Love is Like Ketchup

There, I said it. Love is like ketchup. Or more, like stealing ketchup. 

From a young age I have been a fan of the red taste killer. What a royal gesture to look at my heaping plate of eggs, then douce them in tomato sauce. Why not hot sauce you ask? Hot sauce is for peasants. My mother even cut up a hot dog weenie and placed it in the form of a happy face dawning a red nose. What a wonderful breakfast it was. And one I savored for hours. But really, I was quite the slow eater. 

I remember one of the first encounters with my wonderful man friend. How he brought up the topic of sauces. Oh yes, this was something I could school him in. Until he said aloud... people in America use so much sauce. It's crazy!

Not as crazy as the panic that ran through my bones. Slowly chocking off the salsa from my taco, and letting my mind dive into the painful future of never eating sauce again. How horrible dry fries would taste. How dull my life would become. Goodbye tasty ketchup, if I ever want a chance with him you must go. 

Luckily he has given in to my condiment consumption, and life moved happily on.

So, why might you ask, is love like stolen ketchup?

This revelation did not come lightly. But as I moved out on my own, and topped off the last of my first meal alone fries, I saw something I had never seen before. Left over ketchup. Right there in a resealable cup. Ketchup I could use later. So I made a promise... to never buy ketchup again. 

Three months later I have learned that ketchup and love go hand in hand. Like love, ketchup makes things sweet. Ketchup is there when you need it. You can never have too much, yet it taste just as good in small doses. It comforts you when things are bitter, and is best when full. Though, also like love, I have learned that you become sad when the ketchup is gone. You think it will always be there, another upside-down bottle awaiting your final squeeze. But, when the day comes that there is nothing left, it hurts. And then you are left to pick up the pieces. To scrape the plastic container, or substitute your love for mustard. It is a bitter ending. And you must find a way to move on.

Now you are left to decide. Do you sulk over the one you lost, or steal a few more packets? If you listen closely the answer is in the name. It is not called a break-down for a reason. Once you are over the break, things can only go up. 

The Pitch Of A 20-Somthing

Here I sit, prepping for the biggest pitch I've made thus far in my Marketing career. Here I sit... freaking out. See, there was no class in college that taught you how to do this on your own. There is no parent sitting in the waiting room to hold your hand. And there sure as heck isn't someone ready to tell you everything will be alright if you fail. There isn't someone doing these things because when you graduate college you are no longer a dependent. No one claims you on their taxes, and the only one making your dreams come true is you. 

Don't let this freak you out though. My mellow dramatic attitude is subject to the four cups of coffee I have had today. It's only 12 you say? That's a good sign.  

I've spent weeks fretting about this pitch. Not because I'm not ready. No, I am more than ready. I have been fretting because I want it so bad. And like everyone else's thing they want so bad, I want mine more bad than anyone else in the whole world. Trust me, it's true. 

My mind has already cleared the road for task to be done, and I pictures of the greatness that will come.  I spent the last few weeks dreaming about landing this client, then slapping myself for jinxing it. And even further thinking if I don't think I will get it then I will, but not now since I thought if I didn't get it I would get it so there is no way I can get it. And I'm pretty sure there is not a single person who hasn't thought the same. 

This is the game we play as 20-Somthings. We don't really know what the formula to success is, so we guess. We don't really understand the ways of life, so we fake it. We pour our heart into everything we want even the slightest bit because we know if we don't achieve it we will realize just had badly we wanted it to begin with. We are all aboard the hot mess express, and the only stop is acceptance. Unless it is not.

Maybe that is our problem. Maybe we fight this fear of being accepted so often that we don't understand the other outcomes available. We grow up wishing that one girl with the perfect bow on the playground would talk to us, or that just one person would give us the chance we deserve and the job offer wouldn't fall through. We walk the halls of our high school day dreaming of that boy who didn't pay any attention to us, only to find out he dropped out of college and list "Professional Pot Smoker" as his previous work on applications. 

