Spring is right around the corner! Better weather, new beginnings, and for many of us, it means a lot more social, work, and family responsibilities. If for you that translates into outright panic or good old-fashioned stress, here are three great strategies for when you are freaking the fuck out.
I have been thinking a lot about class lately. My thirtieth birthday is right around the corner and I have really been trying to hone my style. I’ve always been horrified by my mother’s butterfly bedazzled bell bottoms and the ever presence of “big gulps, tractors, and pink camo” in my sordid memory bank. But what makes someone classy? The internet has nearly convinced me that the whole of classiness is kept in the human cuticles and if they aren’t on point, I should just hang myself with a length of the Confederate flag while standing on a crate of Pabst.
Not one to believe everything the internet tells me, I thought about real life. Who was the classiest person I know?
For me, that person is my dear friend Betty. Betty is a landscaper and ironically has the most mangled cuticles I have ever seen. When she comes by my place, covered in dirt, cursing up a storm, she brings with her an armload of dahlia bulbs or a length of hose for my yard. She clasps my face with both of her hands and tells me how beautiful I look that day. She tells me that my orchid is too dark green and will be happier in a sunny spot. She exudes a level of class that I strive for. Intelligence, warmth, openness. She is just so damn classy.
So put away your wallets and, cuticles be damned, today we are talking about the dos and don’ts of how to be all classy and shit.
Continue reading “How to Be All Classy and Shit”
What can I say about Leo, mi amore? He is the best bad cat ever. That’s not to be confused with the best cat ever. There is a very important distinction.
The best cat ever might not tip over their litter box, kick all the litter into the space between the washer and dryer, then crap in the empty box.
The best cat ever might not tear the shower caddy off the wall and eat ¾ of a bar of oatmeal soap and throw up bubbles for two days.
The best cat ever might not knock over a $30 canister of leg wax , step in it, become adhered to the carpet, and then howl like a crazy person at 4 o’clock in the morning, not because he is stuck, but because he was planning on getting stuck in the cords to the blinds like some horrifying cat-marionette and wasn’t planning on getting stuck to the carpet till next week.
But the best bad cat ever totally would.
Leo, the bunny king, the pleasure pig, the bad little cat man… he cracks me up every single day.
I say that Leo is the best bad cat ever because he is still alive in my heart. I should say that Leo was the best bad cat ever. He died this week.
My heart aches. My home feels strange and empty. I keep going to feed him and have to stifle calling for him. Creatures of habit and all…
I have to believe there is a lesson of great value to learn with all heartaches, with all pains. And as blurry-eyed, as I am, I want to do the most loving thing I can for you and yours. And for me, because I am really writing this one for myself.
I felt so guilty putting my beloved bad kitty down. There was the pressure from the vet and an entire lack of support to be found anywhere, not in real life, not online. So today, I wanted to give you something I didn’t get:
Today, I am giving you permission to put your pet to sleep.
Here are five obstacles you may be trying to overcome:
I think we all have those things we really want in our lives and appreciate while simultaneously having no interest in learning how to make them happen. Maybe it’s how to do a classic updo, how to rock an Instagram eyeshadow look, change a tire, or cook a souffle. For me, that thing is interior design.
I really appreciate a well-appointed room. I find them comforting and luxurious and soothing and amazing. I think having a polished and beautiful home is totally worth having. But when I start to read articles about “layers” and “textures” and “complementary colors,” it makes me want to tear my own arm off and then use it as a conversational piece on my coffee table. “Oh yes, I made it myself,” I will tell my impressed house guests.
But here is the thing about “adulting:” you should learn how to bring the things you want into your life, regardless of whether you have a natural talent for it.
Home cooked meals are worth eating, being able to pull yourself together for a classy event or meeting is important, being able to change your tire is important and having your home serve and suit you is important.
So here are the DG tips for those of you who have no attention span for interior design:
Yaa Yaa over at Scribbles and Tostitos has got the scoop on Damn, Girl! So thrilled to do this interview about everything from my blogging advice, personal life, and the DG army. Give it a read if you want to know more and be sure to follow and support the wonderful girls behind thepagesofpaige.com and scribblesandtostitos.com!
Kick off your shoes and relax your feet. Read on below to hear from Tiara, the girl behind Damn Girl. Get Your Shit Together.
“We are in the business of being women.”
DGGYST has been pretty heavy on the girl power lately. With “The Power of Female Economy“, and “So, You Want a Blogging Tip…“, not to mention the sidebar featuring specifically female bloggers, I have to address something that comes up every time I (or any one else for that matter) discuss supporting female industry. This sentiment:
“But I don’t like other women.”
