Saturday, December 3, 2011

I'm Cursed

I'm cursed with empathy. I'm also by nature way too opinionated.
John Shirley

I'm going to assume everyone's heard of the Occupy movements all around the country, and jump right in.

A kid died at the Occupy Denton campsite. I can't think of a nice way to put that or a nice introduction to it. The Occupy Denton website called it a tragedy, and a facebook friend of mine posted the link on her wall. On the site that features the story, no comments are allowed, and with good reason. Within minutes of my friend posting the story, people were giving their opinions, what else is new? Some people expressed concern, some were supportive, but a few (aren't there always a few) were completely unsympathetic.

The website mentioned that the kid did drugs and that might have played a part in his death, and that fact apparently means we can't be upset that he's dead. Valid points were made, we can't call every death a tragedy and mourn the loss of every single person ever, or we'd always be sad, but that person also compared the kid's death to Hitler's and rapists and pedophiles. Another person said the kid wasn't worthy of our respect and mourning. Apparently because that kid made a choice to do drugs and be homeless, we shouldn't be sorry that he's dead.

And I'm just stunned at the the lack of empathy, the void of compassion for another human being, just because he did drugs.

It's probably because I am way too empathetic. I always give money to people who ask (homeless or not). I get angry on behalf of my gay friends whenever I hear people berate gays. I got into a different facebook fight about Michael Jackson's death because someone said we shouldn't mourn him. I felt sorry for Moammar Gadhafi when CNN kept playing the cell phone video of his corpse being found. Like the guy in the comments said, I feel sorry for murderers and rapists when they get the death penalty, even if I also feel vindicated.

Both of those people apparently were raised by addicts and alcoholics and one was homeless and they worked four jobs and crashed on friends couches and walked both ways uphill in the snow or whatever, so now instead of knowing what this kid might have been going through and feeling even sorrier for him, they said he had weak character.

I've never been homeless or addicted to drugs, and I can't think of any situation where I would end up homeless or addicted to drugs, and I cried when I read his story. The Occupy Denton camp is set up outside of the art building, so I walked by this kid every day. I'm upset that I couldn't do anything for him, and I didn't even know him. But it's his fault because he chose drugs over getting a job? The logic confuses me.

Regardless of his drug use or class status, he was a 23 year old, just two years older than I am, and he died in a fucking Occupy Denton tent. That is the saddest thing I've ever heard. He was someone's baby. I just keep thinking that his parents have to bury him. His parents that probably were offering him help or waiting for him to just get it together that no longer have that opportunity or hope that their son will change. Or worse, he has no parents.

I know I'm rambling, I can't seem to pull this post into any kind of order. I just can't wrap my head around it. When do we get to the point where we can decide who's life is or isn't worthy?

Sunday, October 9, 2011

To Him With Love

It feels weird that this would be my 100th post and that this would be my first post after such a long time away from blogging, but this is something that I need to say to someone.

Dear You,

You probably won't read this, and if you do, these are things that I need you to know. Know that I mean every word.

1) I didn't block you on facebook because I was angry nor am I some kind of malicious bitch who doesn't want you looking at that unimportant drivel, I blocked you because I would obsessively check your page for any mention of myself and be forlorn when none was found. The blocking is for my closure and benefit, and it is not an act of petulance.

2) I didn't break up with you (or let you break up with me, depending on how you look at it) because you don't love me. This happened because I got tired of it. And by "it," I mean our lopsided relationship. I was tired of being the only one with any respect and consideration for my significant other.

I only have one specific instance to give you a clear picture of why I finally needed to end it, and it's the only one that mattered. I asked you Tuesday if you had anything to do, and after you replied that you didn't, you agreed to come to my apartment for dinner. You knew I was cooking. We agreed on 8 o'clock. On Wednesdays I have class until 5, so immediately after I rushed home and showered and did my makeup and put on a dress that I didn't buy specifically for the occasion, but still suited the purpose. I started to make dinner. I had baked a red velvet cake.

And while I was smoothing frosting on the top and decorating it to perfection, you called and asked if we could reschedule dinner on Friday at Red Lobster. I said okay, because really, what was I going to say? I didn't even ask what you were doing because I was so upset (Later you asked why I would say it was fine if I didn't mean it, but seriously, when has a woman ever said, "It's fine," and it has actually been fine??? And if I had insisted that you come to dinner like you said you would, you would have been sullen that you were missing out on whatever it was and ruined the night anyway.)

You hung up, and I cried. I stood in the middle of my kitchen in my lace dress and runny mascara with my cake and homemade white chocolate cream cheese icing that read, "Happy 7 Months," and I cried. Then I changed and made dinner for one because you can't just defrost chicken and re-freeze it. Then I had to eat it and watch TV by myself. And then my roommates came home and it was painful to be around people who were happy, so I locked myself in my room and watched West Side Story and ate half of that fucking cake by myself.

And that's when it hit me.

If you had whatever it is you blew me off for already planned, you would never call whoever invited you and cancel to do anything with me. But you thought it was appropriate to call me and cancel on my home-cooked meal. Why?

