What Goes Through My Mind Everytime I Get Frozen Yogurt

Here we are. Orange Leaf. Or is it Red Mango? Maybe…16 Handles? How about GitchiGitchiYogurtDaDa? I don’t know why they give these places different names, they’re all exactly the same. Might as well just call ‘em “Would I Get Arrested If Held My Head Under The Spout and Let the Yogurt Flow Into My Mouth Like a River?” because that’s all we’re thinking every time we’re there. But not now. Not today. Today I’m going to act with dignity! Just because yogurt places have such audacity and utter disregard for our health to give us control of the levers, that doesn’t mean I have to be a pig. I’m NOT a pig. I’m an animal, but not a pig. How about a cow? Hippo. NO! WAIT! A water buffalo. I am the majestic water buffalo of frozen yogurt! Proud, stately, patient and resolute in even the most frantic of circumstances–OH MY GOD THEY HAVE MINT CHOCOLATE! Get the heck out of the way people!

OK. Try to calm down. Plenty of froyo for everyone. Let’s go over the rules one more time. #1: We’re not spending over $5. Actually, $6. OK, not a penny over $6.75, and that is the absolute max. Probably. Plus toppings. Rule #2: No yogurt or add-ons will eclipse the mouth of the yogurt cup. For health and for decency. Thankfully, the cup is the size of a bathtub. Honestly, the Titanic couldn’t hold as much fresh strawberry soft-serve as this bad boy can. Rule #3: There will be no touching, tasting, or sniffing of dessert items once they are inside my bowl. These aren’t the lawless lands of the Whole Foods salad bar. It’s a mecca for frozen treats, and I will behave accordingly. Rule #4: If you tell yourself you’ll “share” with someone all previous rules are null and void. And yes, giving them two bites and letting them drink the melty soup at the bottom counts as sharing. Well, I’ve been here 20 seconds. Time for a sample…

Come on, do I really have to ask for the free sample cup? It’s so degrading. Look, Yogurt Jockey, you know I want a free sample, I know I want a free sample, and we both know once I get my cup I’m going to abuse the privilege to a humiliating extent, so why go through the charade? Instead of “Could I have a sample cup,” how about we just be honest and ask “Is it cool if I steal small quantities of yogurt from you over and over, right before your eyes? Really, it is? Thanks!”…

Oh wow. Look at that guy! He’s a machine! Sample, lick, sample, lick, sample, lick – without the tiniest bit of shame. He’s like a froyo terminator. I don’t know whether to scoff or bow down and make him my God. He’s even tasting Kiwi Lime Tart! Nobody tastes Kiwi Lime Tart. It’s just there to make us feel like we’re in a healthy environment so we can take two pounds of Hazelnut goo without hating ourselv––Uh oh, the employees see him! They’re coming over!!! Scatter! Everybody scatter!!!…

Really, flavors? Cheesecake, Vanilla, Vanilla Cake, Tart, AND White Chocolate? You realize those all just taste like “white,” right? And how many variations on chocolate are necessary? Chocolate. Dark Chocolate. Dutch Chocolate. Chocolate Brownie. Chocolate Fudge with Sea Salt. What is Dutch Chocolate anyway? Chocolate that tastes like it’s been wearing clogs? No thanks…

Uh oh. Cup’s getting really full. It’s because the machine squirts too fast. Honestly, it really is! Right, guys? Aaaaand it looks like I have seven different flavors already. That’s what grownups do, right?…

Alright, time to hit topping town. Where we separate the men from the boys. Or in my case, the men from the boys who are about to get sick from eating too much yogurt. This is where the pay-by-weight really gets ya. If you’re an amateur, you load up on brownie bites, which taste like cardboard and weigh more than an airplane. Heavy fruit, whole nuts, Reese’s peanut butter cups – same problem. I like to toss a few raspberries on mine, because they’re lightweight, and they’re the one thing that allows me to retain the illusion that this is a nutritious dessert. Oh God, look at those people. Exploding Boba Balls on cookies ‘n cream? Sickening. Does anyone actually know what Boba is? It’s lightly sweetened nuclear waste,  NO THANKS!!!!

