The Better Me Project, Part I

No one has ever accused me of being a natural beauty.  Ever.  Oh, I was a cute enough baby and toddler.  But, eventually my mother's high palate and buck teeth and my father's wretchedly bad skin collided with my 1970's shag haircut and not a cool Sally Hershberger-shag, either.  Then, like a cherry on the top of my homely and awkward teenage cake I ended up with glasses. And believe-you-me, in 1977 glasses were not the cool hipster accessory to be wearing with adolescent skin, buck teeth and a bad shag haircut.

Eventually, my teeth were fixed and my skin break-outs were somewhat under control and I bought contact lenses. By my own admission, I am really not that bright probably because more than a few people felt free enough to step forward and convince me.  It was obvious that no one honestly believed that I had it in me to make it through college.  So, I didn't go then and saved us all the expense and embarrassment of me failing.

Like most young families in the 1960s, we weren't poor, but if there wasn't money for something then we went without it until we could afford it. There were no credit cards or shopping sprees or needless spending.  Ever.  And in all fairness, I always had what I needed, but deep in the very center of my chest in that hollow place where some people think my heart is supposed to reside I wanted something more.  Not like I simply wanted more stuff, but like I wanted something more than I had something my family could not provide for me.  I wanted an effortlessly prepossessing image to cover up all that homely maladroitness I saw when I looked in the mirror.

In an effort to off-set all of this teenage angst and ugliness, I focused on giving to myself what nature had so cruelly neglected to provide for me.  My remedy was to work hard at looking, at the very least, acceptable with aspirations of decent.  I bought Teen Miss and Seventeen and later Glamour and Vogue and even later as an adult InStyle and Elle and kept up with the season's lookbooks and worked hard to appear impeccable all of the time because I felt my margin of error was just so very slim.  These resources helped to show me how to become what I so desperately wanted:  To be beautiful and effortless and chic. They also showed me the way to my most prideful ruin:  the I-wants.

I am no longer an ugly and graceless teenager, but I still have the I-wants.  I am a grown-ass woman who knows that true beauty comes from the inside out not vice verse, and for the most part I honestly believe that.  But--and it's a big but--I still get caught-up with my teenage anxieties and the I-wants.  And lately, my regular low-level smoldering case of the I-wants has become one long insatiable and unsatisfying wantgasm.

Coinciding with the beginning of 2014, I am taking it back to basics.  This situation has gotten out of control and I have spent too much precious time perusing and coveting and thinking that just one more JCrew cashmerefuckingwhatever would be just what I needed to soothe away the old predispositions.  Word to the wise, people; it never does. This is why I conjured up The Better Me Project.

The rules are very simple.  I am to do no perusing, dreaming, coveting or shopping either online or in person for anything.  I am allowed to replace toiletries; prescriptions; tried-and-true cosmetics and hair products no experimenting with the newest or the greatest; I am allowed haircuts and color, as well as brow grooming because a girl can only inflict so much disturbing reality on those she loves.  I have not determined an end date as yet because I will know when I am done; I reserve the right to change the rules at any time to fit my life and my needs and my growth; however, I promise to not change the rules to my detriment.  Maybe these rules make sense to you, maybe they do not.  To me, they make perfect sense.

I have already been faced with a shopping/purchasing dilemma and I found it supremely difficult to walk away like, when I quit smoking kind-of-difficult.  But I just know that I will come out the other side a better Darya, or at the very least a Darya with a few bills paid off and some extra Benjamins in her savings account.

So, when you see me posting about The Better Me Project, now you will know, at least in part, what the hell I am talking about.  Wish me luck!  Feel free to cheer me on or at the very least please do not send me any catalogs or flash sale emails--I swear to you I am as fragile as a crippled kitten.

xoxo Darya

Here's the Deal...

...I am old;  I am a goddamn idiot;  I am not a programmer;  I do not know what I am doing;  I cannot afford to hire an entire IT team of developers and web designers.

Oh, and I just read that blogging officially died in 2013.

In spite of all that, I am trying to grow my little bloggity blog, anyway.

I know a lot a few of my fans friends keep having trouble simply signing up to receive my blog updates via email.  I DO NOT KNOW WHY THIS IS, PEOPLE!!!!  But, please see the above first paragraph for any number of possible explanations.