I might take anniversaries too seriously. I like to celebrate small victories. I like showing people I love that I appreciate them. Or maybe I was just happy to have time with you since I saw you once or twice a week. But you knew I was cooking. Why wasn't it a big deal to you? I don't even cook for myself! And it's not because I can't, I'm just really lazy. Half of the time I go to McDonald's and the other half I throw chicken nuggets or egg rolls in the microwave. I don't even like Red Lobster that much to be honest. The fact that you didn't think about me making you a meal from scratch and possibly getting dressed up for you and possibly with a gift (This makes two, btw. I have got to stop buying guys I date presents, I think that's what does it.) and a cake didn't cross your mind. You didn't think that I had painstakingly planned this out. You didn't think about me laying all of the ingredients out to make sure I had it all. You didn't think about me defrosting chicken or seasoning to taste. You didn't think I'd be angry or upset, you thought I'd be fine. You thought you could cancel on me, and with a promise to eat at a pretend fancy chain restaurant, I'd be fine.

Ed.'s note: This is excluding the fact that when we went to Red Lobster, he was late, he was obviously mad at me for being mad at him because he fiddled with his phone and ignored me, he said he didn't really like Red Lobster either, oh and then let me pay for my own dinner. Happy 7 month anniversary.

I know you have your justifications for why you did anything you did, and thousands of arguments about how I was wrong or insufficient, but I've had experience being a bad girlfriend. I know and am not afraid to acknowledge what or when I do wrong, so this time I know it wasn't me. I was an excellent girlfriend, not perfect but not lacking in any way that actually mattered. In fact, I tried so hard to not be the bad girlfriend that I was a bad girlfriend in that I completely neglected my own needs.

I pushed aside everything I wanted and believed in for you. I tried to be someone else for you. I don't like sports. I don't like sports logos. I don't like video games. I don't like drinking. But I put up with it, for you. I listened and tried to learn about a bunch of stuff that I didn't understand, for you. And you were never happy with who I am.

So when I asked if you loved me, it wasn't a trap. I was asking because why would I continue to put up with such an unequal, negligent relationship unless you reciprocated my feelings for you? At least then there'd be hope. I could work it out with someone who cared about me. But you answered my question when you not only answered no, but severed the relationship then and there. Through text message. I would have at least had the decency to meet you someplace first, but you beat me to the punch. And honestly, I wasn't upset. I don't want someone who's not going to even put up a fight for me. If you were in that much of a hurry to get it done, I'm amazed that you didn't do it at Red Lobster, but not really because breaking up with me in a text proves that you have no balls. If I hadn't tried to break up with you, we'd probably just be in that disrespectful, thoughtless sham of a relationship forever. Or until the final time you pissed me off, and I gave up.

This brings us to 3) I have a ritual when I break up with someone that I throw away everything that he gave me or anything that reminds me of him. In the past, I've gotten rid of jewelry, letters, T-shirts, and photos; And I can count the number of people I've dated on one hand.

When I went to throw away your stuff, I deleted three photos from my phone and two from facebook. That's it. I spent time, effort, energy, and money on this relationship. You definitely have things that I gave you, but I wasted everything on someone who literally gave me nothing

Ed. note: And you can blame not having a job all you want, you bought enough alcohol to get me something. Shit, I'm a girl. I kept the weed the ex before you gave me. Something, anything, free even. A weed. A rock. A Chuck-E-Cheese token. A birthday card, speaking of which, I got nothing from you. The same ex before you brought me a card, and he broke up with me the week before my birthday. Not to mention that I got you a present, and we'd only been dating about a month. It might not have been something you particularly wanted, but it was a gift that I picked out and something I tangibly gave you.

My empty trash bag is the perfect analogy for our 7 months together.

Finally, 4) It wasn't me, it was you. I can't stress this enough. I deserve better, and I'll get it. But you will never get anyone of value if you don't stop being so damn inconsiderate. Trust me, unless she's even more of a masochist than I am, the next girl won't last much longer. You can't go through many more girls without realizing it's you. I know you told me several times about a wall you built to protect yourself from getting hurt, but what I experienced is not a wall. You're selfish, and you use the metaphorical wall to shut the girl out so she can't expect things from you and you never have to give more than you want.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again, I want someone who meets or exceeds my expectations. That coupled with my tendency to throw myself 110% into every relationship makes dating hard, but every time it gets easier. I've only cried three times thus far, compared with a week of sobbing last time. I'll definitely know who Mr. Right is when it's difficult.

In any event, if 10 years from now, you've matured and given up Pokemon, and you've realized that you can't have a relationship of convenience where your "girlfriend" is only around when you want her to be and she's never any trouble at all and you realize you have to make an effort to make things work and you're still single and I'm still single, call me. I do love you, but the you I knew in the first three months of our relationship who called me and actually wanted to hang out and cared about my opinion. If that guy who tried to make me like him instead of being unsatisfied with me and under appreciating everything I did comes back, I'd like to hear from him. I liked that guy.

Essence Beasley

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

I Am Not My Hair

A couple nights ago, I went out with a few friends I haven't hung out with in a long time, Julian and Sam, to a casino. On the way, Sam tried to make small talk (Which I hate, but does anyone actually like small talk or is a social convenience at this point? And since I haven't seen her in a while, the conversation naturally steered towards my new 'do.

"So why did you cut your hair?"

And naturally, I hate this question. I shrugged, "I felt like it."

"Do you like your hair short?"

"I guess."

But truthfully, I blow those questions off or make up answers on the spot because I hate answering them. There's really no way to answer with ranting on and on about self-hatred or explaining tons more about Black culture than people care to hear or sounding like pompous. But I'll try anyway.