Come on, really? Peanut M&M’s?! Don’t you know they’re the heaviest candy on here?! Why don’t you just add tiny rocks to your pay-by-weight bowl? Or, I don’t know, maybe fill it with cement. Although I think peanut M&Ms would set off my yogurt melange nicely. OK FINE! I’ll have a couple!…

As long as my cup costs less than Crazy Sample Guy, I can live with myself. I don’t mind being a glutton, as long as I’m not the biggest glutton in this line. Because the Yogurt Jockeys always act like they ring up $7 tubs everyday, but you know in the back of their mind they’re mocking you. OK, it’s tiny hot girl’s turn at the register. Really? $2.27?! What’s her cup filled with, six skittles and a splash of water?  Here’s Crazy Sample Guy. Look at the thing. It looks like it’s gonna tip over. I’m surprised he didn’t find a way to jam a few baguettes and a country ham in there. Here comes the weigh in and….$9.95!!! We did it everybody! There’s no way we’re going over $9.95! I bet this is what it feels like to win the Super Bowl! I’m going to Disneyland, and I’m taking yogurt with me! But before I do, hit me with a few of those brownie bites! Daddy’s celebrating! Yippee!

9 Steps Towards Becoming A Successful Writer

Lately, I have been receiving numerous questions pertaining to the “how to” of the writing world. So I figured why not address this topic in a blog post?

Keep in mind, this is just what has worked for me and my style ofwriting . There are many other ways to deem a writing style as “successful.”

1. Read, read, read. Read sites such as the Huffington post, read magazines, news, whatever you can to get a sense of what others write about and how they tackle it. Read newspapers to keep up on current events and generate ideas. Read books simply to learn new words and keep your mind spinning.

2. Mimic what works for others. No, I am not telling you to plagiarize. Just observe the style and voice of other writers and adapt that to your own topic. There is a reason certain people are successful, so why not learn from them?

3. Appeal to a collective audience. I work really hard to eliminate using “I” in my writings unless it is a story about a personal experience. And even then, I try to draw the audience into it by making it widely relatable. The truth is that people just don’t want to read about you. You’re not that interesting unless you can give them something to take away from your writing.

4. Write about what you know. For example, I write about society, dating, college life, etc. I do not write about politics, science, or medical conditions because to be honest, I would sound like an idiot and lose credibility.

5. Be persistent. This is huge when trying to get your work published somewhere other than your own blog. I submitted to Time Magazine multiple times before being published. And even after that, I had to keep submitting before I finally connected with an editor who I’ve been working with consistently. As for Music Magazine, I literally Googled and stalked the editors of each section and emailed them individually about contributing. The one editor finally responded to me, and that opened the door to being able to submit articles on any topic.

6. Reread and pay attention to grammar. Never, ever submit something without taking multiple reads through it. You will catch so many things you missed the first time around.

7. Engage with your audience. Even though sometimes I wish I didn’t, I read the comments in multiple emails and respond to people and their questions. I answer all the reader emails that I receive. People are more likely to keep reading your work if they feel like you care. Remember, readers make or break your success. Take time to thank them.

8. Don’t hold back. Being a writer takes a certain kind of person. You have to be willing to put your own experiences out there, to approach awkward situations with humor and serious situations with a level tone. There will always be readers who feel the need to comment and express their disagreement, or flat out hatred of how you approached something. You have to brush them off and think of all the readers who appreciate what you do and say.

9. Experiment. Find out what styles work for you and what styles don’t. If something you post gets zero interaction or acknowledgment, there is probably a reason. Learn from it.

I’m sure many other writers have various advice as to how to get a foot in the door, but this is what I have learned since my entrance into the writing world.  As always, email me with questions/comments!

Falling Elegantly

I was cleaning out a closet and I came across a writing assignment I did in college dated Oct 23rd 2012. I feel I must share it. It was titled "Falling Elegantly."

Our Assignment: Choose a spot outside. Do nothing for ten minutes. Write about it. 

Perspective. It all comes down to perspective.

Twenty of us doing this same class exercise, yet twenty of us will have completely different experiences. I am plopped on the slanted ground, doing my best to remain balanced in one spot. This may not be the most logical spot to sit, but it was calling my name all the same. I have the vantage point from here. I know there are nineteen other people in close proximity, yet I cannot see one. As far as I am concerned, I am alone.

