fucking bathroom, I go!
The latter has has actually taught me some things about my goals.
The reason I didn’t use the Primark bathroom or any of the mall bathrooms or heck, even the bathroom of the plus size store when I got there is because I thought I was too good for those bathrooms. “I can wait” I told myself. No matter how powerful my urge to pee became I refused to use a bathroom that I didn’t consider up to my standards and look where that got me? Cleaning up my stinky urine off the floor of a dressing room with my favorite freaking jacket.
Turning our noses up at opportunities
Many of us has the mentality that certain opportunities aren’t actually opportunities because they are too small.
I’m not taking that modeling gig, they’re not paying me and it’s just for a portfolio.
I’m not performing at that venue! It only holds 20 people!
So we say no to all the little opportunities, turn our noses up at all the public bathrooms, not realizing we are wasting our talent; that our bladder is about the burst.
I understand the statement “know your worth” trust that’s a motto I tell myself quite regularly but at the same time you can’t squander your talent because nothing is good enough. Social media has a funny way of convincing people that no one struggles: no one ever had to take a pay cut or start small scale. It’s a lie. It’s a flex.
Know your worth means know where your headed: have a vision of your future. But you have to start somewhere to get there.
Not every bathroom will be your house bathroom-comfortable and familiar-and not every bathroom will be a hotel bathroom-fancy and beautiful. But please don’t pee the dressing room floor! Bring your best self to every single venue, modeling gig, or whatever and eventually you’ll be exactly where you want to be.
As for me? I’m headed to the bathroom.
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So it’s motherfucking Spring bitches and as I do every Spring, I celebrated the occasion by pulling a Hotline Bling: wearing less and going out more.
One of these outings included a brunch with some friends over the weekend. While I was sipping on my Shirley Temple, one of my girlfriends told me how her boyfriend decided that he wanted to limit the amount of time they spent together. Of course, we all had the same reaction: dump him, leave him, kick his A-S-S to the C-U-R-B! (I don’t know why I’m acting like my friends are sassy Black women from the ’80s but I’m feeling that vibe right now). Anyway, as we attempted to yelled some sense into my friend, she simply shrank into herself and firmly whispered: “you don’t know what he’s been through.”
It was then that my heart sank. Because I understood what she was going through.
Back When I Watered His Garden
For about three years I was attached to a man who had been through hell and back. His mother died at a young age, his father wasn’t in his life, and he was in and out of jail. This man was the living definition of “a hard ass life.” This hard ass life made him almost emotionally impenetrable. But for some reason, I was able to see past his tough exterior and to his deep core. I saw through his pain and to his fear: I saw his love. He had a kind and beautiful soul.
Over the three years of our tumultuous “relationship” (relationship is in quotation marks because he refused to put a label on it) I helped him grow and take steps to break down the cement that encapsulated his warm heart. He went from calling once a month to once a week, from quick fucks to passionate love making, from telling me his day was “fine” to painting the most elaborate tales of his day. It was beautiful. I was so proud.
I watched him find his smile, thinking that that was enough for me.
So what if he never got me anything for my birthday? So what if he told me he’d never commit to me? So what is he refused to tell me he loved me, no matter how many times I cried those three words to him?
I was so obsessed with his growth and his progress and his gains that I forgot about me. Yes, this man lived a traumatic life that rendered him nearly incapable of loving and trusting another human being the way they deserved, but it was not my place to play the guinea pig. I am not a therapist. I was not getting paid for this. Yet I allowed myself to be sucked dry as I breathed life into this other human being.
Loving him almost cost me my life and I didn’t even realize it until it was almost too late.
But thank God I did. And as I sat at that brunch spot sipping on my Shirley Temple, I stared deep into the eyes of my friend and saw the same pain that lived in my own eyes for so long.
I think that some people in this world are empathizers: we look at someone and completely understand everything that they are going through and then feel like it’s our job to save them. Well I’m here to tell you it’s not your fucking job: unless you are a therapist getting paid mad bank, it is not your fucking job to save anyone.