First things first, my hair isn't shorter. I didn't go through the BC, or big chop. I simply stopped relaxing my hair, and a year later, I got the ends trimmed. The same day I got my hair trimmed, my hairdresser straightened my hair with just product and a straightening iron. My hair is roughly chin length, pretty much the same as when I relaxed it. It simply looks shorter because my particular curl pattern gnarls all over itself instead of spiraling outward.

And yes, I like my hair now as much as I did when it was relaxed. I'm not going to lie and say that there aren't days I look in a magazine and wish with all of my heart that I could pull off blunt bangs or days that I really want to do retro pin-up curls, but I know that I can't. It's not like when my hair was relaxed it was perfect. I still couldn't really pull off the bangs and my pin-up curls were always falling out. And I had to worry about new growth and rain then. My afro is a lot more utilitarian, but it's mine, so I like it.

The point is, I ditched the relaxer and went for my natural hair because I hated that the only time anyone said I was pretty was the week after I got my hair relaxed. If you've ever had a relaxer, you know that from the time you get it until you wash your hair the first time is the closest you're ever going to get to "white" hair. Mine would be perfectly smooth. My bangs would fall in the right place. My hair would be shiny and blow in the wind. My hair would feel waxy and just too straight. I didn't like my hair the first week. I much preferred the third or fourth week after I'd washed it a few times and it would hold curl or straighten nicely and I could style it, but people raved about my hair only during the first week. And that pisses me off.

"Essence, your hair is so pretty!" or "You look pretty with straight hair," really, really pisses me off. I've always been called "smart," not "pretty" and the one time I get a "pretty" is when I bust out the chemicals and basically strip my head of what actually grows there is when I get a pretty? Fuck that.

So I grew out my natural hair. No, I don't get pretty anymore. I get "poofy" and "interesting" every once in a while, but at least I'm not faking anymore. I'm not trying to please someone else with how I look. Maybe one day will be the right time to relax it again, maybe I'll even spring for a weave, but right now, all I've got is me.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Experimental Screenprinting

I spent the majority of May in a class called 'experimental screenprinting,' which in layman's terms means I was graded on attendance and got to print whatever I wanted for 8 hours! Eric bet me that he could get more page views on deviant art than I could (he draws comics.) He totally won, but I'm convinced that that's because he already had a deviant art page and followers. At any rate, check out everything I made here, and here are some of my favorite for those too lazy to click.

Happy Hump Day!

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Blogging Hiatus

Officially over!

Even though it was never officially "on." I was just stuck in one of those 'what do I write' ruts, and then that turned into weeks, which turned into months, and then I just felt disconnected and it was weird. But I've decided to come back and just write about what I always write about: arbitrary drama and random anecdotes in my boring life.

And as per usual, we'll begin this journey with a random survey.

23 Deep Questions


23 "Deep" Questions, the Quotation Marks Questioning the Deepness of Questions that Turn Up When You Google "Myspace Surveys"

1. What is more difficult: looking into someones eyes when telling how you feel, or looking into someones eyes when they tell you how they feel?

Since I normally try to avoid eye contact, looking into someone's eyes when I'm telling them how I feel is way harder for me. Although, them looking into my eyes is just as painful. I might have Aspergers y'all.

2. Think of the last time you were angry. Why were you angry?

Legitimately angry? Yesterday. My roommate told me she washed my dishes, like she's some kind of martyr for cleaning up in an apartment that technically we all should clean. Fuck that noise.

A) It's not possible that an entire dish washer full of dishes is mine, since you cook for your boyfriend at least three times a week and I eat out the majority of the time.

B) I didn't ask you to do "my" dishes, you aren't required to do "my" dishes, and I'm not indebted to you or grateful that you did them. Since we share dishes, cleaning them is a shared responsibility, especially if you would like to eat off of them. FYI, I fully planned on doing them later, but when I noticed the sink was full, I was rushing out the door to my 8 am Maymester class, and I had work immediately afterwards, so no I didn't immediately get around to it. You could have just cleaned the ones you needed and/or messed up.

C) Where the hell do you get off announcing that in front of a room full of people, right after I walk in from work, and demand that "next time I do my dishes" when you never, ever tell the messiest person in our apartment who leaves food on the stove and doesn't clean anything at all ever that she should clean? Fuck you.

And D) Don't act like in the past two years I haven't cleaned up after you a shit ton. Literally. I was the only one who busted out the Clorox and toilet brush in our shared dorm bathroom, and I never asked you to or acted like a saint even though bathrooms are the second germiest places after kitchens, and we didn't have a kitchen then. I've taken out trash and swept and mopped our floors, and during spring break, I cleaned the dusty baseboards and scrubbed the scuff marks off the walls, and I'm definitely the only one doing that.

3. You will die in three minutes. Last call?

My daddy. The first one would be my mom.

4. If you could do anything OR wish anything, what would it be?

Travel abroad/live in France. I WANT IT.

5. You can have one of the following two things: trust or love.

Trust because to me, that is love.

6. You are walking to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss told you if you are late one more time you're fired. Do you save the dog?

Truthfully, no. I'm a little cutthroat when it comes to work.

7. Would you or have you ever blackmailed someone?

No, I'm not smooth enough to pull that kind of thing off.

8. Think of the last person who you know that died. You have the chance to give them 1 hour of life back, but you have to give one year of your life. Do you do it?

No, but not based on me giving up one year. I just don't see how an extra hour could do anything, you know?

