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.
via 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.
Continue reading ““But I Don’t Like Other Women” and Other Immaterial Things”
“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.
Continue reading “The Power of Female Economy”
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.”
Continue reading “My Apologies: Conquering the World One Sorry at a Time”