And I like it that way. I’m not an introvert per se, but I am not an extrovert either. I am the in-between, as with many things in my life. I don’t have to fit squarely into one category. Maybe some people do, but I’m not one of them. I never have been.

The breeze picks up, and one, two, three, four leaves land on me. I almost reconsider forgoing the sweater, but then I remember: I like the in-between of fall. Not hot, not cold. It forces me to feel, but not to an extreme.

It’s somewhere in the middle, just as I am. It doesn’t signify new beginnings, but rather beautiful endings. I have a thing for beautiful endings, and fall does beautiful endings the right way. The beauty is evident and obvious as the leaves shift and eventually float to the ground with an air of elegance.

In real life it isn’t that simple. More often than not, the beauty of an ending is only evident long after the initial shock, the trauma. Shedding layers of ourselves seems more painful than a tree shedding leaves. We don’t always float elegantly to the ground. More often than not we are picked up and slammed into it face-first, forcefully, immediately. There is no soft landing.

But as we observe year after year, the beauty returns. It returns after a seemingly never-ending winter, during which the trees are bare, exposed to the elements. Then slowly, winter gives way and they begin to bud, hesitantly at first, and then all at once. Color returns to the world, and that idea that it was barren and empty only days earlier seems ludicrous.

Perspective.

My flow of thought is interrupted by a shrill squeak. I look up and unknowingly enter a staring stand-off with a squirrel. He is suspended almost upside down, clinging to the bark, inching slowly downward. For every inch, he adds a small squeak, as if to announce his presence, to warn me. After two minutes of this, I begin squeaking back. He was asking for it. In turn I receive an inquisitive glance, and I look away. One second later, and the squirrel is gone. Vanished.

Appropriate timing, since right then a high whistle makes its way to me, signaling that it is time to switch places. My classmates gradually begin to emerge from their own spaces, and retreat to new ones. I follow suit, but move only a stone’s throw from where I previously sat. But now, instead of being surrounded by no one, I am surrounded by hundreds of people. Alfred, Gerard, Edward, Aloysius. People who are six feet under, but still – people.

Again, perspective.

A gravestone is dated 1803-1869 and it hits me – as much as I’d like to think this is my place, it isn’t. So many people have been here before me, breathed this air, watched these trees shed parts of themselves. So many others have loved this place and this season – enough so to spend eternity here.

Hundreds of bodies surround me, all with their own story, their own successes, their own struggles. But I don’t know any more than their name, their birth and death date. I don’t know if they slammed face-first or fell elegantly. Their lives exist in that small dash, a dash between the years that is barely even visible anymore, but that I know exists.

Perspective.

The world is so much bigger than me, bigger than my problems. Millions of people have suffered through life, while millions of others have paved an incredible path. Millions have fallen off the tree and face-planted forcefully with no hope, while others have fallen elegantly, with faith that they will be given another chance. They know they will see the beauty in the ending when the time comes.

I’m going to make my fall an elegant one.

Perspective. It all comes down to perspective.

So try it, choose a spot outside. Do nothing for ten minutes. Write about it. 

Why You Must Let Yourself Rebel Against This World

As my 27th birthday looms, I find that all my thoughts are consumed with Things I Wish People Had Told Me In My Teens and early Twenties. When I was a teenager, the internet was a different place. I had AOL and I created profiles, chatted with strangers, and used vague song lyrics as away messages. But, the world was still locked away. I think about all the parts of me I would have revealed had I known it was okay to do so, had I ever been exposed to someone who was similar to me.

I felt very alone when I was a teenager, isolated and frustrated that I felt so different. I learned to hide who I was, to become likable and acceptable, to base my self-esteem on the approval of others. I had no idea that I could simply change my thoughts in order to accept myself. I thought there was one way to be and I wasn’t it until I fixed myself to be it. Years later and I’m still trying to shake off the belief that I am broken, that I am not measuring up in some way. With or without the internet, I think everyone goes through this, but I have seen my entire worldview change as I’ve been exposed to people—if only digitally—who are so unabashedly themselves, even when who they are is not socially accepted. Hailing from an affluent, mostly white suburb in Colorado, conformity was of utmost importance and—while I managed to break free from the sameness—it still was an environment where difference was not appreciated.