9. Are you the kind of friend that you would want to have as a friend?

Yes. I pay for things, I bake, I don't send stupid emails about how people are bad friends for doing the exact things that I do. All in all, I'm pretty awesome.

10. Does sex=love?

No. The shows Jerry Springer and 16 & Pregnant undoubtedly prove that.

11. Are you old fashioned?

Yes and no. I believe I have old fashioned views on love and relationships, but a fairly modern view of womanism.

12. Would you marry someone if they were unable to have sex?

If I loved them, yes. Although I'm not sure what kind of disease that is.

13. What would be harder for you, to tell someone you love them or that you do not love them back?

To tell someone I don't love them back. I'm too passive aggressive for that. Aspergers!

14. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up?

Sleep. One of our friends said in college, you could get good grades, sleep, or have a social life, but only two out of the three. Guess which ones I kept?

15. Romantic love, when was the last time you told someone you loved them?

When was the last time I saw Eric? Tuesday?

16. If you had to go back in time and change one thing, if you HAD to, even if you have "no regrets" what would you change?

Having a crush on Robert. We're okay now, but he's kind of an ass.

17. Imagine. It is a dark night, you are alone, it is raining outside, you hear someone walking around outside your window. WHO do you wish was there with you?

The Marine who killed Osama bin Laden.

18. Would you give a homeless person CPR if they were dying?

No, based solely on the fact that I don't know how to give CPR. If in this hypothetical situation, I do, I probably still wouldn't because I'd be afraid of killing them, even though they're dying.

19. You are holding onto your grandmother's dying hand and the hand of a newborn that you do not know as they hang over the edge of a cliff. You have to let one go to save the other which one would it be?

This question is awful. And baby. It's my grandmother, assholes.

20. When and how was the last time you told someone how you REALLY feel?

I don't know. I think it's harder for me to not say how I feel.

If You had three months to live:

What's with your obsession with me dying?

21. Do you tell anyone or everyone you are going to die?

No. It's like the dude who just had to predict the date of the apocalypse, it would just cause unnecessary panic.

22. What do you do with your remaining days?

Get rid of all of my crap. Seriously, I have so much paper and fabric and books and clothes. I hate to think of my parents or someone boxing all that up or selling it.

23. Would you be afraid?

Um, if I knew how I was going to die, and it was painful or frightening or something, yes, but if I died in my sleep, no.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Because I Am 8 Years Old

I have a job now and I was already going to school full-time, so I have limited time to study/sketch/be a real artist/sleep. So would someone explain why I spend my free time doing this:

Yes, this is a Taylor Swift dress up game where I have made her look like a Real Housewife of Orange County.

The one of her as a vampire is much more awesome, in my opinion.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


I realized today that I haven't written an actual post in forever, and one of my biggest pet peeves is bloggers who abandon their sites for months at a time. So, to catch everyone up on everything going on in my life right now, I'm formatting this post like my favorite horoscope.


Money, I have none, but not for long because I do have a career! Or rather, my temporary position at Academy promoted to a part-time job. You know those people who are super awesome at balancing their lives and they can be on the PTA and bake cupcakes for a bake sale and read to their kids every night while working a full-time job? I've put off having a job while enrolled in school for a long time because I am the antithesis of those people. I procrastinate with everything. My life is barely held together just doing school. But my dad had knee surgery, and a lot of other complications, and the outcome of my income was my income all ran out, and I need to grow up and take responsibility for myself, blah blah blah.

Actually, it has made me a little more productive since I know I have to have things done in a shorter amount of time, but I'm exhausted. I asked my friend Morgan how she double majors (fashion and fibers) and works, and she said she learned to not sleep and it makes her more hyper. I'm the antithesis of her too though because being tired just puts me in full-on bitch mode. I've noticed that I care about things less, smile less, and feel more irritable than my already generally irritable. It makes me wonder how my dad works the graveyard shift, serves on the school and park boards, and does all of that Girl Scout stuff and more without punching people in the face.

And I guess school should go under this section. The night before my media writing mid-term, my clock did something funny and reset itself two hours later than usual. As a result, my alarm went off at 8:30 AM instead of 6:30 AM for my 9:00 AM class. I rose, threw clothes on, brushed my teeth, and ran to the bus stop, where naturally, the bus pulled away as I made it down the stairs. Waiting for the next bus would make me horribly late, so I walked/ran to the general academic building (it's about a 20 minute walk to campus from my apartment). I dashed into the room at 8:59, right as she was passing out the exam, and realized that my pencil bag must have fallen out of my backpack. I had to borrow a pen from Julia. I couldn't answer the entire first page of questions, and I guessed at the next before I finished the writing section. Murphy's Law then dictated that Julia's pen would run out of ink, so I had to borrow another pen, different color ink, to finish my test. I left feeling horrible, like a failure, and dirty.

Well, we got the tests back yesterday, and I made a 92, the second highest grade in the class. I choose to take this as proof that I am a boss writer. Seriously, the first page was arbitrary guesses.


Extremely tired. I miss yoga. I'm really hoping that now that I have a job, not only will I have enough to pay for a pass, but I won't have to work during the class.

Also, since I've been slowly running out of money, I haven't been eating well. Not that I was super healthy before, but now my diet is exclusively soda, coffee, pasta, rice, or oatmeal. Being a college kid sucks.

Sidenote: Some kids in my fibers class are vegan, which is interesting. I think I could give up meat, see menu above, but I could not live without eggs, butter, and cheese. I would be amazed that they can do it, but I read a magazine article about vegans, and they are committed to it, so kudos to them.


