4 Americans vs. London

Give 4 girls 12 hours to play in London, they can make that feel like a weekend. 

It only took me one 6 hour flight, 3 hour layover, 2.5 hour flight, 6 hour layover, and another 9 hour flight in the middle middle seat to get from Honolulu to London. Talk about an eternity. But once I united with my best friend, her sister, and her sister's best friend, I wiped the travel sleepies from my eyes and it was on. 

*Insert tourist things here*

I'll spare you from the boring details of sight seeing. Being someone who lives and works in a tourist city, I hate myself for being touristy over here. But let's face it, it's pretty rad to stand outside the queen of England's palace and wonder if she's kickin' it in sweat pants watching real housewives or if she constantly roams the halls of her massive home in a ball gown going over her daily itinerary of royal shit to do. 

As exhausted as we were, we rallied at about 12:03am and made the last train to town to find a club, being that it was our one and only night in London, not to mention a Friday night. We walked the streets, basically looking for where the people were flocking to. Turns out it was a club down a side street called Roxy with a mile long line. 

Talk about cultural differences. 

When we finally crammed into the bar, it smelled like severe body odor. Do people in England wear deodorant? I don't know. The bathroom had about 6 inches of space between the stalls and the sink. Skinny bitches only please. It still weirds me out that 18 year olds are trusted to be in clubs and bars. I thought it was cool that I could leave my jacket in the 'cloakroom' although the guy working in it wasn't amused by our excitement. Sorry we don't have cloakrooms in Hawaii sir, just let me think it's cool for a sec. 

I'll be the first to say I have a large love/hate relationship with the tipping system we use in the states. I love raking in that cash but hate the days I work my ass off for nothing. But man do I now have a new found appreciation for it after being in this club. Turns out when you make the same amount of money at the end of the night no matter how hard you work, it makes one work quite slow and lazily. 

I mean 100 people were constantly crowding the bar trying to get drinks and the 3 bartenders were throwing ice cubes at each other and walking around aimlessly. ZERO sense of urgency. And why should they? No one is waving cash in their face offering big money to make their drinks faster. By all means, take your sweet ass time. 

A shot is like 3/4 of an ounce. How do people catch a buzz out here? I ordered 2 vodka waters for Kailey and I. The girl looked at me like I just asked her feed my pet dragon. I'm like "vodka. water." With as much enunciation as humanly possible. No, not soda water. Water water. And vodka. And ice. And preferably a lemon. She told me I'm weird. Okay. 

Meanwhile 80s disco music is playing. Like where is the gangster rap I'm trying to twerk over here. 

Go back for a 2nd drink. Different bartender. YES I SAID WATER. NO NOT SODA WATER. He told me they only have soda water. I said tap water and he finally got it. Called me weird. Two people next to me called me weird. I get it, english people don't drink vodka water. Let's all move on. 

Everyone that approached us realized 3 sentences in that we're American. One girl told me she loved my accent, then proceeded to try to copy it. I kid you not, this is how she talked to me the rest of the night. 

*Valley girl voice* "Liiiiike are you like American? Like oh my gosh you totally are. Are you like drinking? Oh my gosh you like so are!"

Holy shit girlfriend we do NOT sound like that. 

She also asked Kailey if I'm bisexual. Her dude friend asked why I'm so mean. Kailey told them she and I are dating and I'm the jealous type. They bought it, but they didn't back off. I guess being the only 4 Americans around for miles made us exciting to be around. 

Our plan was to catch an uber back to the hotel. Woops forgot we need wifi for that. Unfortunately, Roxy didn't have free wifi. Also, fun fact, cabs here are pretty much all cash only. The four of us only had US dollars on us. We were living up to the stupid American stereotype by that point. 

We finally got our lives together and got into a cab. I asked if there are any drive throughs. Evidently that was a stupid question. Americans are obese because we eat Taco Bell at 3am after drinking all night. I figured it out. 

All in all, England is dope. 12 hours wasn't nearly enough but it was an excellent first glimpse at Europe. I'm getting on a cruise ship now to battle the seas with my best friend. Until my next country. 

Xo

I'm a Server, Not a Servant

Everyone has their opinions on what qualifies as a "real" job. Benefits, a 401k, paid sick days, enough money to pay your bills, whatever. Real or not, qualified or not, I'm a server. It is my job. It pays my bills. It does not mean you are superior to me. It does not mean you have any sort of right to trample me while you're enjoying your spinach dip. It does not mean you can choose to tip or not tip me based on how much money you feel like spending that day. It does not mean I am there to kiss your feet for the duration of your stay at my restaurant.

It means you chose to go out to eat as an alternative to cooking and feeding yourself, and you chose to pay me to relieve you of that burden.

While you relax in an air conditioned restaurant, tapping your toe, checking your watch, and harassing anyone with an employee shirt on about how much longer your food is going to take, there are 10-20 people in the kitchen (which is about 10 degrees hotter than the rest of the building) working vigorously to cook your steak well done with sauce on the side, double veggies, no onions. They are also cooking 53 other people's meals, virtually at the same time. 

While you roll your eyes because you had to ask me for a third time for a lemon for your water, I was sweeping up a broken glass, punching in six new orders, garnishing your lava flow with extra pineapples, checking on five burgers that have been punched in seven minutes ago but are 'taking too long', answering the phone to tell someone for the 108th time that day what time we close, switching the menus over from lunch to dinner, and grabbing a side of ranch for another table, virtually at the same time.

I am required to smile and be friendly anywhere from 5-12 hours a day while working. I am required to be nice and accommodating, even when someone is calling me a "f***ing bitch" for accidentally throwing away their beer bottle that wasn't quite empty yet. (This actually happened to me last night). I am required to fulfill your wants and needs to the best of my ability, all with a smile on my face and a kind and helpful tone in my voice, no matter how you are speaking to me or treating me, all with the hope that you might leave me a tip.

I can assure you that you are rarely the only person or table in my section at any given time. I promise you that I am serving at least 1-20 other people at the exact same time, all with only my two arms and two legs. I guarantee there are a handful of people who want lemons for their water that I just keep forgetting to bring back because you all also asked me to get you some ketchup, take the order of the person who just joined your table, split your checks six ways, and get you a dessert menu.

Every eye roll, heavy sigh, and raised voice is like a dagger in my gut. As if I am trying to keep you in this restaurant for one moment longer. As if I am forgetting the sliver of citrus you asked for on purpose to make sure your dining experience is below average. As if there is nothing on the planet I would rather be doing with my $50,000 college degree than getting you a slice of lemon for your water that you are only asking for because someone at this restaurant took the time to cut up 900 lemons just in case you might want one to spice up your sink water. Do you cut up lemons for your water at home? I would be willing to bet a year's worth of tips that you have never done that in your entire life. So I can't see how it can be too much to ask to just chalk it up as a loss when I forget to bring you a lemon. 

