Little Miss Photogenic

A couple of weeks back, I told you guys about an event I'd be performing in called Spring Forth. It was a night of music & storytelling put on by OSNY to raise money for City Harvest. I told a story that night, which I had prepped by writing an essay. I realized this week that I just had this written story sitting around now, so I decided why not share it? For anyone who missed the event, below is a story of childhood dreams, feminism, and friendship. I've included some pictures just to add a little razzle dazzle.

When I was six-years-old, I was sitting in the bed of my dad’s truck while watching the Cornyval parade in my hometown of Helotes, Texas. There were several floats going by on Bandera road, each featuring some organization from the town, but there was one in particular that stood out to me.

It was a larger float covered in white fluffy crepe paper, and on it were different tiers on which three attractive women stood like brides on a very sexy wedding cake. On the very top stood a woman with bleach-blonde hair, a sequined form-fitting dress, and a tiara glittering like nothing I had ever seen before. She was Miss Helotes, and when she waved, her hands were like spoons – the fingers stuck together so determinedly that they looked as if they might be webbed. Her smile was impeccable, and I thought she was perfect.

A more recent scene from the Cornyval (Via)

Now, at this time, all of the women who would eventually become my role models in life had not really risen to prominence, or if they had, I just hadn’t heard of them yet (because I was six, so give me a break) – women like Flannery O’Connor, Tina Fey, Betty Friedan, Beyoncé. So when I saw these sparkly women that day at the Cornyval parade, I revered them as the pinnacle of female existence, and I decided that I needed to do whatever it might take to get on that float.

Ugh, why wasn't a children's version of this available for me in the 90s?

And there was hope because at the bottom of the float stood three miniature versions of the women up on top. These were the Little Miss Helotes contestants, and they were my age. Their dresses were slightly less form-fitting, but they each had tiaras and they each embodied everything I wanted out of life, especially the one in the middle…because she had the biggest tiara.

So a year later, I approached my mom to tell her that I wanted to enter the Little Miss Helotes pageant. I don’t really know what I was expecting in terms of her response, but she looked at me a bit puzzled, and just said, “…Why?” Now, this was pre-Toddlers & Tiaras, so her hesitation did not stem from the stigma that is now associated with kids being in pageants. I mean, the world had yet to even meet this glorious creature:

Instead, as she has reluctantly told me in my later years, my mom was afraid that I wouldn’t win. This was weird to me because up until this point, everything she had been telling me throughout my entire life had indicated the opposite. As far as I knew, I was the cutest, sweetest, most gifted child my mother had ever met. I mean, every picture I brought home went straight on the fridge, every time I said “Mom, watch me!” before belly-flopping into the pool, she had indeed watched me and had even applauded when I emerged from the water. Like, I was special – potentially the most special…at least that’s what I figured.

I do think it’s important that you know that in reality, I was kind of a squatty, weird little kid whose biggest accomplishment up until that point had been not peeing my pants more than thrice in a calendar-year. I was also missing four of my top front teeth and I had a decent unibrow forming, which held a very special place in my mother’s heart, but I’m sure she questioned whether the world would have such an open mind.

But she conceded, and so began a series of rigorous practices to ready me for the big pageant. I went to the local Presbyterian Church every Thursday to practice alongside the other contestants with our coach. She was a woman with smoky breath who I remember as having a thick Long Island accent, but it was Texas, so I now think that memory may be corrupted from things I’ve seen on TV. Anyway, from this gruff woman, we learned how to stand properly, how to walk properly, and how to speak properly – all of which were things I thought I already knew from, like, being a person, but it turns out I did not.

Coming into this whole thing, I knew I was the youngest girl in the pageant, which despite my inflated self-esteem, did intimidate me. My mom told me that in order to overcome this fear, I needed to “stand out”. She took me to a hairdresser who gave me a new signature style, which coincidentally, was also the signature style for Mary Tyler Moore in 1973.

Via

So the big day came – I had my signature Mary Tyler hairstyle prepped, a pink dress from Dillards, and my eye was on the prize. There were three different times that I was supposed to appear on stage: The First Look (where I’d just be introduced to the crowd), The Interview with the emcee, and The Beauty Walk. During First Look, my name was called and as far as I knew, I had won it right there. I smiled at the judges, piercing them with my eye contact. It was in the bag.

Immediately after came the interview. We all lined up as the cheesy emcee approached us with the mic. The questions were related to profiles we’d submitted beforehand that our moms had filled out. Right before me, a girl named Cindy was asked why her horse was named Prince, and she responded, without skipping a beat, “Because he’s a prince to me” (and by the way, she pronounced "me" as "may"). At this, the audience collectively lost their minds. They thought it was so cute, and it was. It was perfect -- almost like she’d rehearsed her answer – like instead of spending time clearing a place on her shelf for her new tiara (like I did), she had actually thought about what words were going to come out of her mouth on a stage in front of her entire town.