Stop treating people or relationships like projects.
Stop watering someone else’s garden thinking that one day they will grow to water yours back.
Do you know what happens when you water a garden? They become pretty little flowers that give your sweaty, dirty ass allergies. That’s what happens. You’re left tired, aching, and with no one to support you.
Now this is not to say don’t ever help someone you love through a difficult time, not at all. This is to say don’t forget about YOU. Don’t forget that in any relationship there are two people growing together to become a we. Not two people working towards the growth of one person. That’s not fair and it’s not your job. Does someone with a severely fucked up past deserve love? Hell the fuck yes.
But so do you: and if they are not in a place to provide you with the love you deserve, then stop settling for anything less. Love yourself enough to let that person go.
SLIGHT DISCLAIMER: Now, it took me three years to hear that message so I honestly wouldn’t feel right ending this without saying this: YES you have to love yourself enough to let that person go, but also love yourself enough to forgive yourself if you aren’t quite there yet.
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Should we treat ourselves like we treat our favorite food?
And here’s why:
So I’m sitting at home in my underwear munching on chocolate covered almonds after a very odd date. I don’t even know if I can call it a date…it was more like, an encounter. So I met this loser on OKCupid and he was all let’s go out, let’s go out, blah blah blah. Day of (today) he’s like, we’ll grab something to eat around me. So I park the car a few blocks away from his location and go to meet him there. We meet and I say, where are we headed? He says, let’s walk.
So we proceed to walk….a silent(ish), awkward(ish) walk…in the direction of my car. “Oh we’re not going to get coffee or something?” I ask. “Yeah, yeah” he says as we get closer to my car. He then “gets a call” where he tells the individual on the other line that he will be “home soon.” So I say “Alright” and he says “have a nice day!” And he heads on off.
This man met up with me. To drop me off. At my car.
Now as I sat in my vehicle sucking on my vape all I could think was, what the fuck was that?! So I start going down a list of all the possible things that could be wrong with me that he could have witnessed in that fifteen minute encounter to have warranted such an abrupt end.
Then it hits me: I (and you-we) should treat ourselves the way we treat our favorite food.
So one of my favorite foods are these yummy chocolate covered almonds I just devoured. Let’s say you offer these almonds to a friend: you want to share this delightful treat with someone else. This person says “I don’t like em” naturally your reaction is surprise: “what that’s crazy, these are the best!” You insist. “Nah, not a fan.” Your friend replies. So, you leave it at that. “Your loss” you shrug and continue to eat that yummy snack.
Now, let’s say you’re like me and always think you’re right. You’re gunna argue with this person “hey man, chocolate covered almonds are the best and here’s all the reasons why. What makes you not like them?!” you ask. “They’re too chocolatey or they’re too almondy or I don’t like sweets” your buddy responds. And with that, you shrug your shoulders and keep it moving. (We’re gunna call your friend Bob)
Your love for chocolate covered almonds didn’t decrease because Bob said he didn’t like them. You didn’t suddenly hate how chocolatey the almonds were because bitch ass Bob had a problem with them. You like how chocolatey it is. It’s not “too chocolatey ” it’s just right. And you didn’t try to make the almonds less chocolatey to get Bob to like them. You didn’t get them to be less sweet or less almondy you just counted it to Bob’s loss.
And you know what else you didn’t do? You didn’t stop offering it to those you wanted to try it just because Bob didn’t like it.
So why do we do it to ourselves?
Why is it that when we find out someone doesn’t like our hair suddenly we feel weird about our hair?
Why is it that if someone comments on our body suddenly we are considering altering our bodies?
Why is it that when one person rejects us we decide , you know what, I’m not even gonna bother any more.
Why the hell do we keep trying to feed the Bobs of the world our fucking nuts?!
We need to treat ourselves like we treat our favorite food. Have conviction in the things that make us awesome. Believe that we are awesome and stay believing it no matter what anyone else thinks.
Because just like our favorite food we will find that person that says omg I love chocolate covered almonds.