It would be glorious if you could instead, focus on the fact that I made sure your four-year-olds mac n' cheese came out in five minutes so she would stop ingesting crayons. Or the fact that you never once saw the bottom of your glass because I refilled it each time it was half empty. Or the fact that I let you squeeze in one more happy hour drink even though you sat down after happy hour ended. Or the fact that I let you move tables twice in the middle of a dinner rush because you didn't like the first two you were given. Or the fact that there are three layers of skin seared off of my forearm because I was holding your hot plate of food the whole time you were staring at each other trying to remember what you ordered.

It would also be lovely if you could recognize the physical and emotional exhaustion that comes with being a server. If you could know that I go in the freezer to cry sometimes after a customer screams at me and calls me names for accidentally forgetting something or accidentally spilling something. If you could realize how disappointing it is to see a zero written on the tip line after all the work I put in to making sure your experience at my restaurant was mildly enjoyable. If you could remember that I only make about $3 per hour after taxes and that I rely on tips to pay my bills based off of a system put into place in the United States by someone other than me. If you could understand that I have to give my bartenders, food runners, bussers, and hosts a percentage of your bill, regardless if you tip me or not. (Yes, that means if you leave me nothing, I literally pay money out of my pocket to serve you). If you could feel the pain of having to pay for someone's tab with my own money because they walked out on their bill or refused to pay for something. If you could just see that although I am a server, I am not your servant.

Eating out is a luxury. Whether someone is handing you french fries or setting a filet mignon on your table, that someone is being paid less than the minimum wage to smile at your family, even on their absolute worst days and make sure you all have everything you need to satisfy your hungry bellies so you don't have to do it yourself. I'm not saving you from a burning building, but you did decide all on your own that you wanted to spend money at an establishment to be fed. That does not come with some divine right to treat me like a servant. You are not giving me a $7 tip in exchange for one whole hour to verbally abuse me. You are giving me a $7 tip in exchange for a meal that costs less than it should that gets cooked to perfection and brought right to your table so you can spend that extra few dollars on a tip for me to put in my pocket and split with my coworkers later.

I'm an adult, same as you, working to make money to pay my bills, same as you. You and I are not that different. 

So please, tip your servers. Try your best not to call them names. And forget about the lemon just this once.

Sincerely, 

One of many frustrated servers

I Graduated From Prison

I've been vegging out really hard in bed the last few days. I mean bundled up in my down comforter, laptop appropriately propped up so I can watch Netflix until my eyes bleed. Sometimes even the beach doesn't sound more appealing than my bed.

It's given me a lot of time to think, as anyone could imagine (15 seconds between each new episode to be exact).

Many people have seen a particular post on my Facebook and have asked, nonstop, if I'm moving home. Well flat out, the answer is no. But with all this time laying around with nothing but time to ponder my life, I've realized I totally can if I want to. I can go anywhere I want.

Since graduating college, actually some of you know it was even before graduation that I started having a massive breakdown. As far back as I can remember, the plan was to go to college and get a degree. I remember putting some of my allowance in the bank to save up for college when I was still in elementary school, even though college seemed like a lifetime away when I was seven years old.

Big surprise, my mom knew it would come faster than I thought, but I just wasn't on board with that yet. For all I knew I had plenty of time until I would stroll into a university.

I began looking at colleges in high school and even then, the Friday night football games took priority over filling out applications. I finally chose the University of Hawaii after two long (but now that I look back, quick) years in community college. I flew off to paradise to get that degree but came to find out I would not be graduating in four years. I was behind one year and would have to attend the university a little longer than planned. This was devastating. I felt like I would be in school until I was 90 years old.

Would I ever graduate? Would I ever be able to finally say I had a bachelor's degree? It felt like another lifetime would go by until that happened. Then one day, I woke up and it was my last first day of school ever.

*Insert mental breakdown here*

How in world was I seven years old, "saving up for college" like yesterday? All of the sudden I was five months out from graduation and I realized I forgot to set a new goal.

All this time I had been striving to get my degree. I was about to be holding it in my hands and I had NO idea what I would do next. I cried a lot. I called my mom a lot. I sulked even more and somehow managed to graduate my final semester from UH on the dean's list.

I was incredibly proud, I think my parents were more proud, but I still felt like something was missing. I had a hole in my heart and I didn't know what I was going to do to fill it. I didn't (and still don't) know what kind of career path I wanted to take. I didn't (and still don't) know where I wanted to settle down. I was (and still am) just working at a bar and living in Hawaii.

I felt lost for a long time without school. I had been going to school nonstop since preschool. Nine months since I graduated and it still feels incredibly strange to never write papers or study for exams. I lived and breathed school for 23 years. There was nothing to replace all the time school used to take up and I saw it as wasted space. Space I didn't even think to fill and now it would just sit there, empty and useless.

Today, though, is a new day. Nine months since graduation and I'm still very unsure of where I will go next, but I realized today what a blessing that truly is. I am free from the chains of term papers and exams. The prison gates of college opened and I walked out into the world a free woman.

See, all this time, every move I made was to get one step closer to my degree. Sure I could make detours here and there but always jumped right back on the path toward graduation. Now that I have my BA, my stepping stones that were, at one time, in a perfectly straight line, are now all over the place. I can literally go where ever I want, and I never ever have to go back. I can leave Hawaii, I can leave the university, and I don't have to rush back for anymore first days of school.

I thought finishing school left a hole in my heart because school was missing. However, that part of my heart simply filled to the brim, and I can fill this new empty space with new adventures I haven't even thought of yet. Whether it's the career of a lifetime or the vacation of a lifetime, I have full unrestricted freedom to choose what I want to do next.

So back to everyone's question about whether or not I am planning to move home. Although I am not heading back to Arizona, I have been contemplating my next destination. Denver is at the very top of my list. Today, while mindlessly scrolling through instagram I even momentarily thought about just picking up and hopping over to a different island for a while. The best feeling in the world is knowing the possibilities are virtually endless. 

I am a free bird.

An Open Letter To Caitlyn Jenner Haters

Dear Misunderstood,

Caitlyn Jenner, formerly known as Bruce Jenner, won Glamour Magazine's Woman of the Year award. You're upset. Caitlyn was a man for over 65 years. She didn't get her period in 7th grade during gym class. She didn't have those awkward years of stuffing her training bra before puberty kicked in. She never carried the weight of a child growing inside her. She never had the responsibility of birthing that child. She never fought breast cancer, enduring months upon months of chemo and radiation. She never joined the army and she never saved lives over seas. So you're upset that she received this award anyway.

You're misunderstood though. You don't understand her. You don't understand the agony she's endured her entire life on the inside. You don't understand the never-completely-satisfied taste in her mouth even after winning olympic medals in the men's olympics.

You see a man dressing in women's clothing on the cover of magazines, winning awards created for women. It's confusing, it's difficult to understand, and it's very hard to be supportive of. There are women enduring hardships all over the world. There are women saving lives all over the world. There are women who are seemingly more deserving of this award than Ms. Jenner. And I'm so sorry that you can't understand how wrong you are.

While I agree there are hundreds of thousands of brave women out there, extremely deserving of an award for the things they've done and the misfortune they've been through, I'm afraid I can't agree that this does not include Caitlyn Jenner.

