Why the Real World doesn't care if you were Prom Queen

After spending an extended weekend back home in the 'burbs for Thanksgiving, I took full advantage of my time with my twin little brother and sister and reminisced about my high school days. They're going through the insignificant but common teen stage where they just want to fit in yet want to stand out - but in a good way. It's all "so very complicated" and I "just don't understand". Talking to them about what they really want out of life, their feasible hopes and dreams or even something that isn't on BET's 106 & Park is kind of like trying to teach yourself sign language. It's a cool idea at first, but then you realize that you might only use what you learn maybe twice again in your life if you're lucky. And no one will be impressed.

My biggest message to them was that who they are in high school (they're 15) will in no way, shape or form dictate who they'll become in 10 years. Unless, of course, they're on heavy drugs or currently dealing with teen pregnancies, which neither of them are. I wanted them to know that they had time to think about how they wanted to be perceived by the world. If you're not planning on going pro, it won't matter if you played varsity or JV lacrosse in high school. Yes, you'll meet some great people and learn the value of teamwork but said people probably won't associate themselves with you after you graduate. Sorry, but it is what it is. There are those rare occasions when you actually do keep in touch with your highschool buddies, though . . .do any of you guys still speak to people from when you were younger? I'll wait.

I figured the sooner they came to terms with this, the better. I know how important it is to be liked when you're surrounded by your highly judgmental peers on a daily basis but I promised them these people will not matter. Your junior prom queen may have it all together now spending daddy's money and struttin' a body that's about 5 years too developed but after you graduate, no one really cares if you were prom queen.

Trust me, I know.

No, I was not prom queen - ew! But I am incredibly perceptive and great at starting conversations. I did a crapload in both high school and college, made friends with the people who were "destined for success" and can I tell you that the only people who really care what you did in high school are the unfortunates you'll find frequenting the same bars? In that case, and that case only, being an alleged prom queen may get you a few drinks.

I tried explaining this to them and do you know what my little brother told me?

He asked me to post his tumblr on my blog. Apparently, he's "Tumblr Famous".

I wanted to go on a rant about how no one cares if you're 'tumblr famous' either but then I remembered that they are the next generation. Maybe they care. For now at least.

You know when something isn't a good idea but you do it anyway?

Yeah, that happens to me sometimes.

There might be a psychological term for this and if there is, I have a very mild form of it. It's kind of like when you do something just to see what could happen even though you know there's 99% chance it's going to end badly, but you do it just for that 1% that something crazy good could happen? You like your odds anyway.

I was having that inner battle with myself the weekend I encountered my first real-life bar right. Please, hold the applause. I feel compelled to say now that I wasn't actually in the bar fight, per se. Being in it would imply I threw punches or took punches and homie don't even play that. Not in platforms, anyway.

The Bar Fight.

My college friend who I call "Country" (although she hates that because she swears Baltimore isn't "The South". Baltimore is the south and Westchester is upstate. It just is) came to visit for homecoming weekend so her, one of The Roomates, and myself decided to wander around Astoria and find something to get into. Country, whether she wanted to believe it or not, needed to be exposed to the city and I was going to be the friend to do that for her. This was the night I realized how heavily populated by hispanics my area is - specifically hispanic men. Specifically middle-aged hispanic men. I guess I should have noticed that on my last outing but fishbowl drinks, no dinner, and wine will have you thinking everyone's a Casanova.

We did our "rounds", which included us visiting our go-to clubs, but when we noticed that we didn't like the crowd, aka there weren't enough free drink offers and we weren't in the same incapacitated state as the first time we went there, we needed to find a more lively scene. This would have been a problem easily solved by going to a more lively club, but I had other plans.

There's this place that always plays good music but never has anyone in there nearby so I convince them we should check it out on our way to a new spot just so we can listen to the music for a bit. As we approach the restaraunt/club we see that the bartenders are wearing underwear (full bra and panties sets) and the guests have got to to be their cousins, brothers, and relatives of some kind because everyone looks alike.  This should have triggered the "don't go in there" alarm, and it did - until someone mentioned an open tab and us being more than welcomed to use it...

At that point it was kind of unanimous that we were going in there.

First problem - The music cuts off as soon as we enter and everyone stares at us. I joke around and ask if we're being punk'd but no one answers. I probably should have left here too.

Next problem - My friends are sending me all types of signals that it's time for us to get out of there. Country is visibly uncomfortable while this short hispanic man whispers sweet nothings in her ear, or rather . . .slobbers in her ear. It wasn't a pretty sight, but I figured we'd oblige and be social for five more minutes and then I'd say I was feeling sick and needed to get home asap. I didn't have much of a problem with the guys because I had my "f*ck off" face. You know the one.

I will say that the one good thing about the bar was that they had this awesome kareoke machine, and I really can't pass up karaoke. 

Just as I'm considering stepping up to the mic, Country's inebriated "date"gets mad because his friend pulled off his toupee (I don't make this up. It happens). He very sloppily throws the first punch with a near-miss to my friend's face and I take this as the most obvious cue for us to leave. 