I just opened up a Facebook Page for xoxo Darya, so I am hoping to link it here and then you can go like it there and then these goddamn annoying incredibly motivating and entertaining post updates can come right to your FB Newsfeed via the xoxo Darya fan page and then we can chat and be cyber-friends and solve my social awkwardness and then I can quit my soul sucking day job become a wildly successful blogger and tra la fucking la.

I am not totally sure how this going to work in reality, but in my head it is going to be beyond awesome.

Also, if you Tweet, join me @xoxoDarya and you can follow along and laugh condescendingly as I continually struggle to stay under 140 characters.  Or you can join me at my Instagram for even more useless crap and pictures of me in whatever boring-ass outfit I have concocted for myself to wear on any given day @xoxoxdarya and yes, I DO know there is an extra "x";  it is because I already own @xoxo_darya but I cannot for the life of me figure out how to disown it before I re-own it as myself--see paragraph one for further illustration of my knuckleheadedness.  And, well, if I am going to whore myself to social media in an effort to grow my little bloggity blog, then I couldn't leave Pinterest out even though I believe it to be the devil's playground but I don't judge; I just love.

Come on, it'll be fun--all the cool kids are doing it.

Whew...self-promotion is exhausting.

xoxo Darya

My Original Ride or Dies

I have had the unenviable reality of being uprooted and moved at some of the worst times in a developing young lady's life--5th grade, Freshman year and then again Senior year.  By my own free will, I married young and moved along with the military and had the Hero far from my hometown.  After Sgt. Airborne did his final deed of destruction, I returned "home" hurt and ashamed with nothing but the Hero, a car seat, a broken stroller and what was in the boxes I had mailed COD to my parent's front door.

I had no friends.

But Sister shared her friends and out of that crazy-assed cast of characters I found my next husband and his Ride or Dies.

The Urban Dictionary defines a Ride or Die as someone who is always by your side and will never leave.  They have your back no matter what.  They would do anything for you and will fight for you.  So, by definition alone these boys are my Ride or Dies, as well.  They have been there for the Caveman and the Hero and for me; I know for a fact they would Ride with me or they would Die for me--I just know that, forrealz.

They have babysat the Hero and dogsat my sweet Roxy girl; they have played softball on the same team as my Father and me; they have visited the Caveman and me in the hospital; they have picked us up from bars and broken down cars; they have helped us move into our homes; they have been there for the Hero's baptism and First Holy Communion and attended his fire academy graduation.  And I know that they will sit in the family pews right behind the Caveman and me on the day that the Hero is married and they will visit his wife when his own babies fall from heaven.  And then we will all switch places in those same pews when our own parents begin to leave us.

Papa Fig has been a staple in our little family for so long that I could have easily stood on his side of the alter when he married. Papa Fig would have been the Hero's official godfather at his baptism but the church got all high-and-mighty and said no, he had to be a "real" Catholic.  Whatevs.  He had the forethought to hook me up with his mother who became my mentor and future business partner and he made the hard phone calls when the Caveman's father died after 17 horrible whirlwind days.  
Debts that can never be repaid.

I have slept huddled on the beach in the mist of Mexico with the The River Rat and we spent many Taco Tuesdays at the Red Onion and in line waiting to get in to clubs on Friday nights.  He was the one who lent me $3600 to get my boobs done and I made a visit to his shop every single month for 36 months to pay him back $100.  Not to mention the odd $20 here and $60 there just to get diapers or food or put gas in my little Honda Civic.  In all honesty, he owns a little bit more than a piece of my heart.
I love him for that!

Big Pimpin' is the baller that bails our sorry asses out of jail literally and hooks us up with all kinds a cool shit.  I have no proof, but I have my suspicions that the Caveman extracted a promise from Big Pimpin' that he would always look after me should something ever tragically befall him.  Big Pimpin' has no blood family of his own left on the planet--except for the adorable mini-me children that Big Pimpin' and his bride have made for themselves--making it even more poignant that we roll deep.

And we do roll deep just not as often as before.