I'm sorry you've never had to live your entire life wondering why you were given the wrong body. I'm sorry you've never been so under pressure to fit society's mold of what you're supposed to be that you couldn't be yourself for your entire life. I'm sorry you never had to tell your family on national TV that you were going to transition into a woman and hope that they still accept you as their family member. I'm sorry you've never been in the public eye, forced to listen to the scrutiny because of your choices. I'm sorry you've never made the decision to be truly happy, only to receive backlash from millions of people who don't understand you. I'm sorry you've never been anything besides exactly what society says you should be. Because you've never had to do any of these things, you now cannot understand why Caitlyn Jenner deserves an award.

You can't see how her choice to be her true self in front of the entire world is courageous. You can't see her as a role model because you don't understand those that look up to her. You can't agree that she should be a woman of the year because she didn't get to be a woman for her first 65 years on Earth.

However, your persecution only makes her more deserving. She walks with her head high, even when you try with everything you're made of to beat her down. She stands by her decision to show her true colors, even when you disagree. She is a voice for all who struggle with their identity, even when you try to keep her quiet.

I did some research for you, to at least try to help you understand. Almost half of the world's transgender population attempts suicide. That's 41% of people who attempt to live their life the way they feel it was meant to be lived, and then attempt to end their life because they are never accepted.

Society is an unacknowledged war zone. Acceptance is a luxury many never get the chance to enjoy.  Acceptance is the unspoken goal of virtually all humans. We strive to fit into the cookie cutter shapes that our own society has created. A man who provides, a woman who cares for her children, a man who is masculine, a woman who is feminine. The shapes are constantly changing and evolving. We now have strong women who do men's jobs and loving men who stay at home with the kids. But we are still, always trying to fit. When we don't fit, it's hard to gain acceptance. When we aren't accepted we feel alone. When we feel alone we crave affection. When we can't get any, we feel hopeless.

Caitlyn is someone who stands up for what they believe in. Someone who helps others who struggle to fit in to society. Someone who tolerates your ignorance in hopes that someday, people like her will finally be recognized as normal. She lives in a world full of people fighting against her, to fight for those who understand her.

I'm sorry that you can't see her as a hero. I'm sorry you can't agree that she deserves the award she received. I'm sorry you can't put her in the same category as a woman who saved lives over seas just because we can't put a number on the lives she has saved by telling them it's ok to be themselves.

I hope someday you have a change of heart. I hope someday, even if you don't have a  change of heart, that you don't feel it necessary to say unkind things about Caitlyn Jenner in an attempt to bring her down. I hope someday you can understand why she's awesome.

Sincerely,
Open Mind

Making 24 My Bitch

(Sorry mom).

I reread my first blog ever that I wrote almost one year ago and it's time to reflect. I was all about being 23. I had big plans for what that age would hold. College graduation was on the horizon, I was freshly dumped by a boyfriend, I had skeleton plans to go on a trip with my best friend, and I was stoked to just be blissfully lost and confused about life.

http://connectedtothemoon.blogspot.com/2014/12/so-we-just-write-down-our-feelings.html

(^for reference if interested in freshly 23 year old me)

24 is one week away, it's 5:22am on a Sunday. I'm physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. It's the perfect time to review 23 and spit some newly found wisdom on you Facebook friends of mine. Feel free to exit now.

Surprise, I graduated college. Top 5 best days of my life. I'm proud to have a degree and even more relieved that I never have to see another midterm ever again. Life can get quite boring without school, I must say. I've gone to school consistently since I was 3 years old. One year ago I was terrified of what these days would be like. Turns out they're pretty casual. I have free time! What is that? Word of advice to those that are almost to the end but feel like it will never come... It will. Full speed. Don't rush it. Don't dread it. Definitely don't give up. It seems impossible now but walking the stage is too rewarding and having a degree is too big of a prize to give up when you're almost finished. (Sisters, that means you).

I chopped off all my hair right before I turned 23, then I shaved the side of my head. Now I'm going on 24, rocking ponytails on the daily trying to survive this awkward length. Bobby pins are my best friend. Growing your hair out takes much longer than hacking it off. Patience is evidently a virtue. I wouldn't know.

I had barely breathed the words "let's go to Japan" one year ago. Surprise again! I made it happen. With many tears, a lot of giving up, a handful of fights with my bff, even more phone calls to my mom asking for advice, and one vodka bottle full of tip money later, I now have the most incredible memories of my trip to Japan under my belt and all over my Facebook feed. Seriously people, travel the world. It's worth more than any tangible thing you could ever own. I'm just getting started, but Thailand is on the calendar.

I got dumped at 23. I felt what a broken heart feels like. I felt loss. I felt like I would be alone forever. (Dramatic as always). Luckily, while still 23, I found someone new. I fell in love all over again. It's scary. 'Scary' is actually too rudimentary of a word to truly describe it. How do you open your heart to someone when you just finished piecing it back together? That I don't know the answer to. I'm still opening it, slowly but surely. It becomes easier when your other continually proves to be one half of your whole. He's the overthinker to my mindlessness. He's the planner to my flying by the seat of my pants. He's the voice of reason to my indecisiveness. He's the responsibility to my immaturity. He's the fun and carefree to my stress. He's the adventure to my stay at home and veg all day. He's perfectly opposite and the same all at once.

Is anyone gagging yet? See how much can change in a year? That paragraph above is so not like me, but so real, too.

I am the maid of honor in my best friend's wedding back home, coming up in just one short month. An engagement that was still non-existent one year ago. Planning a wedding is hard, people. I'll tell you what my most successful job has been through it all so far... Giving my opinion. Like damn I am good at not holding back. You're welcome, Lindsay for not letting you have anything ugly at your wedding and helping you make decisions when you couldn't quite get there. You're also welcome for cutting out 3 million mustaches.

All through 23 I contemplated the importance of keeping friends you don't necessarily want in your life anymore. 24 seems like a good year to reevaluate relationships and cut ties with those who don't constantly help you grow and improve as a person. What is a friendship if it's out of pure obligation anyway?  I also need to reevaluate the grudges I've been holding. There's nothing more unhealthy than a grudge, and I have many. Forgiving and letting go is something I'm still working on. 24, we got this.

Other small but big things that happened during 23: I got a bunny. She ran away. I moved. I bought my first car. I explored another Hawaiian island. I surprised my family for Christmas. I got like five new jobs. I fed a monkey. I swam with dolphins. I saw Incubus, Kings of Leon, Tech N9ne, and Chris D'elia live. I learned to never lend someone money with expectations to get it back. 

A year ago I was so content with where I was, who I was, and where I was going (which was nowhere). With 24 right around the corner, I am exceedingly anxious to make a change. To move forward. To grow up a tiny bit (not too much). A big girl job seems slightly more appealing the closer I get to what could be considered a 'big girl'. Making plans doesn't seem like such a bad idea. Saving money seems more important. My perspective is evolving daily.

23 was a roller coaster. I'm wild and I'm not sure if I'll ever calm down.

24 will, without a doubt, be an equally as windy, bumpy, crazy roller coaster as well. I'm not 100% ready to burry my immature, party, carefree self.