When the mic got around to me, I was in the midst of an existential crisis. Why the hell hadn’t I practiced the interview portion? I tried to shake it off by telling myself that I could get through this if I just responded in a mature manner – the way a grownup would. So the emcee leaned in towards me and said, “So you play softball for the Helotes Little League. What else do you like to do?” A very generous question. Should have been easy, but for some reason I was drawing a blank. What did I like to do? Did I like to do things?

I knew that my answer was “I don’t know,” but I wanted to say it in a classier way, so I leaned into the mic, locked eyes with the emcee as though I were trying to put him in a trace, and I said, “…I can’t say...."

Now, what I meant by that was, “Hmm, gee, I can’t really say!” (another way of saying "dunno") but because of the ultra creepy way in which I chose to say it, it ended up sounding like I couldn’t say because the thing I liked to do might involve murder or watching people sleep.

"...I can't say..." (Via)

The audience erupted with laughter, and I felt deflated. Backstage, I was kicking myself, thinking of all of the things I liked to do. Watch television, make mud pies, draw pictures of frogs. 

Nailed it.

I was certain that my interview had been a spectacular failure, but I was hoping that all of the work I’d put into my beauty walk would pay off.

When I got out there, I moved to the middle of the stage and got into a perfect t-stance (this is where you put your feet in the shape of a “T” because otherwise you’re standing like an animal). The crowd was still abuzz. I was sure they were still talking about my interview, and honestly, in my mind I started to get exasperated with these people. I mean, come on, guys, that was before…look at all this beauty happening in front of you. I walked all over that stage, incapable of smiling because of the rowdy crowd, and when I got backstage I realized that they actually weren’t laughing about my interview anymore. As it turns out, I had walked on stage with my dress tucked deeply into my pantyhose like a sausage stuffed into its casing. God only knows how I managed to do that, but I super did.

So I did about as badly as one can do in a pageant, but my self-esteem was so inflated that when it came time to announce the winners, I still somehow thought I had a shot. At the very least, I was sure to get 2^nd runner up, right? We all lined up on stage for the last time. Smaller awards were given first. Then they started with the big ones. First they announced 2^nd runner up – not me. Okay. Then 1^st runner up – not me again…I started to get excited…I guess I did better than I thought…

Then the emcee announced, “And your new Little Miss Helotes IS….”

Not me. Duh. It was Cindy. The girl with the horse. Serves me right for entering a Texas beauty pageant without owning a horse.

I should mention that I did leave with an award that day and a tiara. In the smaller awards section, I was crowned “Little Miss Photogenic”, which even then I knew was the most BS title I could possibly get. The judges had made this call based on professional photos we’d taken a while back, and guys, here’s mine:

"...I can't say..."

Now, that looks like the face of a terrifying little girl who can’t say what she likes to do in her spare time.

Like, if the criteria for the title of “Little Miss Photogenic” was being present for the photo, then I guess I nailed it. But besides that, I’m missing four very important teeth, my hair is other-worldly, and as my husband has pointed out when looking at this picture, I’ve got “those cold, dead shark eyes.” Plus, whose shower curtain am I wearing?

After this experience, I was devastated. Devastated in a way that I hope no daughter of mine ever has to be. I cried the whole way home, tiara on my head, dress still partially tucked into my pantyhose because it’s an easier mistake to make than you would think. 

Something you may have noticed in this story, something that always sticks out to me, at least, is that it includes no real details of my relationships with the other contestants, no fun anecdotes from the friendships that I formed. That’s because I didn’t really form any. The other little girls in that pageant were just hurdles to overcome, annoying things that stood between me and my crown.

That was the problem with having Miss Helotes as my role model. Because I wanted to stand at the top of the float, because I wanted to wear the sparkly dress and the biggest tiara, I subconsciously felt that any girl who wanted the same thing must be a villain. Sweet girls who would normally have been my friends actually became my enemies.

But as the years went by, I developed some new role models – women who taught me that we win through relationship with one another, not by pitting ourselves against each other...over a tiara, no less. I mean, believe it or not, we can all just buy a bunch of tiaras on Amazon.com (they’re like $8), wear them with sparkly dresses if that’s what we want, and then get down to the real business of making the world a better place through collaboration, not competition.