Weirdly enough, I'm dating someone. See, when my ex broke up with me, he seemed way more confident than I have ever been that I'd find someone else because "plenty of guys like me" and "I deserve someone who loves me" and such. Well, that or he was feeding me a bunch of cliche lines because somehow men are born with a teleprompter in their brains to guide them through breakups. But I digress.

I consider myself a fairly confident person. I think I'm good at writing and art. I'm competent, intelligent, and generally nice. Like every other woman, I do have my body issues, but I choose to focus on my excellent rack, straight teeth, and long eyelashes. But I have absolutely no faith in my abilities to attract the opposite sex. At all. When I was younger, the guys I liked seemed actually repulsed that I liked them. I was an awful flirt, I could not speak around the guy I liked, and I think they thought I was retarded. And if any guys liked me in high school, they didn't tell me about it. So, I gave up on dating. I actually planned to move to New York and get a job and go at my life completely alone. But I have to admit that I've always been jealous of girls who could get a boyfriend no matter what. Even if I felt like they weren't as smart as I was or as pretty, something about them made guys take notice, something I lacked.

I'm still awful at flirting, although now I can flirt with people I have absolutely no interest in. And I've had two boyfriends now over the course of a year, so I guess I'm getting better at having allure. Sure, I'm still no Angelina Jolie, but I guess just accepting that makes me more attractive. I actually think the guy I'm dating now likes me because I'm a complete weirdo. But I've been lied to about that before, so I don't know.


My life's pretty sweet right now. As soon as I smooth out the bumps of poor and tired, it'll be almost perfect. And I promise that I'll post pictures of some art stuff soon. I just never take pictures before because I rushing against the deadline, and then it takes weeks for the professors to finish grading, and then I forget to photograph stuff. Excuses, excuses.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Growing Pains

You know that syndrome women seem to have where as they get older, they slowly turn into their mothers? Or as the poem my sister and I chant when we catch ourselves acting like our mother:

Mirror, mirror on the wall; I'm my mother after all.

Today, I cleaned the baseboards in my apartments with a water and bleach mixture. For everyone who doesn't know what baseboards are, they're little decorative strips of wood that go on the base of a wall, right next to the floorboards.

And ours looked dusty. So I used one day of spring break to clean.

However, I didn't move any of our furniture to clean behind it, my mom definitely would have moved everything around, but I just cleaned the exposed baseboards. Maybe I kept some of my dignity?

Friday, March 11, 2011

30 Days of Truth - Day 14

This post took a long time for a reason.

Day 14 - A hero who has let you down (a letter).

I don't really have heroes who are current, if that makes sense. Like, I like Taylor Swift, but I try not to base my hopes/dreams/actions off of anyone is Hollywood because they're all insane, but here goes:

Dear Lindsay Lohan,

Just admit that you're crazy, go to jail, and dye your hair back to red.

Essence B.

I don't really consider Lindsay a hero or anyone I would want to model my life after, but I did think she was cute and a good actress, and she's disappointing me. Here's a list of my real role models:

1. My mom. She drives me nuts, but I love her to death.

2. Taylor Swift. I think we've discussed how much I adore her enough. For now, at least.

3. Angelina Jolie. This is probably weird, but I love Angelina Jolie so much. I don't even care that she's a man-stealer or that she used to wear vials of blood around her neck or that she kissed her own brother, all that matters now is that she's amazing. I just want to adopt tons of kids and wear elbow length gloves too and have people be ridiculously in love with me for no reason.

Plus, the fact that Jennifer Aniston is still whining about Brad Pitt leaving her for Angelina makes me like her more. They have 6 kids now, 3 biological okay? Just stop talking about it.

4. Michelle Obama. I want to be Michelle Obama when I grow up. I love her clothes. I love that she's BFF with Carla Bruni. I love her super toned arms. I love her family.

I want this.

But anyway, I just want Lindsay Lohan and Emma Stone to go back to being redheads, even if Emma's was fake to begin with.

Monday, February 28, 2011

30 Days of Truth - Day 13

It just occurred to me that not only have I not blogged in two weeks, I'm not even halfway through my 30 Days of Truth.

Day 13 - A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days (write a letter).

Dear Taylor Swift (you had to know it was coming),

When your first couple CDs came out, I made fun of you.

Okay, okay, I still make fun of you. Most of your songs are about how you love a guy but he likes someone else and you want her man or that you're in love or that you're falling out of love or whatever. But now it's a loving type of joking because I realized that I am exactly like you. At least emotionally when it comes to love because we're both super naive and fall completely without any regrets and it's only in hindsight that we have clarity. I've watched you in interviews and you're quirky and cute, but still with a really beautiful grace that I think so many women our age are missing. I say I want to be you when I grow up all of the time even though you're only a year older.

Sure, your songs a little ridiculous sometimes (If you're reading and you haven't heard "Last Kiss," just listen), but I believe those feelings come from your heart, and when I'm as ridiculous and weepy, you help with the pain.

Also, you're living proof that there are tons of fish in the sea. I'm not calling you a slut or anything, but you date a lot more than you think you do (she said in an interview with Seventeen that she's not always dating someone, but I can name twice as many people she's dated than I have, so....) I still love you.

Maybe one day when I'm rich and famous, we can be friends and bake cupcakes together. We'd totally be friends in real life if I'd met you pre-fame. I wouldn't have made fun of you, and you could teach me how to play guitar and we'd be weird together. Maybe we'd even be a duo instead of just you.