We say we want so badly to be accepted by others, when really we want so badly to be accepted by ourselves. We want to show ourselves that boy would like us, we want to prove our worth by lading a job. What if for one moment we stepped back and let things happen? What if we didn't put so much pressure on ourselves? 

If for one moment I could get out of my head and stop pushing myself to "Land This Job," but instead speak through my passion, I wouldn't have to bite my fingers down to nubs and start over Taylor Swift's Mean because I missed one word due to a wandering mind of fear. What if we threw acceptance out of the window, and reminded ourselves that we are simply what we are. And that right there is good enough. 

When Life's Little Secrets Are Big Red Signs

It has become evident that something we as humans, and more importantly heel wearing species, lack is the ability to listen to life. We are firm believers that our gift is to know everything, and that nothing can be wrong if coming from that mushy pink melon between our ears. Problem with that is... most of the time we are actually wrong. 

Not that I'm saying woman were not given gifts. We have chest ornaments to lure drinks from men, and lashes to bat our way out of trouble. We have the capacity to remember every song ever written, and lungs large enough to recount every major designer in one breath. We were given the ability to hold bags on both arms, and still apply lip gloss without a fault. 

See, we are quite the talented kind. But, where we often lack in skill is listening to what is truly right. We ignore that loud voice of life and cover it with the silly thoughts of our own. And while this can be disputed day in and day out, here are two places I can back up my argument:

1. IN WORK YOU MUST BE HONEST
Though I hate being this person, I shall eat my own words by saying, when it comes to work I am pretty much an expert. I have been in good work and in bad. I have worked for a corporation and ventured out on my own. My eyes have seen both success and failure. And through it all there is one thing that remains the same: if you don't love what you are doing it's because you are not being true to yourself. For years I poured my heart into being a journalist. I wanted to help people and show them the truth, yet ended up spending long nights and early mornings cutting video, copying pre-written stories, and running crazy errands. Sure, there are some breaking news reporters that get to crack cases and reunite dogs with their owners. But there can only be so many dogs who will stand still for an after rescue interview. Taking a step back from journalism, I let myself fall into a career of marketing. Initially my thoughts were gloomy. How could I pack up my bags of semi-helping someone and turn for a road of not helping at all? Eventually, I realized life had brought me to this place where I was directly helping people grow their hard-worked-for businesses. By being honest with myself in knowing I wanted to help others, my work had become a direct reflection of those goals. Be honest with your final goal, and don't let a flashy present thought stand in the way.

2. IN RELATIONSHIPS YOU MUST BE RESPECTFUL  
I could have picked a few other things to talk about in this post. But honestly, I wanted to leave a lot of room for this one and not lose everyones interest before the end. I can not tell you how many times my friends, and myself, have fallen victim to this problem. Listen up ladies... if you aren't respecting yourself then no guy is going to feel the need to do it either. I am confronted time and time again by the most amazing girls who all ask the same question: Why doesn't he like me? I also often hear people giving the advice that girls need to play the game. "Don't call him for exactly 22 hours 16 minutes and 37.2 seconds. That will show him who's boss." Or "He likes you, he is just scared of what a great relationship he would have with you." First off ladies, stop throwing out these horrible comments. They are tales as old as time, and relationships are NOT games. I know because I've been there. I've said these things and have been told them as well. What you need to do is respect yourself. Be busy when you are busy and talk when you are not. If you go above and beyond for a guy and blame it on your personality, you better be going above and beyond for yourself too. I'm talking over the moon, home run kind of beyond. Don't act like you are crazy nice to yourself when really you are just crazy about the wrong guy. And lastly, RESPECT yourself. You know what I'm saying and you know it will work. Even if you don't want to admit it. We are so quick to give guys the thing we think they want, when what we need to do is give ourselves what we really want. And if you are worried about a guy who doesn't like you then what you want is a natural progressing relationship.

So bottom line, start listening to life's little secrets, and stop clouding them with things you think might, maybe, one day be right. If you are at a job that you hate, you probably aren't going to wake up loving it tomorrow. And if you are chasing after guys who keep disappointing you, they probably aren't going to wake up loving you tomorrow. 