The difference between 23 and 24 for me is I had my hand on the e-brake all through 23, just in case. This year, I am welcoming whatever life has to offer me with open arms. Why resist what's meant to be? I'm going to make 24 my bitch, and then I'm going to reduce the amount of swearing I do in my blogs. (You're welcome, mom).

I'm ready to make moves. I'm more than ready to put 23 behind me.

Here's to yet another year of new beginnings, new adventures, new mistakes, and new memories.

Also, here's to a boring age that doesn't even have a song with "24"in it. I was on a roll the last two years with "22" and "23." Thanks T. Swift and Miley.

xo, Tay

When Life Hands You Lemons

Squeeze it in your vodka soda and drink up!

Seriously, this has been the longest week of my life, and it's only Wednesday.

Saturday night, I was laying on the beach at 2am, decompressing and destressing. I picked up 3 new jobs, moved into a new house, got into a new relationship, and completely ran out of 'me' time. A 2am beach sesh was completely necessary for my sanity. After watching huge bolts of lightning rip through the clouds over Oahu for 2 hours, I went back to my car and found myself standing in a pile of broken glass.

It took me a moment to register what was happening. I was looking through my passenger window at my open glove compartment. Only I wasn't looking through my window, I was standing on it shattered in the street. My open glove box was one wallet short. And after a few infinite seconds, I realized someone had busted my window and stole all my shit. Then I was raging.

Why did I leave my wallet in the car? Why was my $300 Marc Jacobs purse sitting out in plain sight? Why did I basically say, "hey desperate asshole, here's all my stuff, I'll be on the beach, be back later!"???? WHY WHY WHY. Why me? Why my car? Why now?

I've run out of "why" questions to ask myself. I've run out of "why" questions to ask the universe. And I've finally started seeing this situation for what it really is.

A test.

Universe, I'm going to crush this, hope you're paying close attention.

While I was busy crying over my lost possessions I failed to see how lucky I truly was. For some insane reason, I deposited almost $500 cash into my bank account that had been building up in my wallet the morning of my break in. I was in the grocery store that morning grabbing food for breakfast, already running late to meet new boyfriend who was waiting for these ingredients to feed me. My bank happened to be inside the store and I was feeling lazy and somewhat rushed so I thought to myself I would just leave and deposit my cash later. But something made me run up to the counter and just stick it in my account real quick anyway.

Then that night my wallet was stolen with only $50 inside it, rather than $500. Thank you to whatever force of nature pushed me to put my money in the bank.

Yes, it cost me $260 to replace my window. Yes, my favorite, most expensive purse that was a gift from my best friend is now gone. Yes, I had to go stand in line at the DMV to replace my license. Yes, I've been living off whatever cash I made this weekend because I had to cancel all of my debit cards. And yes, I am going to be okay. 

I already cried. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I complained for days about how frustrated I am that I have to deal with this, just as I was settling in and reveling in my own happiness. Bottom line, it sucks. It's a huge set back financially. It's an inconvenience to replace all my lost shit. I'm going to Japan in 3 weeks and I had to spend money on my car instead of save it for my trip. Ok I'll get to the point... vent sesh over.

It could have been worse. And I can handle this. I suppose I was so happy with life at the moment, it felt like one small negative thing was crushing me into a million pieces. The negative energy I was receiving was being put right back into the air around me with my constant complaining. It's been hanging over me like a dark rain cloud.

That brings me to my blog. My beloved online journal where I pour my heart out. The place I've been too busy to visit recently. The place I used to use to connect with my internet friends. I feel like I've shared a lot of negative stories and rants on my blog. Here's another for the books. But I'm truly trying to look at this one in a different light. 

The damn glass is half full, people. If you're looking at your own half empty glass, knock it off. Pull yourself up by the bootstraps. You know the clichés. 

A good friend told me to look at each situation on a whole timeline of your life from birth to death. Is my car being robbed a huge set back in my life timeline, or is it just a speed bump along the way? A few months from now I won't even hardly remember this happened. Definitely a speed bump. And me and my busted car are going to cruise right on over it.

I Like People From High School Better Now Than I Did In High School

Ten year reunions were once a time for old friends and classmates to gather from around the state, country, or even world. A time for old friends and classmates to show off their wives, show off their kids, lie about their jobs, lie about their divorces. Recently however, reunions have lost their glitz and glam. The generation before us has seemed to grow evermore disappointed in our dedication to stalking people's lives on the internet. What's the fun in going to your high school reunion if you already saw John Smith's wedding, pregnancy, child birth, and child's first 5 birthdays on Facebook?

Well maybe Facebook has taken the fun out of reunions. Maybe I already know who got married and who has kids and who works at a dead end job and who vacationed in Africa. I thought it was pretty un-fun at first to see everyone's lives unfolding before me on my computer screen. I thought it took the surprise out of my future reunion to already know what my graduating class was up to. (I think about my high school reunion because it means I'm getting older and we all know the mental breakdowns I have over that). But I learned something else about the lovely internet machine. Old classmates can quickly become new friends.

I've drifted apart from 90% of my friends from high school. I mean I live on a rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. That doesn't exactly scream "let's stay in touch." Facebook allowed me to like a status here and there, see where my old friends moved to, see everyone's big shiny engagement rings and chubby new babies. It also allowed me to see all the weird names my old classmates are coming up with for their offspring. They get weirder by the day. It's not a competition guys, your kid will never find a keychain with their name on it. Take it from someone who knows, that is devastating when you're 6.

My blog posts, however silly, serious, or stupid they may be, have gotten some unexpected praise from old high school mates. Profile pictures have earned likes from people I wasn't aware knew I existed. Let's be real, I didn't consider myself exactly "popular" in high school. I like to think my decently cool place of residence has earned me the few extra eyes on my Facebook page. For whatever reason though, I've befriended (in the best way you can through nothing but a computer) some people I've known for over ten years but never really knew. 

Through a hilarious status about their job as a server I can see how I missed out on a great sense of humor back then. (I can also relate to the nightmares of the service industry). Through a status about the stresses of final exams I can see that I am not alone in pulling my hair out with worry and probably never was. And with a comment or two exchanged on these amusing Facebook statuses I begin to see someone I could probably be great friends with had I not moved so far away. In high school, we all found our cliques. That's not to say I didn't chat with these people in class or say hi at football games or drink with them at house parties. But I never really knew them for who they were. And it's probably a good thing we didn't truly know who each other was in high school because I was a strange person when I was 16. Just all around weird and immature (as we all were), striving to fit in any possible way I could.

Now I can look into these people's adult lives. See how we have grown to be similar without ever speaking. See how those I was closest to have grown to be so different than me. My views and beliefs have changed so much since entering my 20s. They are at the far end of the spectrum from some of my best friends even. To see people I barely know anymore reach out to me and tell me they feel the same, tell me they had a wedding dress that showed all their tattoos, tell me they are moving away from their home of 20+ years too, tell me they are clueless about what to do with their college degree like me. For lack of a better term, that's cool.