I’m not writing this to blame anyone or anything. I take responsibility for how I feel and how I process anything from my past. It simply helps to unpack it, to follow the threads and watch them unspool as I tug, tug, tug at each one. 

I wish someone would have told me that it’s okay to let free whoever I really am. I’ve come to realize that the worst case scenario in life isn’t to be rejected by others, but to reject yourself. A life spent denying all the parts of you—no matter how insignificant they may seem—is a life that is too unfulfilling to bear. There is no glory, no reward for following the set path, for being invited into the largest majority where nothing is challenged and everyone must stand up straight and recite all the same platitudes. I so wanted to rebel against that when I was younger, but I didn’t know how. I was so afraid that I kept myself hidden and small and insignificant.

That little insignificant boy sometimes peeks into my life, even now. My first thought when I get an idea is, “what will people think?” And, I hate that. I judge that about myself. It’s a fucking prison to care what people think to the extent that it dictates what you allow yourself to do or not do. I write about this topic a lot, to the point where it’s almost exhausting, but it’s only because I watch how it runs on repeat in my mind. I watch how, no matter how many times I catch the thought in mid-air and try to squash it down, it still finds a way to sneak its way back into my life. I no longer care what other people think, it took me years upon years to conquer this, but the feeling and thoughts never really go away.

 Somewhere along the dizzying path from my teenage years to my early twenties, I learned that what other people think of me is more important than what I think of me. I never had an example of people who shun the norm in favor of a deliciously rebellious life. There was no Tumblr. No fashion bloggers of all sizes, colors, and shapes. No bloggers, period. No YouTube videos talking about how it gets better. No uplifting quotes about how to change your life. No seventeen-point listicles mirroring myself back to me, making me feel less alone. I didn’t know any writers or artists. I didn’t know anyone who wanted more out of their lives. I was so deeply rooted in the “reality” of life that I numbed myself to my dreams. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I hadn’t spent my teenage years and early twenties denying who I was in favor of being what other people wanted me to be. I wish I hadn’t accommodated so many fucking people when all I wanted to do was break free and be myself.

So, here’s my advice to you: fight for yourself and for who you are. One day, whatever you hate about yourself now will be what you love about yourself later. I was a weird kid, I loved school, I had acne, I was a progressive old soul trapped in the body of a teenager. I wish I’d let that all fly.

Please give yourself permission to let the weird out. Let the freak flag fly. Let that strange part of you that you desperately keep locked away out into the open and find your people. Your fake-ass friends who don’t even know you aren’t worth it. Find the ones who will see all the parts of you—the ugly and beautiful truth of who you are—and will still love you. Let yourself have that. Believe in the magic of that, because that’s how the world works. The world can be unkind and unjust and unfair, but it does deliver to you such light when you choose to reveal yourself. It’s not easy to unpackage yourself for the world to see and I will never say it doesn’t require all you have not to package yourself back up again, but I think it’s worth it. I think it’s worth being known and seen so brilliantly.

That’s the silver lining to this all, that now I get to appreciate being known and seen as the real me. It may sound cheesy and corny and it kind of is, but some of the best things are cheesy and corny. I’m down with cheesy. I’m down with corny. Because, when I get to be around my people and I get to reveal myself so deeply without fear of being judged or rejected—because I do not judge or reject myself—it’s like total fucking magic. It’s like coming home to a place I never thought existed. And that makes it worth it. So, fight for you. It matters. It’s important. You’re important. This world needs more real, more weird, more rebel. 

This Is The New Loneliness

It’s a weekday evening and you’re feeling restless. You’re texting friends and you’re watching Netflix and you’re on your laptop and you’re scrolling through Tumblr or Facebook or Instagram or Twitter. Your attention is in ten different directions, yet there’s a tug, a tiny voice in the back of your mind. It asks: what are you distracting yourself from? You ignore. Scroll again. Click again.

You send a text: “Wanna hang tomorrow night?” 

“Sure, I need to leave my apartment eventually, lol”

“L O L, me too, goddddd. Ok, let’s plan tomorrow” 

Tomorrow rolls around. 

“You know, can we maybe rain check on plans? I’m cozy!” 