Why Shouldn't it be You?

Tonight I watched, from a dimly lit living room, as Taylor Swift was honored for her hard work and dedication to the world of courtney music. I shot praise in her direction, and kept my head turned towards the shinning screen as to not let my parents see the tears form in my eyes. 

Don't get me wrong. These tears held inklings of joy for Taylor and her ever lasting battle with scrubs which have made her such a relatable character. Though, amongst the joy was quite a bit of grief. For, if you asked me just years ago, I'd have told you that would be me on the stage. Me cupping my face in hands and being kissed lightly on the cheek by The King, George.  

Yes, this seems crazy. And yes, it was. But for me the dream of being a singer was very real. It was pack my bags, beg my parents to move to Nashville real. I recorded a demo in a run down mall booth for goodness sakes. I burned it on handfuls of CD's and individually licked the envelopes with a little extra spunk and spit to cart off to record labels that returned them un opened. 

For years my parents have supported my dreams. Told me I could be anything my little heart could think up... with just a little smack of reality mixed in. They said that dreams are worth having, but in the end you must survive. 

Those words were great, but they were not what I wanted to hear. And as I walked across that black draped stage, and took a faux leather diploma canister, all I could think was that this could not be it. We could not be expected to stash our out-of-this-world dreams for an empty tube. And why? Why should we do it? 

Who's to say I am not the next Taylor Swift? Or, on a more realistic note, the next person to share their story. And why can't you be the next big thing? What is actually stopping you from living your dreams? 

We tip toe around so many things in life, because we are too scared to just go for it. We fear the bills won't get paid, or that we will fail. But do you think Taylor Swift didn't have those fears too? 

What about J.K. Rowling? Think of all the people who turned down her idea for a book series in which the first line "There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know his name," actually came true. Think of those great people you follow and love, and think of why you love them. Because they were not scared. They didn't let life get in their way. 

Someone has to be the next big reporter, or the next singer, even the next author. I might never inspire people in the way I wish too, but I'd rather fail trying, than sit in front of a TV pushing away tears for a dream I never chased. Because in the end, if we aren't chasing something, we are sitting still. And I've never seen a concert where the artist sits still.

It's All About Coming Home

In the past two weeks I have learned a thing or two about life, love, and what you can't take with you. I, along with many others, go through life thinking it is all about having some well thought out career and an open road to success. I, along with many others, am very wrong. 

11 years ago I was abruptly greeted by a tall, lanky, dark headed girl in my 6th grade class. I pulled myself together to meet her three best friends. And walked away shuttering at the disappointment shown by the short, spunky, blonde when I lacked the taste bud knowledge of something called Ramen Noodles. In a moment in which she had no need to find light in me, this dark haired girl did. It forever changed my life. 

Last weekend I was reminded of this instance, as I sat in a room with four girls and our moms. We talked about old times, and were made aware that our parents knew every single thing we did. The sneaky lake house visits that were not so sneaky. The times we called home from the car to say we were at the slumber party. In reality a slumber party and real party at the same, right? We laughed and we cried, and found peace with a difficult situation.

We were blessed. 

I am blessed. Blessed to have these girls who never stray, and who held on when I did. There are people in your life that are just meant to be there. They find a way together when times get grey, and find a way apart when space is needed. 

It is with great caution that I say I have never been a huge believer in God. Not because I don't think he is there, but simply because my belief has always been in other things. 

However, this week. This week was full of miracles. They have shown me the power of finding our way home: Dress fittings that happen on the exact perfect weekend for an out of towner. How a ride back from a business trip falls into place. And how our lives together are as simple as a pause and play button. 

As I stepped into a church filled with love and tears, I was greeted with a familiar view. Though this time I did not house a fear of fitting in with the youth group members, or knowing when to sit and when to stand. This time it was filled with beauty. This place I had been so many times before, with the loving woman we now all celebrated. She brought me back. She brought us all back, to the place she found peace. To the arms of our loved ones. The place we all belong. 