See? (Via)

I’m honestly glad I did not win Little Miss Helotes. I’m glad I walked away from that experience with the crappiest title and with the entire town thinking I had a weird hobby I couldn’t talk about. It taught me an important lesson about losing, but it taught me an even greater lesson about friendship. I never did another pageant after that, but you may be wondering, did I hold onto my Little Miss Photogenic tiara? And do I still sometimes wear it around my apartment if I’m having a bad day?

…I can’t say...

Feelings Friday: Negativity

If you have a Pinterest account, you are probably used to seeing pictures like the following appear in your feed:

These quotes and phrases are so pervasive on Pinterest that they occupy their own category on the site. They are usually written in indie, hand-written fonts that fall on some kind of nature backdrop. They are words we can all probably get behind on principle, and they spread like wildfire.

But what if in the midst of all of these beautiful thoughts, something less hopeful also existed? Something more like this:

The natural response to seeing something like this on Pinterest would probably be a deep gasp followed by screaming, NO! WHO MADE THIS?! STOP THE INTERNET! STOP IT!

That image up there is ridiculous. I should know because I made it. 

We know that negative messages like this one are not the sorts of things that the world needs more of. It's frightening to imagine our friends, siblings, or children reading, and possibly believing, something that might reduce their sense of self-worth. We know that for them to believe such things would be akin to a lie. That is why we have so many kind people layering nice statements with cute fonts atop backdrops of lakes. 

It's a good system. I have no problem with it.

At the same time, while we don't want these thoughts entering the minds of our loved ones, we tend to have no problem letting them fester in our own minds. Where we see a statement like "you are the worst" as being profoundly untrue for our best friend, it doesn't seem like such a stretch in regards to ourselves and our own mistakes. I would argue that many of the things we would never say to other human beings, we often end up saying to ourselves.

This is called negative self-talk. 

I'm sure you've heard of it before.

I'm sure you are morally against it. 

If you're like me, I'm sure that doesn't stop you from doing it.

The reason that this behavior is so easy to perpetuate is that it exists in secret. When you call yourself an idiot, you don't have someone else there to tell you how crazy that sounds. So then that negative thought meets another negative thought, and they breed to create even worse thoughts. It's a tough cycle to break.

But what would happen if we offered the same forgiveness to ourselves that we offer to the ones we love? When they make mistakes, we tell them all of the ways that it will be okay. When they express that they feel less than confident, we respond by saying that they are beautiful, gifted, and loved. And we're not lying. 

Yet we believe we are kidding ourselves if we offer our minds hope. We assume that any kind words we say to ourselves must be lies, but they are actually the opposite of lies: anti-lies, or as some might call them, truth.

There is a reason that images like these are so cringe-worthy. To juxtapose horrible comments with such lovely depictions of the world seems antagonizing, criminal even. Feel free to lock me up.

But before you do that, let's make a deal. Let's try this week to catch ourselves in the lies we want to tell ourselves, and let's instead pile on a bunch of truth. The kind of truth you tell your friend when she's hurting -- tell that stuff to yourself. Let's stop making our minds a breeding ground for negativity because that's just gross. Instead, let's make it a battleground where all of those lies lose in a really unfair fight, and then let's just all be awesome and, I don't know, have some cake or something. 

Cool? Cool.

Do you have any other tips for fighting negative self-talk? 

Leave it in the comments-section!

Guest Post on The Shellhammer

Let me tell you about my friend, Alex.

She's beautiful, gutsy, talented, and wise.

She is one of the greatest blessings God has brought to my life since I moved

to New York City.

She writes a stunning blog called The Shellhammer, which you should all read.

This week, she is in South Africa with her fiancé, Josh.

They are newly engaged and all kinds of in love.

Because she'll be out all week, 

she asked me to write a guest post about my favorite vacation.

I wrote about my honeymoon 

where I ate pastries and drank margaritas from dawn-to-dusk 

in a place that looked like this:

Anyway, go check out my guest post

and stick around for Alex's wit and wisdom

on The Shellhammer.

Show her some love

because she is lovely.

If I Had It To Do All Over: Wedding Planning

A working knowledge of 90s country music was an essential and inescapable aspect of growing up in Helotes, Texas. In PE, we would run laps to Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" and we would often quote George Strait's "Check Yes or No" in carefully crafted love letters. No matter what level of hipster you are, if you grew up in Helotes, chances are you know this song by Alan Jackson (don't deny it).