Third problem? - The door is blocked by everyone that's trying to break up this fight so I literally duck and dodge my way to the entrance only to have the bartender signal the owner to block us from leaving. Why? Because those "free drinks" weren't so free after all.

I'm sorry? There's a fight in your establishment with some old man who offered to buy us free drinks and you're HALF-NAKED, but the problem here is that we're trying to leave? Go sit down.

Of course as soon as we're going to leave, the guys decide to make nice (???!!!!) and look at us like "Where do you think you're going"? So now we're the bad guys, and b*tch Nhya has to come out. Just grrrreeeeeatttt.

I size up the situation. Those two guys could barely fight each other, so I'd say Country, my roommate and I have a decent chance if it comes down to it. Then there's the whole issue of my platforms. I decide that the responsible thing to do is convince the owner that he doesn't want to keep us because we're not paying no matter what he says, I could have him locked up for selling alcohol to us minors (Not true, but whatever) and his drunk old man friend is the one he needs to talk to about the tab. It works.

I'd tell you the name of the place, but it's not worth it. Just know I won't be going back.

The best is yet to come

In my last entry I wrote about a little bit about all of the f*ckery happening in my life. Let's be honest, people love to read about f*ckery. People love to laugh at other's misfortune or offer advice, and I respect that and hell, even feed into it. But today? Today Nhya's f*ckery will take a little rest. It'll be back soon though. Promise.

I've always thought that life after college would be a new adventure and that it has been. I wasn't sure if the adventure would be good or bad though, since my post graduate mind put myself in a sink or swim situation. It was all good though - I'm the kind of person who can test myself and be okay with it. Lately I've had a lot of time (shocker, right?) to think about what has gotten me to where I am today. I've done a little reflecting and thought about the people and life occurrences that have helped shape me into, well, me. Carrymel, Nhya, whatever you'd like to call me. I am so grateful for every single one of those things. The doubters, the haters, but most importantly, my appreciators. I have gotten to meet so many people that have added to my life or taught me a lesson of some sort - even the seasonal people, I'm happy they were here for the time they were.

And the best part about this life journey I'm still on? The best is yet to come.

I know I owe you a Halloween-esque Post, and it's on its way! I will say that my Halloween ended up not going according to plan though. . .

You know you're a journalist when

Because I love all my writer-types out there. . .

Some of these are mine and some I found online. All made me smile. 

• You can spend an unspecified amount of time in Starbucks sipping on the same "tall", overpriced drink. . .as long as they don't come at you for using their Wi-fi to update your blog, write your article, etc.

• While you may not agree with their methods of reaching success, you can appreciate the journalistic endeavors of the stars in the Devil Wears Prada, How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Sex and The City and yes - even Harriet The Spy. You understand the necessity of her notebook remaining confidential.

• Deadlines are of the utmost importance to you. In fact, you happen to work your best when you're only allotted a finite amount of time to produce something extraordinary.

• It drives you CRAZY when people don't know the difference between "too", "to", and "two." In fact, you're genuinely hurt when they misspell anything and don't correct it, and have to hold back from voicing it for fear of being "that guy."

• When you really start writing you go somewhere within yourself and sometimes, when you come out, days have passed, babies have been born, and pets have gone unfed.

• You have a deep appreciation for Apple Products - not all, but some. If only you could afford them.

• Whenever you're sending anything serious - email, text, whatever - you re-read it at least twice, checking for any spelling/mistakes or more importantly, if you can think of better "25-cent" word choices.

• You consult either of these books for those quarter words:

 

*Cough*Iownboth*cough*

• You're able to hold a conversation on just about any topic for at least 10 minutes from things floating around in your brain from pass research.

• You understand that Google does not = research. Not completely, anyway.

• You consider yourself fluent in sarcasm. To you it is indeed a language that not many people can decipher, but those who can are awesome in your book.

• You love a good quote. In fact, you can center a whole story around a quote if need be.

• Post-its help keep you sane.

Am I missing any? Let me know :]

17-year-old Carry meets 22-year-old Carry

For all of you who are mathematically challenged (like I am) that's a 5 year difference. Duh.

This time five years ago I had been a college freshman for a few weeks and I'll be honest, I wasn't sure of myself. I wasn't sure how I would assimilate into that University, especially since I was very much a "people pleaser" - I wanted to get along with everyone, I wanted to do everything, and I wanted to make sure I did all of that without failing out or compromising myself. But although there were times when I got stressed or overwhelmed in school, I never once wanted to rush out of there. I knew that my college years would be the best years of my life, and they have been. So far.

Me at 17 with my lovely braces on the left, 21 on the right. I miss the burgundy-ish hair. Can't lie.