In life we wait for the next big thing. We bury ourselves in work to one day look up and see an empty room. We run from love at every chance we get. Find excuses to not feel, and not place our trust in things that could easily go away. Some of us are lucky beyond words. Some of us open our eyes one day and realize there is no where else to run. And that day it is not too late, those people are standing in front of us. That day, we are home. 

Everyone Dates a Loser

This blog was complete late last night. It took me until now to get the guts to post it. I want to be real, and sometimes real is hard. 

I am 100% certain that everyone dates a loser in their lifetime. If you have only had one serious relationship and are happily married, then I’m sorry. But everyone dates a loser. Though not everyone can say they have only dated losers. Until this point I was that person, and it has paid off ten fold. They have created comic relief and awesome starter stories for past and future friendships. 

But here is the thing about dating losers, you have to look at it in a positive way. Don’t be that girl who talks endlessly about her shitty past. That girl gets drunk at the bar and ends up calling all of them until one sorry son picks up. Don’t be that girl. Be the girl who can laugh about it. Hold a comical grudge and make sure you pound their names and stories into the ground at any cost. Well, not legal cost. But all other cost. 

The thing is, I haven't had that many true relationships, it can be split in half: Two that were real, and two that were not.

My high school boyfriend ended up coming to me years later to be consoled about his "First real relationship" coming to an end. Clearly our year and a half spout was only read about in books with unicorns made of shit. I spent days listening to Taylor Swift on repeat because I was not a princess, and this was the farthest thing from a fairytale. 

My college cutie decided pot was more important than remembering me... at Austin City Limits... in a crowd of 75,000. He peaced out to a car full of dudes and never looked back. He did try to make it up to me with horses, but even this barn freak wasn't buying it. I've never said this, but I would like to thank the friend who told me this guy wasn't good enough for me. He didn't know the words spouted during a concert would change my life, but they forever stayed with me. 

Though these were not the things that truly chalk up to dating losers. No, in the end it is the relationships that were not even real which bring out the best stories, and the best lessons. Because it is those who you fell away from, and those you fall face first into their armpit, that leave you thinking, Everyone Dates a Loser.

PACK IT UP

This one takes the cake for the worst loser I have encountered. Though I knew this guy was a loser when I started dating him so frankly I should have seen it coming. In high school I got involved with a guy who transferred from California. He was kind of a big deal and I wasn’t super fat when he got there so him taking an interest in me didn’t seem all that crazy. 

But, he had a secret. Actually he had a lot of them. If we are being honest, I’m not even sure he was from California. One day CaliBoy asked to borrow my car (he did not have one) to make some cash moving his friends stuff to a new house. I agreed. All ready to help lift some big boxes I pulled up and let him get in. 

“So, where am I dropping you?” he asked scooting me over to the passengers seat.

“Umm, I’m not going with you?”

“There won’t be enough room in the car for anyone but me and the stuff.”

I sat at a Starbucks for hours, and then at a friends house for more hours kind of freaking out. Actually, majorly freaking out because he had my car and, bottom line, I didn’t know a thing about this kid. How was I ever going to explain this to my parents? And could a 16-year-old file a missing car report? He didn’t even have a cell phone!

He finally showed up, car in mint condition, and his friend in the front seat. The seat that “No one would fit in.” A few days later, after him and I had quietly parted ways, this kid I hardly knew came up and told me another secret. 

Turns out CaliBoy took his friend, who was in the front seat, and two random girls out on a date. In my car. The kid who told me worked at the movie theater and said he became suspicious when he noticed the girl wasn’t me, and when he heard CaliBoy tell her the cheerleading sticker on the back of the car was his sisters, and he was “being supportive.” It was my sticker. It was my car.

Sorry mom and dad, I completely agree with any distrust you had in me all throughout my childhood. And perhaps now, since I know you will read this... If I had a kid who gave her car to a random she would be cursed with none other than little blue, the 1993 Pontiac my family held onto for far too long. It now makes sense that the car he took was later totaled, and I drove little blue for a year. 