Even when it has been over a year since we were all in the same room at my 12/12/12 birthday party--it doesn't matter.  Just like the River Rat's wife reminded me, "We are such good friends--just with gaps."  She dubbed us gap friends.  She is my Gap Girl.  She is the one I have known the longest and whose child is closest in age to my own.  We were single mom's dating hound dogs, but they loved us and we loved them and we made it work.  I even made her wedding dress!  The Princess Bride is exactly ten years younger than myself and is so beautiful and so much Big Pimpin's dream girl it is almost spooky and the CEO is just that: She is the CEO of her own majorly successful design firm and has blessed Papa Fig with the only thing he ever really wanted in this life--three of his own beyond-beautiful children.  I have been there for a few of these boss bitches' children's conceptions and I have been around for almost all their births.  I love them all like my own child.

This is the real deal, people; this is what life and love and friendship and growing up and growing old together is all about.  Take it from me, when you are not lucky enough to have your own Ride or Dies, you gotta manufacture them or go out and steal them from someone else.

And you realize how important they are to have and to take care of and to cherish and to ride or die with.

xoxo Darya

Suck It 2013

I sat in front of my computer--which by-the-by is really having some technical difficulties and even Blogger is feeling a little like it is out to screw me--and the blank page of my little bloggity blog mocked me.  I was thinking and typing and erasing and typing some more and trying to come up with some truly inspiring and awesome words of wisdom to bid 2013 farewell and to usher in 2014 with grace and inspiration.  Hah! The only thing that, in all honestly, I could put down was, "Suck it 2013."  Really, Darya?  Really.

So, as midnight approached and I started to feel a little panicky, I literally hammered this out on my iPhone with my two prematurely arthritis and tendonitis encumbered thumbs as we sat in the drive-thru at Alberto's waiting for our two bean-and-cheese burritos--we are ballers, ya'all.  2014 is my new beginning.  I am cutting the dead wood and I am no longer pushing an ever-growing tangled rope of shit uphill.  So, here is my Alberto's missive in all its glory.  If you follow me on Facebook, no new news here.  Bear with me; I will get it together.  Promise.  I feel big things a-poppin in 2014.


A few words as we end the year:

I have worked hard and I have hardly worked; I have squatted and thrusted and turned my body around; I have recommitted my heart to love, my mind to learning and my skin to the proper use of sunscreen; I have been hurt and I have set about healing; I have nothing to be sorry for but I want to do oh-so-much better; I have cried and sworn and cursed at God and I have made futile deals with the devil.  2013 has been sad and hard and brutal and I long for an easier more beautiful and tranquil 2014.

These are my 2014 Darya-isms.

Happy New Year, Auld Lang Syne, Salud and Cheers!

xoxo Darya

Afterglow vs Aftermath

As anyone who knows me knows—mostly because I bludgeoned everyone with even the most minute of details—I turned the big 5-0 on 12/12/12.  I threw myself a very intimate little party at the most adorable girlfriend-owned restaurant in Newport Beach called Sol Grill complete with an awesome live musician for background and then dancing music, as well as the Hostess's ah-mazing food.  I created a signature cocktail and the Caveman and the Hero toasted me with my own homemade lemoncello and we laughed and we celebrated and my guests signed the most current volume of my 7-volume guest book—originally started in 1987!—and it was all I ever dreamed or dared to hope it could have been.  It was love, man, just pure L-O-V-E. 

But, just like the holiday hangover we all suffer after Christmas and New Year's, I got a triple-dose with my birthday's celebration being thrown in there as well last year.  As a side note, the Caveman's birthday is 12/15 and the Hero's birthday is 12/26 and my little family's anniversary is 12/1—feel my triple-crush hangover now!  And a big birthday like that gets you thinking and wondering and considering.  Hmmm.  What do I know for sure--really for sure?  If you have read my prior blog entries, you are familiar with my struggles—no need to double-dip that chip here.  So, in honor of 12/12/13 and turning 51—see, it just doesn't have the same cool ring—I am sharing those things that I know to be true for sure for me.

 

1.      My life really didn’t begin until I met the Caveman—I DO NOT even know how I breathed a breath of air before he came into my life.

2.      This is a tie with No.1:  Seeing the Hero fall from heaven into this world—dramatically and prematurely—and take his first breath.  This is my most treasured memory (made all the more treasured by the fact that there is no one left on this planet to share this memory with me). The only reason this isn't No. 1 is because the Hero was meant to be born, grow up and leave me.  The Caveman, on the other hand, was meant to meet me, fall in love and stay with me.