“YES, I totally wanted to bail, too. PERFECT.”

Then, you two text all night. Netflix on in the background. Computer on your lap. Scroll. Click. Scroll. Click. Refresh. Scroll. Click. Text.

Wait a second. What? How is this our new normal? What are we doing with our lives? Making plans with actual human beings and then canceling in favor of a screen, Netflix, gchat, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. How is this okay? How are we accepting this?

How is this a life?

It’s not a life, actually. We cannot spend our days hunched over a screen forging a sense of human interaction. This is not what we were made for. I can guarantee all your best memories live within the moments with others. Where’s your great memory with the internet? Is this really all there is now?

When you look back on your life, will you be happy by how much Netflix you’ve watched? Will you be happy about the graveyard of plans you let fall by the wayside? Will you be happy when you’re surrounded by no one because we’ve all pushed each other away? Pushed and pushed and pushed and, in favor of what? What the hell are we pushing each other away for?

It’s the weirdest thing: our generation. We’re the least and most connected generation ever and yet if you spend some time on the internet, you see:

depression, undiagnosed, unchecked
anxiety, of the social variety
loneliness, rampant and unbelievable
sadness, like it’s a lifestyle
homebodies, like never leaving our apartments is healthy
introverts, like connection with other people is a bad thing
hate people! like it’s cool…
cancel plans! like it’s kind…
Netflix! like it’s a human being…

Do people have true mental illnesses? God, yes. Of course! But this isn’t about mental illness. People with diagnosable depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses don’t make a lifestyle of it. They don’t make a home in those diseases. They frantically fight for their life, because they must. They get help. They furiously chase their happiness. 

Our generation of sadness and loneliness is of the unchecked variety. Of wallowing. Of letting ourselves be disconnected from both others and ourselves. Learning to soothe more than heal. Learning to put a band-aid on problems instead of working through and solving our problems. If something is not immediate, we don’t want it, even if it’ll make us stronger. We’re not growing as people, not really. We’re shoving away “bad feelings” we don’t want to face by clicking, refreshing, scrolling until we’ve numbed ourselves out enough. It’s addiction.

Emotional strength is earned. It cannot be earned by self-distraction. And, that’s what all of this is. DISTRACTION.

Distraction from ourselves.
Distraction from potential pain.
Distraction from our lives, those hopes, those dreams.
Distraction from vulnerability.
Distraction from compassion.
Distraction from kindness.
Distraction from… each other.

 

And, it is making us miserable. It really is. Take a look at your life. Take a look at how you spend your time. Are you happy? Do you have joy? When’s the last time you sat in front of a computer screen for longer than 2-3 hours and walked away feeling joyous and energized? When’s the last time a computer, a television screen, an iPad, a phone… made you feel alive? When’s the last time you felt you were loved and taken care of and healed? When’s the last time you felt strong?

We’ve taken it too far, that’s what is problematic. The internet and these devices are not wholly unhealthy, but it’s the obsession, the constant consumption, the way it breeds a lack of connection with real people. And, it does breed that.

Can all of this technology be great? Yes. But we’re not using it that way. We’re being reckless. We’re acting like none of this matters, that how we spend our days is not how we spend our lives, but it all matters and how we spend our days is exactly how we spend our lives. It is. It just is.

I think we’re afraid, but that’s the whole point of life—that facing down our fears provides for a richer experience. We are not meant to circumvent the process of healing ourselves. We need to face who we are in order to be who we are. We cannot find true connection and true love and the purity of both of those experiences while spending our days not caring about others or ourselves. To not care is to be cool now? Pizza! Netflix! Do nothing all day! Sweatpants! Homebody! Introvert! Hahahaha, we’re all so sad and hate each other!

But, it’s not funny. None of this is.

This is your life. YOUR. LIFE. Do you get it? This is it. And you’re fucking wasting it. Wake up. Life happens in a blink. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Don’t scroll, click, refresh it away. Be here, now. Show up. Care about shit. Care about others. Care about yourself. Be better than this. Let’s all do it. And, if we all do it: maybe it’ll be a fucking revolution. Finally.
 
I’m sick of this sadness. I’m sick of this loneliness. I’m sick of this disconnection from others. I’m so sick of it. Aren’t you?