EVERYONE DATES A LOSER

Up to this point in my life I had a bunch of comical loser encounters, this one is not much different. Though I will preface this story by saying I write this out of complete spite. The boys before are total jokes in my book of stories. They taught me what I needed to know and I moved on. Ironman, however was different. 

My life has revolved around voicing opinions of how relationships suck and true love is found in work. That was until I met Ironman. He was racing the Ironman in Kona and I was going to write a story about him for the Texas Tech news paper. We locked eyes and I melted onto the floor. What better love than that shared over your personal passions? I would forever be the reporter who broke his first story!

I raced home and yelled to my roommates “I HAVE FOUND THE MAN I WILL MARRY!”

Their jaws dropped. 

“He is engaged!”

They closed their mouths. This was just my luck, obviously the man of my dreams would be engaged and I would be left alone, it only made sense. And it did, until he was no longer attached. It didn’t matter that he was only three months out of a broken engagement. He was perfect!

Or so I thought. 

The thing with Ironman was that he wasn’t over his ex. I’m still not sure if he just didn’t know it, or if I was too blind to see it. We broke up a few weeks into dating, and I was crushed. It should be noted here that when my past relationships ended I didn’t give them a second thought. With him, I did. I laid on the couch for weeks. Eating a piece of toast a day and crying. I was worse than the plague and too wrapped up in my own self loathing to even see it.

So when Ironman came back in my life it was evident we would be together forever. Honestly, I was talking life long commitment here. I was smitten for this guy. But as time went on things started to die. Where he was once telling me about the two story closet he would build in our Colorado house (a long time dream of mine. The closet not the house) he was now ignoring my text and phone calls. 

He came back into town from a summer internship early. It was the day of my graduation. He said he couldn’t come because he was too busy. It’s one thing to miss a dinner, but your graduation? Come on. I’ve only worked the majority of my life for this piece of rolled up paper, but you need to clip your toenails? Of course that makes sense. Don’t cut too close, wouldn’t want you to bleed to death. 

We met the next day and he was super clingy. Hugging me, rubbing my feet, kissing my forehead. I mentioned liking what we were. He said we were not thinking the same thing and I asked if I was good enough. 

“Not right now.”

That was it. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough when I made him food, or followed him to races, and held all of his stuff, or watched that show with dragons and naked girls every Sunday. That was a horrible show. I just wasn’t good enough when I let my guard down to someone who was fully capable of saying all these romantic things. I was standing in a pile of poop and the only thing I could do was leave. 

I can laugh about it now and see how we would have never worked anyways. I mean come on, I’m 5’2 and he’s 6’10. My head hit below his belly button. It was at lint level. And honestly, if I had to see him in those running shorts one more time I was going to die. They are not real shorts, nor are they underwear, and in no circumstance should they double as both. 

Neither Ironman or CaliBoy and I were meant to be together, but that doesn’t mean they didn't happen. It doesn't meant you stop asking those questions of why you really were not good enough. We need those relationships that were sick jokes. And we need that one relationship that lingers. We need the guy who says sorry and never looks back. We need him because once we find the guy who doesn’t do that we won’t take him for granted. 

My life has been full of losers, but eventually that trouble ends. It took me a high school sucker, a pot head, CaliBoy, and Ironman to see what a good relationship is. I spent a really long time looking for someone I could help and that would help me in return, but that isn’t what you need in a relationship. You need a friend. Someone who cares about your feelings and has their own feelings too.

I spent all of those relationships trying to please the guy who didn’t think a second about pleasing me. I hushed the hurt and the anger because I knew bringing up my disappointment would open up the floor for them to say they didn't really like me. I would have rather been in a relationship with someone who didn't like me than have to face real feelings. 

I promise all of you, that one day you will find the person who isn't scared of your feelings. But, until then remember the losers, they are great companions. They make you stronger. Or, if nothing else you can collect a lot of them and write about it. 