People I assumed to have barely graduated high school are now chemistry majors or in nursing school or graduating with an engineering degree. (See what happens when you assume? Sorry guys). People I thought would be stuck in their high school days, reliving their peak years until the end of time, are happily married to the love of their lives, in the best shape of their lives, or working at the career of their dreams. I mean can I just stop judging and assuming now? I'm clearly way off. Facebook is a place full of inspiration. It's full of advice. It's full of people who know how we feel. It's full of old friends who, in the simplest way, can become new friends. 

I've learned to appreciate Facebook for all of its perks. I was able to raise money for a friend in need through it, as others are currently doing too. I learned that I might be decent at writing and that people enjoy reading what I have to say. I learned that 100 'Happy Birthday' posts can actually feel pretty good. So no, I won't be very surprised to hear all the last name changes at my high school reunion. I won't even be surprised to see some of my old teachers because I'm friends with them on Facebook too. I'll already know how old everyone's kids are. I'll already know who's a nurse and who's divorced and who's no longer living in Arizona. 

Guess what parents. We're going to come together and hangout with our Facebook friends in the flesh. We're going to hug people we could only virtually touch before. We're going to show up, ready to face our old classmates as an open book. Can't lie about your fake fancy job when I already saw its nonexistence on the internet. Our reunions will be honest. They will be different. They are just like everything else of our generation. They are progressing. Old traditions are fun but you have to spice them up sometime. Change is not the end of the world. Facebook is not the end of the world either.

I appreciate the tiny friendships I've made through Facebook. I love the quirky comments on my statuses and the countless people who ask how Hawaii is and when they can come visit. We may not have wreaked havoc on Mountain Ridge High School together but we can laugh about our shitty jobs and cry about our final exams together now and still feel like we're kind of actually friends.

Maybe if I keep going at the rate I am now I'll be able to find a date to my best friend's wedding through the internet too.

Thanks Facebook friends for reading, liking, and supporting my silly blogs. You keep it alive.

xo Tatum

Will This Matter In Five Years?

As I approach the ripe age of 23 and a half (April 11th is my half birthday) I am slowly but surely disintegrating into a pile of worry, stress, loneliness, back pain, and wonder. Wonder of what the hell my future holds. I am constantly reminded of how quickly time is flying by. No, I am not that asshole that celebrates her half birthdays. I'm just growing up. Fast. Seven weeks until my college graduation. Twelve days until I'm closer to 24 than 23. Two and a half years until I can no longer depend on my parents to provide me with health insurance. Nine months until (who thinks I'm going to say "my baby is born"?) my Arizona drivers license will no longer be valid at airport security. (Look it up. You're probably screwed too.) I have to go retake my driver's test to get a Hawaii license. How many feet away do you have to be from emergency vehicles? I DON'T KNOW.

When did I grow up and what did the universe do with my childhood?

When did five year olds start getting iPads for Christmas instead of bikes? Where was I when my entire high school class got engaged, pregnant, married, or divorced? Are we adults now?

Anyone who knows me knows all too well how obsessed I am with growing up and getting old and what it means to be 23 and a half.

I can tell I'm growing up because I am starting to make real live adult decisions and mature changes to my attitude. I sulked for the last couple months in my room for no real reason. I disappeared. I thought if I hid in my room, adulthood would just pause for a moment while I figured my life out. Then I came back to Earth and decided I want to buy a car and stop letting shit get to me. Two completely unrelated adult decisions.

Spoiler alert: this is not going to end the same way my first ever blog post ended. I am not going to say "the unknown future is so exciting and who cares what I do? I will figure it out while I enjoy being young and carefree."

Those days are over. Hello! Graduating college in SEVEN WEEKS. My carefree 23 year old days are gone. I am 23 and a half now and it's time for a reality check. I am terrified of my future. I have student loans up the wahzoo. I have zero plans for a career. I live in a small house for way too much money with three other girls who have tons of time left to figure their shit out. I'm cluelessly trying to buy a car off craiglist from some shady-probably-meth-dealer old lady who looks sweet and innocent but is going to sell me a lemon for every penny I'm worth. I am definitely not carefree and 23. I am full of cares. And premature stress.

Let's get to the point. I'm ranting.

In an attempt to weed out the useless stress, I want to test out this "ask yourself if this will matter in five years" strategy. (I'll get back to you on how well that works. I'm trying to grow out my hair, so with all this stress reduction I should have a mane by Thanksgiving). When I look back on 18 year old me, I can't think of one thing that happened that still matters to me in the slightest. This shit is full proof, I can tell.

(Sorry mom, I haven't blogged in a while. I'm wild with excitement, I can't control my sailor mouth).

Also, does the period go inside or outside of the parenthesis? Things I need to know as I enter the real world.

Here are some things that really make me homicidal and/or stressed beyond belief that I will try out this five years approach on real quick:

Will it matter in five years that a guy at my table ripped his coaster into tiny tiny pieces and spread them all over the table for me to clean up later? Doubt it.

Will it matter in five years that the girl in my sociology class laughs too loudly for one hour and fifteen minutes every Tuesday and Thursday at shit she's looking at on her computer? Mmmm, nah.

Will it matter in five years that my roommate left the shower curtain open yesterday? Not at all.

Will it matter in five years that I had to drive my moped to work in the rain? Negative.

Will it matter in five years that the bartender made fun of me for not knowing what a lime wheel was when I first started working at this bar? Nope.

Will it matter in five years that my coworker said my jacket is ugly? Do not care.

Will it matter in five years that I am extremely single and haven't been told I'm pretty by anyone other than drunk old men who ask me for double Johnny Walker Blacks on the rocks for the seventh time in an hour at my bar? Eh, hopefully future-blissfully-in-love-me won't remember that. Will report back when I'm 28 and either in love or still single as f***.

Will it matter in five years that some of my friends thought I wrote a blog post about my sexual abuse to get attention? They probably won't be my friends in five years anyway. Whatever.

It would appear that a lot of my stress stems from my job. As does most humans' stress. I'm working on just getting over it that I got a day shift instead of the more desired night shift this Friday. I'm getting over the fact that my friend has to study for our exam with me in secret because his immature girlfriend sees me as a threat. I'm getting over the fact that my dad doesn't call to say hi as often as I would like. I'm getting over the fact that I don't have extravagant plans for my future like some people my age do. (That one is taking a lot longer to get over). I'm definitely not over not knowing if the period goes inside or outside of the parenthesis.

But in five years, I will be a completely different person, probably still referring to myself as an asshole and probably with the same back pain, but different nonetheless. I'll look back on this time when I was melting into a puddle of tears and worry over graduating college and laugh at myself and how grown up I thought I was.

Then I will make a new list of shit that irritates me and start asking myself if 33-year-old me will still be bothered by it. (Okay 33-year-old me is not a me I want to picture at this time of turmoil. Scary).


xo Tatum

Abuse Is Abuse

I feel nauseous as I type this. However, since it's honesty hour (12:37PM. Yepp, definitely honesty hour) I feel like it's time to pour out my feelings about this particular experience.