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The Power of Our Minds
I think it’s important for us to start off by discussing the power of our mind.
So I don’t know how tv savvy you are but there’s this old Simpsons episode and although I’m a TV guru I can’t for the life of me remember which episode this is from. But anyway, somehow we end up in Lisa’s mind and she’s having this conversation with herselves. And no, that’s not a typo-like for instance writing be instead of been- she was actually having a conversation with multiple Lisas. I believe in this episode the different Lisas were representative of the ID, the Ego and the Super Ego, a Freudian model of the psych. This model basically showcases how there are three versions of you: the you who wants to just do whatever whenever, the you who is organized and thinks realistically, and the you who focuses on the good vs the bad and trying to get you to do good. Now I got my definitions from a skim of Wikipedia so please go there if you’re expecting this to be an in-depth explanation of Freud’s theory. I’m out here using that as a jumping off point.
I think there’s more than just three versions of us: three Lisas of the brain arguing over what decision real life Lisa is going to make. I think that there’s at least five or six versions of us that live up in our mind waiting for their time in the sun. Now, I’m not talking United States of Tara where one version of us takes over our whole body but I’m talking more of a dinner party. Yes here comes another analogy (high me loves these things).
The Dinner Party
Ok so imagine you’re at a dinner party filled with different versions of you: there’s the critical you, the angry you, the lonely you, the happy you, the horny you, and all of the other dwarves. Now just like at a real dinner party there’s going to those one or two people that love to talk and when you give them enough attention, they will take over the whole conversation not leaving anyone room to speak.
So here you are at your dinner party with these different versions of you. Like any dinner party, it’s awkward at first: everyone is just acquaintances, their only real connection being you. So they smile awkwardly at each other, making small talk, waiting for the waiter to finally bring those bread sticks he promised fifteen minutes ago. It’s up to you to break the ice and to start the conversation. So you turn to one of those versions: let’s say the critical you, and Critical You is far from nice. You guys talk and as you talk and give Critical You attention, they take up more and more airtime to the point where you forget the other players are there. Happy You tries to interject: “hey, that’s harsh! You’re great, don’t listen to them!” But it’s too late because you’ve been listening to Critical You for so long that that’s the only voice you can really hear.
Now in actuality the point of this dinner party is so that all voices get equal airtime and can influence you in a way that will only be positive and growth driven but because you are giving Critical You or Emotional You or Horny You more airtime, the rest kind of dwindle away and when you have your next dinner party, maybe Introspective You doesn’t show up, you never pay them much mind anyway. Then Political You “can’t find a baby sitter” and Confident You is “working late” and before you know it, your latest dinner party has become an intimate dinner for two: for you and Critical You-how lovely.
Essentially, we feed into our own thoughts. You think you’re not good enough because you’re only listening to the version of you who thinks you’re not good enough. Maybe this version of you spent a lot of time hanging out with your parents and seventh grade bully so their opinion is warped so technically you shouldn’t be listening to them anyway, but here you are.
What does this have to do with being high?
So in our introduction to the site we discuss how conversations can go to different levels and how being high takes you through these levels quicker and before you know it you’re on a level where you’re discussing your place in this multi-verse.
These conversations can be had with others but they start with yourself. If you’re having a conversation with yourself while high and going through the levels it definitely steers the conversation a certain way and effects if you even make it to in depth levels. If you’re having a conversation with Horny You and you ask them, why am I on this earth? They’re going to say, to procreate! God never intended for man to be tied down let’s give Him what he wanted and go fuck. And just like that you’re that person who goes around saying, “I get so horny when I’m high”
Of course you get horny when you’re high if y’all have a table for two at the restaurant! It’s the only voice you’re hearing and you won’t make it far with them.
Tip for the future:
At your next dinner party (whether it’s high or sober), turn to someone you haven’t heard from in a while and say what’s up. If you look around and you’re at a table for two, quietly excuse yourself and slip out the back door, texting Happy You to see how they’ve been.