Slaves to Failure

We are slaves to failure. Last night I sat in on a life coaching class. As we wrote down words on the board to solidify our feelings I was asked if I was resonating with these words. If like the mothers and wives, I fit in. 

"Yes, I am a slave to failure." 

At a young age we are told to do great things, be great things, live great things. In contrast we are warned that great things come with time, realistic thought, and hard work. To achieve greatness we must first fail. 

"No good things come to those who didn't struggle."

My life is wrapped in failure. The fear of failing. The fear of ruining what I have made. The fear of turning away from a dream too quickly because I haven't failed enough. Failed enough? Is that a joke? The truth is, we fight failure everyday because we let ourselves. I know because I've been there, because I let failure take my place:

As an eager beaver intern for a local news station in my college town I pulled on my most appropriate "camera ready" outfit and trotted off to destiny. My life was always meant to serve a purpose, that I was sure. What better way to do it than in the eye of millions. Or what would one day be millions, when I took over as head anchor on a national channel. Or got my own talk show. Whichever one came first. 

I remember racing home with fingers crossed hoping the Red Socks would win the baseball world series. (Don't quote me on the correctness of that last sentence, sports are not my strong suite). If they won, my package was going to air. A mere intern getting a spot on the 9 o'clock news. And there I sat, watching my frightened face peer out of the screen as I became a reporter! I remember thinking, there can be no feeling in the world better than this of starting my dream.

Failure isn't always bad. But bad always feels like failure. 

Though, as the months went on it wasn't all sunshine and Red Socks wins. I became the failure. I was writing stories left and right, stacking shows all by myself, cutting video and finding video, filming video on cameras I was not legally allowed to hold. And with all this hard work, I was always wrong. Always being yelled at for bad stories and blurry footage, yet always being asked to come in when someone was sick. Working 60 hour weeks but being told I wasn't good enough to be an actual reporter. My name became Bailey, a girl they hired to a position I was promised. Yes, this is correct. My boss not once questioned why he was now calling the girl who worked there for a year and a half a name that was not hers. Or why there were two Bailey's on staff, wearing different outfits, at the same time... I was living failure.

And one day, as I sat at the desk I claimed when no one was looking, we heard the screams from my bosses office. 

"WHOOOO WROTE THIS STORY?!?!"

Of course it was me. And of course I spelled something wrong. I got that screeching note at least once a week, it was very notable by now. 

In one swift motion he shuffled out of his room on tottering legs, snagged a big red dictionary, the kind your mom uses to decorate but no one ever opens, and slammed it on my desk with a pudgy finger release. 

"LOOK. IT. UP."

What? No words could be said. No thoughts were being processed. With trembling lips I flipped page after page, my long fought battle with dyslexia creeping up on me. Rushing back came the memories of elementary school when I feared pop corn reading and buddy time because I could not make out the words on child book pages. All the years of bad grades due to mixed up letters and triple spell check swarming in around me. Chocking me. Holding me down to this now very small office. 

It felt like hours. It felt like days. As the word, which I no longer remember, finally uncovered itself. 

"Spell it."

A quick glimpse in his direction showed that everyone in the entire office was now focused on me. Focused on the mess of tears and shaking body as I read. Letter by letter. The word that masked my failure. And then, he was gone. Gone into his office where the problem would most likely never cross his mind again. And I was left to decide, do I fight failure? Or do I let it fight me one more time? 

My story, like many others is how it so often goes. We hold onto failure because we think great things will come of it. I wish I could say that story ended with an epic speech where I packed my things and left, but it did not. I turned in my two weeks the next day, only for my boss to ask if I had finally found a job...

But I can say it taught me. That experience is why I am here today. Why I want to show people they can chase their dreams, and defeat failure. We have got to learn to stand up for ourselves, even in a world where unpaid internships and being immersed in our work is the norm. I hold great esteem for those who know their dreams and chase them. The life coach from that class said we are in a time where we must start living from our hearts. 

Be passionate, and be fierce. Fight for your dreams and love what you do. But don't let people steal your life, or make you feel like misery. Don't ever be a slave to failure.