Wanting What We Can't Have

Why is it that we always want what we can't have? We want straight hair when our hair is curly, and curly hair when our hair is straight. We impatiently wait for Fall throughout Summer, and Summer throughout Spring. Why is it that Oreos, breadsticks and fries dipped in ranch only tempt us once the diet begins? We yearn for the car we can't afford, the dress that doesn't fit, and the lover that doesn't care. We crave the thrill of travel, but miss the warmth of our own bed. We are swept up by the predictably unpredictable and continue to try and tame the untamable.

It takes a few heartbreaks, over drafting fees, and one too many Oreos for us to learn that the pain is self inflicted. It's one of life's most difficult lessons, appreciating the things we are so blessed to have, while ceasing to chase after the things that set us back. So the next time you find yourself pining after the man with "trouble" tattooed across his face, step back and really think. In the wise words of Cheryl Strayed, chances are, "he is like a motorcycle with no one on it. Beautiful. Going nowhere."

Twisted Sibling Wisdom & The Lessons We Teach

Through twisted sibling wisdom, I'd like to believe that I've bestowed my brother with a lifetime of vital knowledge. As the first born child, I inherently experience things first, granting me with a type of older sibling wisdom that can only be passed down. Thanks to me, my brother learned a few valuable lessons that only the second born child can learn...

How To Be The "Golden Child":
Just like every first born child, I was ripped-off by my number in the family line. As the first child, you automatically become family tribute, testing the unknown parental waters. You get to discover weather breaking curfew or running your mouth merits a harsher consequence as your younger siblings sit on the sidelines, taking notes. As older sister, I've bestowed Albert with a map as to what sets our parents off, so if he plays his cards right, this information will land him in the "best child" category for life.

How NOT To Break A Heart:
As the older sibling, I was not only the first to test our parents limits, but the first to try my hand at romance. Through trial and error, I learned my parents dating rules for the both of us. No tattoos, no being home alone together, and most definitely no republicans.
As the first child to set foot in the dating world, I was also the first child to experience heartbreak and my brother was there to watch me weather the storm. He watched me sob over Notebook marathons and pints of cookie dough ice cream, giving him insight into the complexity of romance.

How To Dress:
As an older sibling, I found my way to style via experimentation. My mother never questioned my multicolored sparkle pants, or fake purple hair, so there was no one there to stop me from my own embarrassment. I, however, saved by brother from a series of fashion faux pas. Despite how mean my comments may have been, I never let him out in public wearing a mixture of stripes and plaids or that velcro tee shirt with with the attachable name tag.

stylin'

How To Handle Pain:
As the older sibling, we tend to use our younger siblings as our very own punching bags. It's easy to start a fight when you know that you're going to win. All those years of purple-nurples, indian rug-burns, and bites help build up my brother's pain tolerance. I'd like to think that I did him a favor.

How To Get What You Want:
Over the years, I've learned the phrases to use, the buttons to push, and found that perfect timing. But just like most things, I had to learn art of begging all by myself. I tried temper tantrums, snuck in a lie or two, toyed with playing it cool, until I found the perfect 'yes' recipe. My brother, on the other hand, learned how to get my parents to say 'yes' by using my tried and true tactics. Just like a youtube tutorial, my life gave my brother the keys to 'yes.'

As older siblings, I think we deserve some respect for giving our younger siblings a substantially less tumultuous path...

But I also owe my brother, since he's the best one around!

Life Goes On

photo via http://maramostafa.wordpress.com/

Do you remember book orders from elementary school? You know, those flimsy Scholastic pamphlets that prime children for a life of idle spending? The ones that advertise “unbeatable prices” for the best of Magic Tree House and Junie B Jones? Well I do; book orders haunt me, not just because they paved the way for unhealthy buying habits, but because they mark my most tumultuous childhood memory.  