And now here I am, 22-years-old with a brother who just started college and siblings not far behind and I can't help but feel like there's a brand spankin' new chapter of my life unfolding. Everyone warns you about how much "the real world" isn't a joke. No one's going to hold your hand - you either sink or you swim. Now I don't want to say that I'm beyond that advice (y'all know I was nervous), but what if you prepped yourself so much for what was going to come that you're not experiencing any culture shock? I wouldn't say I have a full-proof plan, but I'm feeling good about things to come. I've learned (and continue to learn) that I cannot and will not please everyone. . .I just have to do what's right for me. And right now what's right for me is to compare my 17-year-old goals to my 22-year-old ones.

At 17 in 5 years I wanted to:

• Get a new network of non-high school friends by the time I graduated. Check!

• Get a license. Eh. . .not so much. And now basically living in the city hasn't helped with that. But it WILL happen!

• Meet someone I love spending time with, can be myself with, and won't make me want to attempt homicide. Check!

• Study abroad. This hasn't happened yet but I can go abroad without "studying" there.

• Graduate college with honors. Check! Ideally, I was supposed to graduate into a job. Let's give this a half-check.

And now, at 22 in 5 years (hellooooo, 27) I want to:

• Visit Europe at least once.

• Finally have my tattoo *cough*andthatlicense*cough*.

• Be set in my career, whatever that might be.

• Hopefully about to start a family with  a bunch of little CarryMels and Js. I'm not big on kids (no secret), but I feel like I might like my own.

• Be a certified Zumba instructor - everyone laughs at me when I say this but I am so serious. It's something I enjoy doing! 

I kept the list short and sweet, but there's a lot more I want to do in 5 years. I think constantly keeping sight of your goals helps a lot with making them realities, but I also think leaving a little mystery and not stressing them is what makes the ride more enjoyable.

What about you guys? What's one thing you really want to see yourself do in 5 years?

PS - I've been slackin' on my mackin' by not being consistent with my Tell 'em how you feel Tuesdays but I'm going to get that back up and running. I'm also thinking of doing something like a "Featured Follower" every week or so to help cross promote other blogs. Gotta plan that out. Oh! And I want a site button :], but I need help making one, lol.

Thrift Store Pen Pals Review: My first Vlog!

Imagine my surprise to come home after an extended weekend and find this waiting for me on my bed.

Photo taken with my iPhone 3Gs. Sorry for the crappy quality.

Okay, I wasn't surprised, per se. . I knew something was coming, but my point is everyone loves packages. Even if you know what's inside it. This time, however, I didn't know what to expect.

Since I was lucky enough to be randomly selected by Woody to participate in Thrift Store Pen Pals, I decided to make a video all about it. I could have done a blog post with a ton of pics, but I really wanted a video and to be difficult. So ta-da!





I ramble for a bit, so skip to 1:24 for the actual review, haha. Also - I apologize for the sizing issue of the video. Blogger put me through Hell trying to upload this and have it look nice.

Things I hate to love about J

As promised, here's a post about the mystery man to most of you (unless you know me in real life. Then you hear about him 24/7).

What better way to get to know him than to get to know him like I know him? :]

Things I hate to love about J

 This picture of him makes me laugh every time I see it. And if he doesn't like it, he shouldn't have it on Facebook. I'm just sayin'.

How he feels compelled to shower every morning, even if he showered the night before and did nothing but sleep and wake up. Somehow showering energizes him. I couldn’t fathom this until one day I told him not to shower because we were in a rush. I watched as in a mere 20 minutes his body literally shut down and wasn’t revived until water touched his skin. It was remarkable.

His refusal to eat collard greens even though he knows damn well that I caught him eating them at a restaurant. Apparently what he meant to say is he didn’t eat my family’s collard greens. Oh, okay.

How eerily similar our grandmothers are. They look nothing alike but my grandmother is the Jamaican-Methodist-shopaholic equivalent to his cute, Jewish, always-wearing-pink grandmother. It’s very interesting to see how two women who have never met can have such a similar impact on their first grandchildren’s lives. There are times when his grandmother talks and I swear it’s like my grandmother possessed her body. Grandma, is that you?

How he loves me in sweatpants, hair tied, chillin’ with no make-up on. Or in my case - pink super woman pajamas, glasses, and a headscarf. I hate when he invites people in with me looking like I just woke up, but he doesn’t think it’s a big deal because "I’m beautiful no matter what" – yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m no stranger to Vicki’s Secret when I need to be but he has seen me looking craaaaazy and I’ll admit to that. My whole thing is – as long as it’s not a habit, let me live. Thank you. And he does.

Him taking up SO MUCH space in bed. This isn’t the biggest deal because I like that he’s 6’3, but there are times when I forget that he’s a person with feelings and I want to fight him and throw him overboard. Somebody’s gotta go. . .

His Football Sundays. HUSH! I want no backlash for this. Everyone knows that Sundays are reserved for WE Weddings, The Kardashians and True Blood! But even though I’ve always been one of those girls who likes the team whose uniforms are the prettiest (as in, with the least color clashing), I appreciate him for being so determined to keep this tradition alive with his friends and brothers. I even learned a thing or two about how great of a game football is, and he trained me to recite Mark Sanchez as my favorite player on the Jets – but I will always be a Giants girl thanks to my dad.