It's been about a year and a half since this happened to me. I'm over it, I'm okay, I'm happy. So please, if you finish reading this wondering if I'm okay, I am.

I was sexually abused.

Yeah, that feels super not okay to say, to type, to think, to feel.

Someone (who I least expected) violated me and it disgusts me on so many levels I can never begin to describe them. I was not raped. I was not physically hurt. I was not abused in the way many of you are probably thinking. But I was abused.

Go back to title: Abuse Is Abuse

I am currently enrolled in a women's studies class that covers every single aspect of men and women sexuality that I could ever imagine going over in a formal educational setting. This past week we've been discussing sexual abuse, and I have been fighting back unbelievable feelings and tears each day that we review what sexual abuse entails. Every day we talk about it, every power point slide we go over, I can say part or all of it applies to me.

This is my story. This is how it made me feel. This is how I feel about it now.

I felt the moment it happened that I was violated, abused, taken advantage of, whatever. Now that I am being formally educated about it, I know this to be true. Any form of sexual or physical contact that happens without consent is considered abuse. And with that being said, I was abused. (I think I've said it enough times now that we all get the point)

So.

One night, a friend of mine decided he and I would have a low-key, fun night at home. We made some white russians (that's an alcoholic beverage made with booze and milk for those who aren't aware) and hung out in my room talking and laughing and having a good time. My roommates got home (a couple who lived in the master bedroom of my house together) and the girl, who was a friend, went to bed while her boyfriend decided to hangout with my friend and I in my room for while. We continued making white russians and having a good time.

You can imagine milk doesn't mix well with alcohol.

I felt sick, so I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I was drunk.

I was throwing up, feeling awful, trying to power through the unease I felt in my stomach. I was in my own bathroom, in my own house. My roommate (the guy who lived in the master bedroom with my other roommate, his girlfriend) came in the bathroom and asked if I was okay.

I vividly remember resting my arm on the edge of the toilet and my forehead was resting on that arm. I heard my roommate enter and ask if I was alright and immediately heard the bathroom door close and lock with the finish of that question. I remember lifting my head just enough to see him walk towards me and sit down next to me, draping his arm over my shoulders. My heavy head dropped back onto my forearm and I instantly felt my roommate put his hand on my thigh. I was sitting criss cross in front of the toilet, drunk and vulnerable, hardly able to move, just waiting for my sickness to pass. My roommate asked "Tatum are you okay?" as he slipped his index and middle finger up my shorts and past my underwear, into my vagina.

At that moment I remember snapping my head up so fast. I reached for the towel rack and grabbed on to lift myself up. I pulled my entire body weight up, pulling on that towel rack, asking him "what are you doing?!?!" The towel tack tore off the wall, I stumbled around, squeezing between the bathtub, the toilet, and my disgusting roommate. I yanked on the doorknob which was, in fact, locked. Once I got out of the bathroom I ran into my room and dropped to my knees on my bedroom floor, sobbing. My friend was so confused. I learned later that he heard some sort of commotion in the bathroom. But how could he have possibly known what was going on? All I could do was cry hysterically while he held me, telling me it would be okay.

When I finally choked out, bit by bit, what had happened, he stroked my arm, telling me I was strong, I could get past this, and I was not the type of person to let this ruin me.

My roommate stood in my doorway and asked my friend why I was crying. I was so mind blown that he could act like nothing had happened. I remember my friend saying "I think it's time everyone just goes to bed." And my roommate went into his room and went to sleep next to his girlfriend.

I never knew until now how powerful my friend's words were.

That friend, and he knows who he is (if he is reading this) saved me. He saved me from letting some piece of shit break me down. He reminded me of the strong, independent, insanely hard-headed person I am immediately when I needed to be reminded.

And so I woke up the next morning and decided I would tell no one.

I had just moved in to this house that I found on craigslist. I didn't know the people who lived there very well. I was just getting to know them. I moved in June of 2013 and in July of that same year is when that creep came on to me.

Everyone in the house knew each other for years. The couple I shared a house with was two years deep in a relationship. I felt like if I expressed what he had done, no one would believe me. They didn't know me, they had no reason to trust me over him. And I was strong. Yeah. I convinced myself that all of this meant it was better to keep it all a secret.

Eight months later, that couple that I still shared a house with was on the rocks. They were fighting constantly, breaking up a couple times a week, and unhappy.

Fast forward a bit, I finally told my roommate, and now really good friend, what her boyfriend had done to me. I told her I was afraid to tell her before, that I never thought she would believe me, that I wasn't sure what her boyfriend would do if I told, and that I hoped she could understand the insane disgust that I felt from that violation.

Needless to say they broke up, she kicked him out of our home (thank goodness) and she stopped speaking to me, looking at me, or acknowledging that I existed at all.

My other roommates had learned what had happened. If I or my roommate told them first, I don't remember, but I do know they took my side and I was grateful. Well, two of them took my side. One of them said some awful things to me. (More on that later)

Throughout the next YEAR I fought with my roommate about what happened. She and her friends thought I had done something to deserve what happened to me. They said I must have been coming on to my roommate for him to think that was okay. I probably wasn't telling the truth. Something was going on that she was not aware of. She used her breakup as a crippling experience. She moped around, saying her life was in shambles because her boyfriend had "cheated on her" and her friend (me) had betrayed her. Imagine how SHE feels. Feel bad for HER. She's so depressed because she was going through a hard time.

Each time she threw it in my face, I tried to tell her I lived in a house with a guy who violated me without my permission, and begged her to see it from my perspective too, and all she could say was, "Tatum, you CHOSE not to tell anyone for all these months so it's not my fault you lived with him. I lost my boyfriend of two years. Feel bad for me."

She was supposed to be my friend. She made me feel like it was my fault that her boyfriend abused me. It was my fault I was living in a house with him. It was my fault her relationship ended. It was my fault because I kept it a secret.

She then turned that secret into a lie. I lied to her all those months. Pretending to be her best friend, never telling her what her boyfriend had done.

The 4th roommate found out about the experience through the one whose boyfriend it was. I will never know what the story was that she heard, but she told me it's sad that I would get drunk and let my friend's boyfriend touch me inappropriately. LET HIM. Like I let him do it to me.

I have never been so angry in my entire life. Even the eight months that I carried that experience with me I was not as angry as I was after I told my friends about it. They made me feel like I was dirty, a liar, stupid, whatever. Treated me like it was all my fault. And let me just say, I wasn't prancing around asking for sympathy. If I wanted that I could have asked for it right when it happened. I was trying to tell my friend what type of creep she was dating and save her from that awful relationship. Then I became the bad guy.

Here's where I want my experience to hopefully help someone who has been through something similar.

In my lectures about sexual abuse, my professor keeps stressing the importance of believing your friend when they tell you what happened. Do not judge them based on their experience. Many people have ideas about girls getting drunk and "asking for it" or dressing a certain way and "asking for it". No. I don't buy that. I was drunk, sure. But I was in my OWN home with people I thought were friends. Good people. Support your friend if they need it. You don't have to smother them, they may not need that kind of support. But calling them a liar or eliminating all sympathy for what they went through is a little much. (Even if you have those opinions, keep them to yourself). I cannot stress enough how much it helped me to have just 2 or 3 friends take my side completely and feel for me, believe me, support me, hug me.