Growing up I hated reading; I mean hated reading. I found greater satisfaction in picking my nose or watching paint dry, so when Scholastic book orders came around, I was less than enthused. This killed my poor mother, who offered to buy me any book in the catalog with the high hopes of lighting my “educational fire.” As other kids perused through their booklets with thrill, mine found a permanent home in the depths of my Limited Too backpack. I had better things to do with my life than read. Essential things like watch Lizzy McGuire, tend to my Yamaguchi, or make up dance routines to all the songs on the newest NOW CD.

Half way through the school year, Scholastic decided to revamp their marketing plan in order to appeal to the not-so-studious children like me. They added “clubs” for girls and boys that featured two of the most popular tween products. For girls they introduced “Lip Smacker Club, America’s Famous Lip Balm Flavors.” For just $5.00 you could become an elite Smacker’s member and receive the latest lip balm flavor with your purchase. Since Lip Smackers determined whether or not you were cool, I made it my goal to become a “Smackette.” 

On the bus ride home I daydreamed about the flavors to come, Orange Crush, Dr. Pepper, Tootsie Roll, Strawberry, and Glittery Watermelon, and prepared my, “I’ve Gotta Have It Or Else I’ll Die” speech for my mom. After a few trial runs with the bus window, I decided that the best way to maneuver a “yes” out of my mother involved a light ego massage. I’d rub her sweet spot; I’d tell her that she was right, that I had found the light, and I loved to read. I’d even throw my hands in the air for dramatic effect. I’d tell her that I wanted to order a book or two, and then once she was hooked, I’d slyly add the part about the Lip Smacker Club...

Contrary to my foolproof plan, my mom said no. “Book orders are for books only,” as if the Smacker’s club wasn’t essential to my very being. I tried asking again, probing for a different answer, but all I got was another no. I told her I’d die without it as I fell to my knees. I grabbed my hair, pulling out the butterfly clips in a hot fit, exclaiming, “My life is OVER! You will never understand me, I HATE YOU!” She took a calming breath and looked down at my blotchy red and snot-ridden face with disgust, and said, “You will most definitely not be apart of Lip Smacker’s acting like that” and walked away. I spent the night crying into my Aaron Carter pillow, planning the downfall of my popularity as I took whiffs of the few flavors of Smackers I owned.

After recess one day, we returned to the classroom to find our book orders piled high on our desks. I usually didn’t mind watching my classmates open the plastic encased books since I couldn’t care less about reading, but this time was different. This time it was like watching Christmas morning from the back porch, snow falling on my head as I watched my friends take in the warmth. This time, I watched my friends become “Smacketts” while I remained plain-old-Mallory. Two girls sitting next to me screeched with delight as they uncovered their new flavored lip balm at the bottom of their orders. They opened their “mystery” flavors, trying them on for size, swapping them back and forth. Once the school bell rang, all the girls in my class huddled together with their newest flavors, passing them around for a quick sniff as I looked on with spite.

Rather than hanging out with my friends before the busses left, I decided to prepare myself for the next Smacker-less day and wallow in my misery. I gave myself a pep talk for the following day, preparing to become the lamest of the lame.

The next day, the Smackers Club obsession had surprisingly subsided and translated into an obsession with tattoo chocker necklaces. Although I’ll never let my mom forget the “torture” she put me through, I learned a valuable lesson thanks to my “deprived childhood”- Life goes on.  

My Quarter Life Crisis- The Trials and Tribulations of a 20-Something

Photo Credit (http://the20somethingcondition.tumblr.com/)

Let me begin by saying, I think I’m having a quarter life crisis – 

Everyone idealizes their 20’s. Our parents reminisce over those “wonder years” with sheer fondness, and teenagers can’t wait to transcend their teens and land in their magnificent 20’s. Yes, every decade has its ups and downs, but I’m finding my 20’s to be specifically difficult to navigate. I’m not the first person to think this. I just recently watched Meg Jay’s TedTalk and finished the book, Girls in White Dresses, and sociologists have done loads of research on what they call “the changing timetable for adulthood.” My mom’s friends, family members, and others ask me about my 20’s as if I’m living out some fairytale, but let me tell you, I’m no Cinderella. I am beyond grateful for my college education, and my parent’s ability to support me during this confusing time, and, yes, it’s great to be young, my skin still has its elasticity, and none of my body parts have migrated south, BUT…