3.      Witnessing the Caveman and the Hero (age 2) meet for the first time—instant love.  Okay—it's a three-way tie.

4.      I am horrible at paying my bills; so I make sure that I have none.

5.      In the hive of life, I am a drone, not the queen.  I know intimately the hard-hustle of everyday work.  Not even a career, just a down-in-the-trenches-day-in-and-day-out kinda work.  I am both embarrassed by and proud of this same point.

6.      I know in my heart that the Caveman wakes up every morning asking himself what he can do to make it the best day for me!  I want so much to be able to do that for him, but I am a selfish failure at loving him as much as I need to be loved by him.

7.      I am sensitive.  My eyes and heart cannot abide most of what they witness on the internet and TV.  Warning:  If you post abused pit bull puppies or abandoned kittens on my FB Newsfeed I immediately “hide” it.  The Animal Planet Channel is blocked on all my TVs.  I cannot endure these atrocities—it does not inspire nor rally me; it traumatizes and paralyzes me.

8.      I am desperate for structure and quiet.  I try not to yell any more than I have to.

9.      I need a solid work-out schedule for my mind and good food for my body and vice verse.

10.  I need a good bra, a sexy little black dress, an above-average Kentucky sipping whiskey and clean soft sheets—not necessarily in that order.  Well, now that I look at that order, probably, exactly in that order ; )

11.  I must knit to retain even a modicum of sanity.

12.  I need a kitten to want to purr and knead on just me.

13.  The hard-hustle is killing me (see #5).  Slowly, painfully and without mercy the hard-hustle is sucking the soul from my body.  I must find a new way to “be” in this world.  Like Bowie says, “We live for just these twenty years do we have to die for the fifty more?”  God, I hope not.

14. Steely Dan is the greatest band ever.  Church.  Preach.

15.  I should be a better Christian.  I know God loves me, but, really, what have I done for him lately?

16.  I am basically scared of boys and their larger, hairier, scarier man-selves.

17.  The allure of shiny and pretty does not elude me.  Ever.

18.  I love dolls.  I wish I could design and make dolls for a living including knitting all their clothes and accessories even their little under panties.

19.  One of the greatest gifts I ever received was learning to sew—thanks Mom <3.

20.  I can do anything; I have never really failed at anything.  Now, don't get me wrong, some things have not always necessarily worked out so well, but I would never use the word "fail'.

21.  I bruise easily. But, I am also tough and resilient.

22.  I truly believe that most people, including my family just don’t “get me”.

23.  If you are my friend, there's nothing I won't do for you.  Please don’t abuse that because if you do, well, then, I will probably take it, and then, one day I will not take it anymore, and then, we will no longer be friends.  Period.

24.  I love our families and I feel a grave responsibility to take care of them—all of them.  Well, almost all of them; you know who you are and you WILL NOT be taken care of by me, ever.  If you are reading this and you are unsure if this means you, then you better check in with me.

25.  The sound of a barking dog at night will drive me slowly insane—like I want to hide drugs in a pork chop and heave it over the fence kinda crazy.

26.  I believe I am a better auntie and godmother than I ever was a mommy.

27.  I love completely with all my heart.  Unfortunately, my heart is only the size of a dried apple doll’s head (see #6).

28.  I envy girls who have girlfriends and girls’ nights out.

29.  My only regret is not having a better education; however, I have such a shitty education that I can’t even spell R-E-G-R-E-T; it’s not even in my vocabulary.  Clever how I did that, huh ; )

30.  I married my first boyfriend.  Hell!  I married all my boyfriends. 

31. The Caveman belongs at the right arm of God for raising another man’s son as his own.

32.  You don’t have to like me; you can even say bad things about me, but you are going to have to own it and you are only going to get to do it once because I will not stand to be disrespected twice.  Consider yourself warned.  Seriously.  After that go ahead and say whatever you want to say but you should be prepared to duck.  Better yet, just get screwed and keep walking.