Essence Beasley

P.S. - I'll admit that I listened to "Last Kiss" on repeat for hours at a time when I first bought your CD. And also that listening to it now still makes me teary, as long as you know that none of this makes it less creepy.

P.P.S. - Also, I dig the straight hair. Almost as much as I like it curly, but not quite.

Also, this is my favorite interview with Taylor Swift. I want that dress, and I love her.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Happy Valentine's Day!

Happy Valentine's Day!

I'm not a romantic at all, but I love any and every holiday that I can celebrate by baking and giving away cupcakes, so it should come as no surprise that I adore Valentine's Day! Pink, hearts, love, roses, and all that jazz, I'll take it! This year, I made cupcakes with, wait for it, strawberry Laffy Taffy buttercream frosting. You know how Laffy Taffy tastes right? Like kinda sour fruit? Well, Laffy Taffy buttercream frosting tastes like a creamy version of that, if that makes sense. It's not really sour, just buttery and light. I was really skeptical at first, and I thought it would taste differently, but now I believe that strawberry Laffy Taffy buttercream frosting is God's gift to mankind.

Normally, I hate sprinkles (I don't like extra chewing), but I made an exception for VDay. Three choices, hot pink sugar; red, pink, and white nonpareils; or red, pink, and white heart confetti.
They look super sweet, but I countered the candy attack by heaping the frosting on plain white cupcakes, then passed them out around Bruce Hall. I hope your Valentine's Day yielded as much sweetness (but less diabetes) as my pan of cupcakes!

Saturday, February 5, 2011

30 Days of Truth - Day 12

Day 12 - Something you never get compliments on

I'm rarely, if ever, complimented on my looks.

Growing up, I was always the "smart one" because I had a 10th grade reading level and skipped the first grade. Since I lived in Ennis, Texas, where everyone knows everyone, it was already precedent that I was smart, and people treated me like the smart one. When I moved to Denton though, no one knew anything about me. While it was freeing to not be considered the smart girl, I just earned a new moniker of the "funny one" (which also has its downfalls because now people don't know I graduated with a 3.8, and therefore don't need everything explained to me).

So I've never been the pretty one. Sometimes people say I have a pretty smile or pretty hair (although that's always been after I get a relaxer, one of the reasons I'm going natural), but not "pretty" in general. I always get "cute" which I firmly believe should be reserved for puppies and babies. And while I don't believe I need to be Angelina Jolie, and I don't want people constantly complimenting my looks over any of the other bajillion things that make me me, I'm a 20 year old. I want to be hot or beautiful, not cute. I want to be thought of as attractive, is that so much to ask? But the first person who wasn't related to me to call me pretty was a gay guy (and it's mostly gay guys who say that now). My ex didn't even list pretty or any other form of attractive in the top 5 things he liked about me.

Part of it could be my attraction to tall white boys. Apparently, you ask a guy what celebrity he would sleep with if he could and his answer is his physical type. I have met only one white guy who listed a black girl as his answer, and he picked Beyonce. And in conversations I've heard from guys about girls, the black girls they list are "Pretty/hot/whatever for a black girl," heavy on the implication that black girls aren't as attractive as their white counterparts to begin with. I should really make some black friends.

At any rate, last week when I was shopping with my mom and sister, a saleswoman complimented my sister's and my looks to my mother. She said we have everything, the eyebrows, eyelashes, full lips. "I have to pay for those!" she joked as she slid my mom's purchases across the counter. And you know what? I was happy someone complimented me. It made me feel more attractive, even if it was a middle aged woman instead of a 20 something year old boy. And I'm not sorry about it!

Serena Williams is supposedly my celebrity look alike. If you know of any tall white boys with brown hair and beautiful blue eyes you can get lost in that list her as a celebrity crush, tell them to give me a call.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011


This semester, I'm taking alternative processes, advanced surface design, metals and jewelry I, media writing, and general psychology I for a total of 15 hours. That's three studios people (the classes where I actually learn techniques and make art)!

Most semesters, I'd only be taking 12 hours, but since I added my journalism minor, I need to take an extra 18 hours of journalism classes, which means adding on to my already hectic schedule. It's only the third week of school, and I'm exhausted. I normally sleep a lot because I'm just not a high-energy person, but lately I've been skipping the naps and flat out passing out when I go to bed around midnight then waking up at 6 am to start all over.

I happened to be talking about my tiredness at church, I don't remember if I was necessarily complaining or not, and one of the other college students was all, "Don't complain! I'm taking 15 hours, and I have a job, and I go to church, blah blah blah...." I hate it when people do that.

Sure, I may have been complaining, but why jump in and reprimand me by listing your problems? If I listed out everything that I do including my classes, I'm involved. Let's not forget that I attend the exact same church. I also attend a different church occasionally. I started attending a different Bible study than the first two with another one of my friends, and I joined their choir. I've been going to a yoga class. I have Fibers Club, and I'm joining the National Association of Black Journalists. I don't have a job, but that's because I spend what precious free time I have divided between working for the studios and going to movies. Seriously, I spent three hours of our first Saturday after classes started in the metals lab. I spent another 5 in the fibers lab on Friday dyeing my shibori pieces. I'm throwing a baby shower. I'm making my sister's Band Banquet dress. I'm not lazy, I work hard, and I have every right to be tired.