Photo Credit: (http://foreveruntiltheend.com/2012/03/going-nowhere-3/)

20-Something Isn't So Glamorous:

1.     We all pretend to have our life together but 99.9% of the time we have no idea what we are doing.
2.     The majority of all job postings require at least three years experience – it’s lucky if I have three months worth of experience in anything I set out to do.
3.     In college, classes like the “Science of Beer,” “Herbalisim,” and “How Hip Hop Happens” were among the most popular courses. Alternatively, courses on how to be a grown up - “APR 101,” “How to Land a Job, Not Another Unpaid Internship,” or “Why Long Credit History is Essential”- would have been helpful. 
4.     My e-mail is never empty. It isn’t Facebook updates validating my popularity; it’s my mom’s daily heap of job postings (majority of which list three years experience as the principal requirement.)
5.  I have become chronically indecisive. One morning I wake up wanting to change and travel the world, knowing that this is my one and only life to live. Five minutes pass, and I’ve now decided I need to start my life; I need to become a “real adult” with 9-5 responsibility and a stable paycheck. Lunch rolls around and I’m hungry, next thing you know, I’m moving to Italy to become a chef…
6.     You are forced to join Meet Up because meeting people in your 20-somethings is near impossible. I eagerly joined a ladies book club only to find that they meet after Lamaze class on Wednesdays…
7.     The two most popular conversation topics are, “what are you doing with your life?” and “what are your plans are for the future?” These questions are commonly asked by people going on to attend med school or have just landed some glamorous job gallivanting around the world. I’m more than happy to discuss my current internship, but my future remains embarrassingly vague. To avoid humiliation I am forced to either (a) embellish the truth (b) mumble something and quickly change the subject or (c) hide, run, or pretend like I don’t recognize that old friend waving at me from across the street who just got accepted to law school. 
8.   Although you are more than happy for your successful friends, you can’t squash that little bit of bubbling envy. The majority of your 20-something friends are floundering in the same sea of confusion, however, a select few have clung onto that rare piece of driftwood for dear life. Neither law nor medicine have ever been subjects of interest, but as I pathetically bob and gasp for air, I secretly envy/loath those friends drifting down a path going anywhere but here.
9.     Just because college ended, doesn’t mean the party stopped. If you know me at all, then you know I have an 80-year-old soul. I like to go to sleep early and wake up early. If I’m feeling extra frisky, a few drinks at happy hour beats any club or late-night bar scene. Over the past three months of post-grad life I’ve learned it isn’t yet acceptable to fully relinquish your college partying ways until you’ve settled down and joining the Lamaze book club is actually a viable option. When 20-somethings think about their future, they want to be able to reminisce about their “crazy youth” as they sit at home frustrated and tired as they burp the newborn baby. I’m no where near wanting to settle down, but I much prefer a glass of wine and an early night in over feeling the effects of a hangover. Is that such a crime?
10. Songs start to make serious sense. Queen’s Under Pressure has never rung so true.  Brittany Spears hit the nail on the head with Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman - we contemplate life when someone calls us “mam”, but want to punch the bartender when he asks us for our ID. Jimmy Cliff speaks to us 20-something as we are all Sitting Here In Limbo.
11.  Up until recent, our lives have been more or less mapped out for us via school-time milestones. We have always had a vague idea of what came next whether it be middle school, high school, or college. Things like where we would attend school, what groups we would be a part of, and what classes we would take were always uncertain, but at least there were always traces of solid stepping-stones. Now that college has ended, those guiding milestones have disappeared. We are forced to find a path to success in a timeless, milestone-less abyss where the options are endless. As idealistic as unbounded opportunity may sound to the “got-it-together 30-somethings” and beyond, just remember the last time you stood dumbfounded at Baskin-Robbins trying to choose a single flavor out of the 31 original flavors...