I notoriously love the women. I was a labrador retriever in my last four lives and just assume everyone is my friend and they want to feed me biscuits.
Not that I haven’t not liked some women. There’ve been a few where I’m like, “You are not my kind of lady. Now give me a biscuit and get the hell out of here, bark bark bark bark bark!” So I respect that you may have had bad experiences that are skewed to the female gender.
Perhaps you have found other women to be largely competitive, shallow, two-faced, and smelly. I would never tell you that I know your experiences better than you do, and this post is not about bashing women who don’t like women. But I will tell you that not liking other women shouldn’t matter when it comes to throwing your unbridled support at them.
“There’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help each other.”
If you have been following my blog for a while you know that I am a businesswoman. You also know that I was raised in the foster care system, that I ran away from home, and was a homeless teen.
I have experienced a level of poverty you would not think was possible in a first world country. I have lived in abandoned buildings in downtown Detroit and have feared for my life from things like exposure and starvation.
I have broken into cars to steal change to get my dinner from a vending machine. I have eaten from the garbage. I have been bound to horrible situations for the lack of financial independence. I have been dominated and violated and I have stayed in these situations…for a sandwich or a cold piece of pizza or for a warm place to sleep.
Needless to say I feel very powerfully about my right to support me and mine, and I feel very passionately about women having the right to support themselves and theirs.
You don’t need to feel sorry for me. I’m 29 and have so many commas in my bank account it would make your head spin. I have gone about acquiring stability in my life the same way I am making a living off of this blog: by unapologetically accepting that I need money and viciously defending my right to make it.
“Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it.”
– Charles R. Swindoll
Charles is treading dangerously close to republican waters, which is actually a frozen lake where if you fall in, you are fucked. But Damn, Girl is going there.
The fact of the matter is it’s hard not to let the shit that happens to you and the shit that has happened to you affect your decisions for the worse.
There, there. Mama understands. Life is hard. We’re all getting beaten with shovels and felt up in cars and miss the semi annual sale at Victoria’s Secret. Life is just traumatizing AF. But this blog is about activating and harnessing your power, and to do that, there’s some shit you are going to have to let go.
Here are five things it’s time to get over: Continue reading “Damn, Girl, Get Over It”
The oldest thing I own is a piece of homework from 1st grade. It’s actually an entire booklet of paper bound in little plastic rings. “Tiara, Grade 1” is written in purple crayon across the construction paper cover.
God knows how I still have it. It has somehow weathered a hundred homes (and no home at all). I swear one day it will be archived as a religious script because of the shit it has endured. In the future, people will tell the miracle of how the little plastic-bound journal survived tornadoes, fire, and the summer my mom kept goats in the house.
There isn’t too much to report about the Holy Scripts. Mostly pictures of birds in the distance signified by “M”s, yellow sunshines and broccoli trees, but there is one very memorable entry:
My shit list. Well, my “shite” list. Apparently I was an Irish child.
Grade 1 and already making a shit list.
You see, there weren’t a lot of rules in my house. No curfews, no chores, no expectations of grades or school attendance, and the expletives were free to fly. Al Pacino and Eric Cartman screaming “God fucking damnit” echoed around my living room and Tony Montana himself might balk at the curse words that came out of my step dad’s mouth.
But there were two dirty words, so filthy that to speak them meant swift and violent retribution.
Those words were: “I’m sorry.”
Dude, is it just me or do beauty tips suuuuuuuckkk anymore? You know the ones:
“AMAZING BEAUTY HACKS THAT WILL BLOW YOUR MIND!”
“Use a nude pencil on your waterline!” Oh my god, we know! “Highlight your cupid’s bow with a highlighter!” No, that’s dumb. I’m going to eat that, like instantly. What else you got? “Mash a banana in your hair?” For fuck’s sake.
Let’s back it up. I am enjoying the best streak of basic-ness lately.
Usually I’m all brooding, hammering away on my typewriter while cursing about human rights or chain smoking one of those bubble pipes and pacing the floors, plotting how to take over the world.
But this month, the constant brewing storm of passion and intention has parted. Where I could once be found murmuring to myself in a dark corner, inexplicably pounding on a calculator and drumming my fingers together like Mr. Burns, now I’m cuddled up with a pashmina, drinking Starbucks, watching YouTube morning routines (that shit is soothing) and chatting at my sister about this like, totally amazing top coat that is like, the best thing ever.
So, seeing that the beauty section of my blog is desperately lacking, I am delighted to do a post on like, my best beauty discoveries of 2017, like ever. Seriously, like, ever.