And if this has happened to anyone reading this. It's okay to feel awful. But you don't have to let it define you. You don't have to let it break you. You don't have to listen to those who judge you, who tell you it's your fault, who don't believe you. It is never your fault if someone touches you without your permission. Drunk, not drunk, sleeping, awake, male, female, friends, not friends, boyfriend, girlfriend. Whatever. If you don't want your roommate to touch your vag then he doesn't get to.

Majority of the time, sexual abuse happens between people who know each other.

That's not to say you shouldn't trust anyone around you. But you don't have to go around thinking it's not that bad or it's not abuse or it's not hurtful just because a "friend" touched you in a way you did not want.

You also don't have to accept people minimizing what happened to you because "Well at least he didn't rape you. At least you didn't get hurt. At least you didn't get pregnant. At least it wasn't a stranger. It could have been worse."

Just because I was only touched for a second, doesn't mean it didn't disgust me. It doesn't mean I should get over it faster than someone who was abused much worse. It doesn't mean it shouldn't bother me as much as it does. I have spent all this time telling myself it isn't a big deal, I didn't let it destroy me so it must not have been that bad, I wasn't physically hurt so I suppose it could have been worse.

But emotionally, I was hurt. The things my so-called friends said to me crushed me. Someone I lived with came on to me when I was vulnerable and that hurt me just has much as a punch in the stomach. It's sickening the things that were said to me. And I know I am strong enough to get over those things. I am tough enough to get over my abuse and live my life, brushing off the awful thing that happened to me and brushing off the awful things that were said about it. I never showed how much my experience affected me. I acted much stronger on the outside than what I felt on the inside.

I've debated a lot since I started blogging whether or not to share this story. I've moved on and don't particularly love to recall all the overwhelming feelings of disgust that come with telling it. But I realized recently that there are probably plenty of people out there who have been through something like this. I can only hope that sharing this story reminds those people that even if they were not raped or hurt badly or something of that sort, what happened to them is not okay, it's not to be minimized or diminished because it could have been worse. Abuse is abuse and no matter what kind of abuse it is, it should never be tolerated. If anyone reading this WAS raped or physically hurt... share your story too! Sexual abuse is wrong on every single level.

I'm open to talking about my experience. I hope anyone and everyone feels free to share their thoughts with me about my situation or their own. And I want to stress the importance of telling your story. It's a huge part of healing. Share it with a friend. Share it with me. Write it down, even if it's not in a blog you share on the internet.

The most important thing is to heal.

xo Tatum

News Flash: College is pointless

And so is everything else in life.

Woah. What's the point of life? What's the point of anything? Why am I here? Why are you here?

Let's get weird.

I'm so glad I'm not a sociology major. I would just be in tears every day. Sociology classes were put into the education system to punch people in the face with reality about society. And not everyone is going to get that little bit of wisdom dropped in their ear. We can't let EVERYONE in on the secret. (I'm about to let all you people out there in on the secret so you don't have to take sociology classes to find out). All 200 of you that will read this blog. (We'll leave the rest of them in the dark).

It's already getting weird. Do you feel it?

My soc professor asked us to describe our dream home. Where will we be in 10 years? What state or country? How big is our house? How many Range Rovers do we want? Beach house? Guest house? Man cave? Mini bar? Wine cellar? Horses?

Then she's like, "Great! Plan on having none of that."

What?
*hopes and dreams crushed into a trillion pieces and fall to the floor of room 637 in Saunders Hall*

Today was the most inspired I've ever been from an adult. And in my years in Hawaii (as well as years before that) I've gotten a lot of inspirational talks from adults saying I can do anything I want, be anything I want, it's my life, love it, live it, blah blah blah. I have gotten motivated and inspired over and over again to chase my dreams (once I think of some dreams). Being told I will never be rich, I will never have a mansion, I will be drowning in debt from college forever in my tiny apartment with my crying babies and spaghetti-o's made me SO HAPPY.

Because it's real.

Ok not happy like yay I'm going to be broke forever and hate life yippee. But like appreciative happy that we weren't getting fed the same "you can do anything" bullshit. (sorry mom)(and grandma)

Student loan debt is at an all time high. People are taking on debt they will literally never be able to pay off in their lifetime. And degrees are getting more and more worthless. You couldn't get anywhere with a high school diploma. Then you couldn't get anywhere with a bachelors degree. Now you can't get anywhere with a masters degree. So we are going to school for longer and longer, accruing more and more debt, just to get lame jobs that won't pay them off. But hey, I can put

Love,
Dr. Tatum

on my letters because I will have a PhD. Fancy. Woo.

So what the actual eff yew see kay are we doing? (I am really heated right now, I want to drop F-bombs but I respect my mother too much to post that word on the internet so just imagine it's there and feel the passion) Why do millions of people go to college with the same idea that they are going to get a degree and get an excellent job and make loads of money when only 1% of the population is actually wealthy? How many of us millions are going to wedge ourselves into that 1%? I'll tell you. All the pretty ones who marry rich guys.





^ Advice for the rest of us.

College is literally just a way to pass time. (Like a large amount of time. 4+ years usually because finishing in 4 is bullshit too) (Please shut up all people who finished in 4. It's impossible and you're just not human). It's something for us twenty-something year olds to do to prolong the inevitable search for said lame job and start our lives.

Feel inspired yet?

On the up side, we are learning. I mean WHAT IS the point of life? In the grand scheme of things, we're born, we live, we die. So in the middle, during the living part, we just find shit to do. I chose going to college. And to be honest, I didn't even go to college for any particular reason. I changed my major a billion times. I've told people "I don't know what I want to do with my life" more times in college than in my entire life combined. At least when I was little I could say I'm going to be a dolphin trainer with full confidence and no hesitation. Now it's like, well I work at a pretty cool bar? That's stimulating my mind enough for now.  Can I just do that forever? I didn't go to college with any real goals besides to just graduate college. (May 2015 is coming in hot. Now what do I do?)

So with absolutely no real reason for life, why not just do shit that stimulates your mind while you're alive? Forget the unrealistic and unattainable "go to college, get a job, get rich" goals. Just go to college because it's something to do. Learn about things you are interested in. Learn about things you love. You'll probably never pay off all your loans before you die, your kids probably won't pay off theirs, and their kids won't be able to pay off theirs. But they will try. And they will be intelligent. And they will be happy!

Like hello! The meaning of life is BE HAPPY.

I just revealed it to you. Put it in your pocket and keep it forever.

College makes me happy. Sometimes it makes me quite sad, like during exam weeks. My job usually makes me pretty happy. My friends make me happy. My family makes me happy. My new roommate's puppy makes me really happy. Someday I'll find a new job that hopefully makes me happy. I'll make monthly payments for my student loans and I'll do it with a damn smile and a mouth full of spaghetti-o's and I'll call my mom constantly and tell her not to worry because I'm paying off my loans and she'll be happy and then that will in turn make me happy.