I know everyone took art in grade school, and it seems all easy, but really it's work. Not only do I have to create something that didn't exist before I made it, I have to have a concept for it. My first project for alternative processes is to make a three dimensional sculpture out of nothing but 1 yard of white fabric, a needle, and white thread. Isn't that just insane?

I just really hate it when people try to put me down for what I do or make what they do seem more important. Like what I'm feeling is just nothing compared to how tragic their life is, like it's a competition, like somehow they're more successful because they have more things to be exhausted about so they can belittle and look down on me. I guess the real point is, I may complain and whine, but I love what I do, and I work just as hard for what I want. Maybe I need to blow off steam every once in awhile, but I wouldn't trade my life for anything, even if it means I would win the "My Life is Stressful and More Exhausting Than Yours" award (And for the record, I was taking 15 hours last semester and working, and I had a part-time job over the winter break, and I applied for several jobs after my temporary one, I just haven't heard from anyone and I'm not really trying anymore because of said exhaustion, although I wouldn't turn anything down).

And I'm going to try harder this year to post pictures of my work because I'm slowly getting to the point where I can make what I want and not worry about just getting a good grade.

My life.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

30 Days of Truth - Day 11

Day 11 - Something people seem to compliment you the most on.

Strangely, the thing I get the most compliments on is something I don't control. I didn't choose it, but everyone seems to like my name. Whenever I meet someone new they always seem to ask if my name really is Essence, which it is, and then they remark on the general coolness or beauty of my name. And since I'm constantly meeting new people, it happens a lot. It happened today actually. The girl who took my order at the bookstore thinks my name is pretty.

However, my mom named me. So maybe the compliment really goes to her?

The Infiniti Essence. Almost as good as me. Almost.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

30 Days of Truth - Day 10

Day 10 - Someone you need to let go of, or wish you didn't know

So far, this has been the easiest question to answer, which only sounds horrible when you first read it. Actually, probably afterward too, but I will get to explain myself: I chose my ex-boyfriend.

Not the "wish you didn't know" part though, that's harsh, even for me. But the need to let go of part is definitely my problem.

See, I don't like a lot of guys, romantically, that is. I'm infinitely picky, especially when it comes to dating. So when I do like a guy, when I can see myself with them, I have a tendency to latch on and obsess and worry. Probably all of the most unattractive traits a female can have, and I have them all.

I know that's what made my ex break up with me in the first place, but I'm not sorry. I can't apologize for feeling what I felt or saying what I said because I felt it and I meant it. I need follow Shakespeare's words and stay true to myself because pretending I'm not a passive aggressive control freak with mild paranoia and a caustic tongue would ultimately end the same way.

At any rate, I need to let go because I'm not going to get another guy with my tunnel vision. Getting married and/or dating is not my primary (or even secondary) goal, but I would eventually like to settle down and feel like a guy besides my dad loves me. I'm still going to be hella picky though. My last relationship did teach me a lot about what I really want in someone I'm stuck with 'til death do us part.

So here's to the guy who gets that I'm a little neurotic but doesn't give me cause to be; the guy who knows and accepts me for who and what I am before asking me to change; the guy who articulates as well as he listens; the guy who can dish it out as good as he can take it; the guy who's as honest as he is funny; the guy who doesn't have to decide, but knows; the guy who means forever and always (TAYLOR SWIFT REFERENCE. Did you catch it?); and may I be ready to let go of the past, accept him, and be as intense as ever because that's how I roll.

Also, it wouldn't hurt if he looked like Prince Eric*.

If he weren't animated, and therefore not real, I would kill that damn mermaid for him. Look at his eyes! And that dimple for Pete's sake! I'd so win too.

* Although I'm flexible on this one. I'll also accept Hercules, John Smith, or Aladdin. What is Disney hunks for $1000, Alex?

Monday, January 17, 2011

30 Days of Truth - Day 9

I'm glad the 30 Days of Truth doesn't have to take exactly 30 days. Also, I need to step it up. I'm only on day 9.

Day 9 - Someone you didn't want to let go, but just drifted.

The drifting thing happened to around 90% of my friends from high school. But since I didn't really like high school, I guess it's okay.

Then again, it also happened to about 90% of my college friends too. But if I'm choosing one, I pick Sam.

Sam is the first person I was really friends with when I came to UNT. We were both in the flute section for the Green Brigade, one day she asked me to eat lunch with her, and we hit it off from there. She introduced me to Cassandra, who is now my best friend and roommate, so it seems weird that we're not close anymore. The Sam I knew was great though. She was completely open. Does that make sense? Like not afraid to be a complete and total weirdo in front of strangers, cool with being herself, if that makes sense. When I first meet people I'm always afraid to be me at first because I'm pretty sure I scare people. Eventually though, I let it slip that I'm a complete freak, and then I just wait for them to run, but not Sam. She was weird to your face, she didn't hesitate to say what she was thinking, and I like that in people.

My original group was Sam, Julian, Anthony, and Cassandra, and it was the first time that I ever really "hung out" with my friends. My parents were over-protective, and they freaked out about boys and everything else, so for the first time, I was free. I had a group of friends who hadn't known me since kindergarten, who didn't know about my parents, who hadn't pre-judged me, and who actually liked me. But things happened. The melodrama that shouldn't be a big deal, but is because that's the definition of melodrama, and everything is crazy and nonsensical. Cracks and rifts form, sides are chosen, and you just have to wait for the dust to settle before you know what's going on. The things everyone claims to hate but just can't seem to get away from, you know?