33.  Just about any kind of –ism makes me physically sick, i.e. racism, sexism, ageism, radicalism, fundamentalism, etc.

34.  I absolutely love, adore and respect our military men and women.

35.  The Star Spangled Banner and the hymn Amazing Grace cause a visceral reaction in me that I cannot hide.

36.  I am basically a worry-wart insomniac perfectionist encumbered by not enough time to be rested, perfect nor worried enough.  See my dilemma.

37.  No man has ever worked harder for one woman than the Caveman does for me. 

This is what I know to be true; these are my Darya-isms.

Happy birthday to me <3

xoxo Darya 

There Went My DIY Cherry

Just as a a word of warning , you are not going to see a whole lot of DIY projects here on my little bloggity blog.  This is my promise to you.  I may, however, show off some of my handknits or something I have sewn or maybe even embroidered.  While I have been sewing since before I knew how to read and I certainly know my way around with every manner of needles, I do not consider myself a particularly crafty person.  And to do DIYs you gotta be crafty and creative, man.  You gotta be able to look at a plastic gallon milk jug and envision and then cut and carve and turn it into something like a baby doll swing or a device to capture vermin or a bathmat or something equally absurd yet awe-inspiring.
I am keenly aware that I do not possess these talents.  I am the girl that reads your DIY and then goes and does it really, really well.  I am what is known as your target audience.

That all being said, my girlfriend and I found these loafers at Gap for 30%. In all honesty, I really wanted the already glittery and sparkly ones, but they were an extraordinarily odd goldy-pinkish hue that I just could not get behind, and they were stiff to boot.
Then...I remembered a DIY I had seen on Honestly WTF's website or maybe even Love Maegan where the girls recreated the glittery Miu Miu sneakers with a pair of Van's.  That's about it.  I just followed their directions.

Ta da damn da.  Clearly, I am an awesome photog, as well.  Be jealous.

I do need to say out loud that I have never worked with Mod Podge and I am still quite intimidated by the extreme volume of choices at Michael's--eventually, I just grabbed one and ran.  All in all, I like the way they came out and I am actually wearing my glitterfied versions and I think they are really pretty.  They are very sparkly and glittery and still pliable, and because I sprayed the extra sealant on them there doesn't seem to be any trail of sprinkles, which to be honest, kinda bums me out 'cause I like to think that I spread a little sparkle with every delicate little foot print I make ; )

 xoxo Darya

Family Date Night

On December 1, 1990, the Caveman married the Hero and me.  We were married at the little Catholic church where the Caveman had taken his First Holy Communion as a second grader, and later where I converted and took my First Holy Communion and Confirmation as a 28-year-old-grown-ass woman.   It was a nuptial mass that was intimate and simple and afterwards we had a helluva party--we are good at that part.  We call it our Family Anniversary because that is the day that we officially became a family--pretty clever stuff, huh.

But when I really think about it, becoming a family actually started a few years before that day as I was putting the Hero to bed one Friday night.  Generally speaking, I didn't go out until after he had been put down for the night.  And on this particular Friday night as I was laying there talking with him or reading to him--fully made-up and dressed-up and ready to slide out from under the covers and sneak out the door to Benigan's or The Red Onion the exact moment after he fell asleep--and he asked me why he never got to have a date night.  Huh?  You wanna have a date with us?  The Hero was probably three-years-old and he was in daycare full-time and the Caveman was a first-year apprentice and I worked nights and from that one simple and honest question Family Date Night was born.  We chose Wednesday because it was pay day.  We chose Sizzler because it was cheap and close and the Earth wouldn't stop spinning on its axis if something got spilled or there was an emotional meltdown, but you had to sit at a table with silverware and a cloth napkin and there was proper table conversation about the workweek and the happenings of our lives.  The Sizzler--as well as the dining table at home--is where the bar was set; where the Hero learned to sit down and speak up and to eat like a human being and to say please and thank you and generally not act like a little punk.
  
Looking back on those Family Date Nights, I realize how important they were to us becoming a family even before we were a family.  It is a tradition that stays with us to this day.  The Hero now lives in LA.  He comes down once a month for date night with me and once in a while the Caveman joins us and we have Family Date Night again--or still.  We will do this Sunday night on the occasion of the 23rd anniversary of our little family.  And it will be a beautiful thing--to sit there as adults and speak of our workweek and the happenings of our lives. 

Happy Family Anniversary <3

xoxo Darya