It's endless. I'm almost confusing myself. What is this even about?

The meaning of life. Oh yeah.

Like if you want to stare at your phone all day and play on instgram and candy crush and flappy bird and then watch hours of netflix after your phone dies and never go outside or read a book. DO IT. If you want to stimulate your mind in other ways like ride a bike or go hiking or run a marathon. Sweet. Lay in a tanning bed. Don't wear deodorant. Shave your head. Post 30 selfies on the internet. Whatever.

Want to go to college? Awesome. Don't want to? Cool. You'll probably end up having more money than me and my fancy bachelors degree anyway because I will be paying off my loans forever and you won't have any.

My parents are going to buy an ice cream truck. AN ICE.CREAM.TRUCK. And drive it around and sell ice cream to kids. That is (insert F word) cool. My mom takes zumba classes and dances her little booty off every week. They do shit because it makes them happy. I love my parents so much.

The real point of this is just so I can share with all of you how mind blown I was that my professor just hit us with such a straight forward message about how not rich we all will be and how not big our future home will be. She told us we are the first generation that is actually going to be worse off than our parents. Usually it evens out, but nope! Not us. We are going to be so broke.

So no, I don't know why I'm going to college aside from the fact that I love to learn. I don't know what I'm going to do after college but I do know I'm not going to be wealthy. I'm just going to strive to be happy instead. (That was already my plan, but now it just makes so much more sense).

You're welcome for sprinkling you with inspiration.

xo, Tatum

Arizona to Hawaii: talk about change

Anyone who moves to a new place experiences change. Anyone who grew up in the same place most of their life and then moves to a new place (me) likely has a pretty difficult time adjusting to those changes.

For me, the changes I experienced and underwent were for the better. Living in Hawaii gave me a whole new outlook on life, myself, my beliefs and values, the earth, the island, everything. The best thing for me, though was the changes I made as a person; for myself and my self-esteem.

Inspirational, wonderful, beautiful, mushy post. Woof!

No. (Okay it's a little mushy)

Get ready to get offended, people I grew up with. I love you all. Just remember that. 

(And this doesn't apply to the entire state of Arizona so everyone relax while I generalize)

When I was growing up I didn't consider myself stuck up. I didn't think I was up tight. I thought I was pretty laid back and carefree. And I was, to some extent. But present me vs. past me are two completely different people.

Back home in Arizona, I wouldn't be caught dead outside of my house without makeup on. I rarely went out in my pajamas. My hair was always neatly straightened or curled. It was rare I even wore a ponytail. (Okay I dressed pretty weird sometimes. I was a dancer. Other dancers understand). 

Just kidding, this was 80's Day for spirit week.

This was a typical day going to dance. Layers!!! Love 'em, miss 'em.

Anyway! Even if I was going swimming or to a water park, you better believe I was caking on the waterproof mascara. My eyelashes are outrageous, why did I need that?

When I moved to Hawaii, same rules applied. I did the only thing I knew how to do. Get ready, put makeup on, do my hair, leave the house. Going to the beach? Waterproof mascara. (Mix that with salt water and let me know how your eyeballs feel) Just woke up? Hungry? Shower and get ready, endure the pain of hunger until I'm spruced up. 

I was so worried about what everyone thought of me. I was the exact opposite of laid back and carefree. I blame Arizona. I blame Mountain Ridge High School. I blame cheerleading. But hey, I'll take some of the blame.

I don't know when I changed. I don't know when I finally let my hair down (figuratively and I suppose literally). I don't know when I stopped caring.

Stopped may be the wrong word. I definitely still care what others think of me to some degree. Don't we all? But I know I look around this island and see so many people in their pajamas. It's harder to spot a girl with makeup than a girl without it. So I joined the party.

(hehe)

At a club in Scottsdale, Az, 99% of the girls are wearing tight dresses, high heels, and a full (and I mean full) face of makeup. There are times I go to a club here in Hawaii in jeans and slippers (that's flip flops for those back home). I'll dance battle any girl that's wearing high heels. Blow me away by batting your fake eyelashes. I can shuffle better than you in my chucks.

My best friend and I show up matching when we go clubbing on Mondays.
We make it "theme night". 

This was "we are 5 years old" night. 

This was "World Cup" night. 

Below we have "we have basically the same shirt so let's wear it" night. 

#mondayfunday

We think we are hilarious. And granted there are still tons of girls here who get all done up to go out. We still wear the occasional dress and heels if we are feeling frisky. I didn't give up all aspects of being a girly girl. But I relaxed a lot.

One million percent of the time now, if I wake up and I'm hungry, I find some pants (likely some that are one the floor) (even more likely they were the ones I wore yesterday) and walk out the door. I've sat at a bar wearing a little boy's ninja turtles shirt drinking a bloody mary. I'll go anywhere without makeup on. And I don't even think it's fully because I don't care, but because when I do that, I fit in.

Back home, I had to do my hair and makeup and all those things in order to fit in. It's the norm. Humans follow norms. In Hawaii, it's the norm to wear slippers every day and cruise around with no makeup on. Regardless of which is normal. Regardless of the fact that I feel I fit in here. Fitting in, in a place like this that truly is carefree, feels so much better than fitting in where I have to make sure I look my best everywhere I go.

My self-esteem covers a lot more ground now that I can feel confident with or without mascara. I'm happier now, not worrying so much about who is staring or who is judging me based on my appearance.

I have to give a shout out to my first friend in Hawaii, Chelsea. Although we aren't friends anymore, she helped me to understand the chill aloha vibe of the islands. She's a local girl who had the privilege of growing up in Hawaii for her entire life. She taught me that there's so much more to life than getting ready every day. There are adventures to be had, beaches to be played at, sunshine to be soaked up.

Don't get me wrong, I love Arizona. I'll never be upset about where I grew up. I am who I am today because of the places I've lived and the people I know. I appreciate the snootiness of my hometown because it makes me appreciate the carefreeness of my current town more.

And one more thing. 

I'd like to point out my previously mentioned best friend, Jen. She grew up in Japan basically her entire life. (Cool, I know) She moved to the states straight out of high school and attended college in Washington. Now she is here in Hawaii. One culture to another and to another. (Props, Jen. That's not easy.) She speaks two languages fluently. Living in Hawaii she uses both frequently. I've heard her switch from English to Japanese in one sentence! (That never stops being cool to me) She's lived in the constant rain and the freezing snow, as well as the warm tropical sunshine. That's someone to look up to. I admire her so much for being so cultured and being the person she is. She teaches me so much about Japan, the culture, and even some of the language (I try but its hard) Daijobu. But also she teaches me how to live life to the fullest here on Oahu.

Where you come from, where you've been, and where you go will continue to shape who you are and who you become. I'm so happy to have found a place that is so accepting. (Ironic because there is still some racism and prejudice here).

I wish everyone could have the chance to experience life in Hawaii. That's why I've had such a hard time deciding whether or not to stay here when I graduate college in May. (I'm staying). This is my home now and I can't imagine leaving. I love myself more now than I ever have.

I mean, who would give this up?

xo, Tatum