I went out with her to dinner a couple months back in hopes of regaining what was lost, but she seemed more interested in past actions then focusing on me and the future, so I don't think I'll be doing that again, but we drifted, and I miss that crazy, cool, funny girl who taught me to laugh at myself.

Plaid Day (my camera doesn't like white people)!

Thursday, January 13, 2011

It's in the Stars

While I don't actually believe my horoscope, I take pretty much every opportunity to read them (and I love this chart). I don't read mine daily in the newspaper or even online, but when my Cosmo/Glamour/Seventeen/Elle arrive, I scan the paragraph labeled 'Virgo' for insights on my life for the coming month. Their predictions never come true, which makes me wonder why I continue to read them, but I guess I like the idea of personality being aligned with an excuse.

I'm usually able to blame my critical nature and obsessiveness on being a Virgo. My gifts of modesty and quick-wit? Because I'm a Virgo. My issues with perfectionism and control? Attributes of the virgin. But now?

Like the exclusion of Pluto as a planet and the decision that indigo is not, in fact, a color as we were taught in school, science has screwed us again! There's a new Zodiac chart, and it messes everything up. Not only are most signs officially shifted, there's a new, unpronounceable one: Ophiuchus. And now, now I'm...a...Leo???

  • Ruler: that magnificent, larger-than-life, passionate fireball the sun
  • Your gifts: fearless leadership, boundary-defying creativity, emotional expression
  • Your issues: over-committing, impracticality, egomania
...Okay, I might be a Leo. But only if I can keep the obsessiveness. And the quick wit. And the control.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Dressed to Kill

At my high school, we have an annual Band Banquet where all of the band nerds get together and party. It's actually better than prom because it's exclusive and the band kids aren't afraid of looking stupid so people actually dance, and there are prizes for random things like "best dancer" and all of the seniors get a present.

I went all four years, which is why I know it's better than prom, and now my little sister is going. The problem? She wants me to custom make her dress to fit this year's theme: Disney. Though, I can't remember if it's just Disney or Disney princesses.

She doesn't want an exact replica of a Disney princess dress though, she wants one "inspired" by the era or feel of a Disney princess. She even went so far as to make a photo album of dresses she liked, tag me in all of the photos, and ask for my opinion.

I guess it's not really a problem*, most of the dress designs are fairly simple. And actually, they're really cute. I even want three of these.

The thing is, someone needs to tell that girl that if I had the time, money, and willpower to custom create dresses, my closet would be a lot fuller.

Side note: If I were invited to band banquet, I would get a dress like Ursula the sea witch from The Little Mermaid. Black, slinky, and I have the boobs for it.

* The real problem is, she keeps referring to the movie Anastasia for a dress she wants even though I've pointed out multiple times that Anastasia is a Don Bluth film, not Disney.

Friday, January 7, 2011

30 Days of Truth - Day 8

Day 8 - Someone who has made your life hell or treated you like shit

I had a lot of trouble with this one too. I may lash out when I'm angry or upset, but it turns out that when I'm calm I can't think of anything. Sure, I know a lot of people who piss me off or have treated me like shit, but I guess I'm pretty lucky that I can't think of anyone who consistently made my life hell or treated me like shit.

However, I can think of an entire group...

In high school, I was a band nerd. Do you know why I was a band nerd? The theater kids were a bunch of assholes. And I wasn't even a great band nerd.

When I was younger, I dreamed of performing. I didn't want to be a famous actress or anything, I just like being in school plays and singing because my love of musicals goes way back. I've been in church Christmas/Easter pageants since I was three or four. In elementary school, I can remember being a toy soldier for an incredibly diluted performance of The Nutcracker. I was in Encore Choir in middle school. We would do a holiday show and a spring musical, and I can remember being Raggedy Ann and Ethel Toffelmier in our production of The Music Man. In junior high, there wasn't really a theater program, there was regular choir and then you could try out for One Act Play, which I never did because I was in Ready Writing, and I was in band.

In high school, everything was different. I think they sucked all the fun out of theater. Well, maybe the theater kids did have fun. I wouldn't know since I tried out for four different shows and never got a part, not even a small one, not even backstage. So I took the theater elective so I could learn more about theater, and I tried joining the drama club in an attempt to get to know everyone better, but that was an obvious waste of time since I had already been deemed unworthy by their clique.

My absolute favorite was the last show I tried out for, Alice in Wonderland. I convinced my best friend to go with me because I felt like such an outsider. Surprise, surprise I didn't get a part yet, she did. Oh, and not only her, but one of her friends who she convinced to audition with us the day of auditions. Later, my best friend became historian for the drama club, the office I wanted but couldn't even run for since you had to be in at least one show to become an officer.

I can accept the fact that I'm a crap actress, and no, I didn't take theater as seriously as them, but it wasn't like we went to a magnet school that specialized in that type of thing. It wasn't even like most of them were really great actors. Trust me, our plays weren't Oscar worthy, there were no groundbreaking performances. I seriously doubt anyone from Ennis High School will ever be famous (with the exception of Aaron Schumacher, because that boy is great.) But I cannot accept how cold and exclusive they were. They really acted like there were awards to be won and so much on the line for a great musical and like I was just going to ruin everything. All of them weren't even nice to me as a person outside of theater.

Looking back, I wonder why I wanted to be a part of that group, but hindsight is always 20/20.

I've got it.
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