This song came into my mind recently when I was thinking back on my wedding day. Like my good friend Alan here, I would marry the same person all over again. His name is Daniel. He looks like this:

On our wedding day, he looked like this:

Obviously, it's a no-brainer. Given the chance to redo my wedding, I would choose Daniel every single time. However, there are some things that I would definitely do differently. Don't get me wrong -- I loved my wedding. It was the best day ever. Most of my regrets are just details that stem from the fact that Pinterest became a big thing about a minute after we said "I do". Now I have a constant feed of incredible wedding ideas that seemed otherwise unavailable to me at the time that I was planning my wedding. 

Anyway, I don't have it to do all over, but maybe my hindsight could be someone else's foresight. Here now, for your bridal edification, is my list of Wedding Planning Do-Overs:

Do-over #1: I would wear an objectively sane outfit 

whilst getting ready.

If you can't make out exactly what is happening in the above picture, that is because it is a HOT MESS. I am wearing bright pink shorts and a tank top that features a rhinestone octopus. Grace Kelly wore a similar ensemble the morning of her wedding (in a nightmare that David Tutera once had). My bra straps are proudly visible and I am eating Wheat Thins like it is my job. Feel free to Pin this because it's clearly a style you will want to emulate on the most important day of your life.

Wait. I can't even joke about that. Don't save this picture to your Pinterest or anywhere, for that matter. Forget you ever saw it. Always remember that you could be immortalized in a photograph at any moment during the day of your wedding. Just channel Beyoncé and everything will be fine. Flee from bedazzled sea creatures. Hide your bra straps like your life depends on it. Wear a delicate robe like this:

Pssst...if you're totally smitten, here's a link to buy this robe!

and stop eating all of the Wheat Thins (although, seriously, how can you?). 

Do-over #2: I would paint the soles of my shoes blue.

via

I don't really get the point of most wedding traditions (throwing rice kills birds and garters itch like hell), but I wanted to adhere to them because it was like a game for me. I don't think I had something blue, which probably destines Daniel and I for destruction. I could have prevented that if I'd painted my soles blue. Plus, they'd be so cute in pictures! If you're digging this idea, there are also some fabulous slip resistant sole stickers that might be a better temporary solution.

Do-over #3: I would have a videographer.

Ladies (and gentlemen maybe?), I am here to tell you that, regrettably, I do not have video footage from my wedding. 

You are crying for me right now. I know it. This is the saddest thing you've heard all day.

Trying to do as much as possible on the cheap, I thought that moving images from that day would be something I could do without. What a fool I was. I would give anything for any kind of video documentation of our wedding. 

Get a videographer, folks. If you cannot afford a videographer, slap a GoPro on the head of your five-year-old cousin and see what happens (this is actually an amazing idea. Do this regardless of your financial situation.) There is so much going on (drunk people fighting, amazing dance moves, YOU WALKING DOWN THE AISLE). You will miss something, and a video is a great way to relive it. 

You probably already knew this. I'm the only idiot I know who doesn't have a wedding video.

There is a silver lining, though. I had an amazing photographer (Lauren Guy Summersett...book her) who captured so much of my day in great detail. Without video, I am able to leave pictures like the following up for hilarious interpretation:

Do-over #4: I would remember to smile 

when walking down the aisle.

I super dropped the ball on this one. In imaging myself walking down the aisle, I always assumed I might cry a little. I mean, I once cried watching an episode of Full House. To be fair though, it was the episode where Papouli dies, and I had mono so I was a little disoriented. 

Anyway, I was prepared to shed a tear, but nothing really could have prepared me for the moment those doors opened, and this amazing song was being beautifully sung, and my husband was standing there waiting for me. There's just nothing like that.

And it wasn't a pretty cry. Smiling through the tears was the last thing on my mind. I was a mess. 

The picture above is the BEST picture of me walking down the aisle. At best, I look slightly annoyed. At worst, I look like I've fallen asleep midway through. So remember to smile, ladies! Your photographer will thank you.

Do-over #5: I would recommend that my guests use a hashtag (#oshoneywedding) for Twitter and Instagram.

via

I saw something like this on Pinterest like two weeks after my wedding and I was like....

It was very upsetting. Why oh why didn't I think of that?! I love hashtags. I love seeing pictures of myself with an X Pro II filter. It is the perfect marriage of things I love. 

We are now well into the 2000s at this point, people. Unless you do not care about this kind of thing, you have no excuse not to post a hashtag at your wedding. Not to be dramatic, but you might be clinically insane if you do not do this. I'm just saying...

Do-over #6: I would honor, in some major way, everyone who helped with our wedding. 

I could not be more thankful to the people who were a part of our wedding. Literally everyone who was there did something incredible for us. My dad risked his life hanging papel picado all over our reception space. We had four of the most giving women I've ever known literally set up every other decoration. Our musicians were our incredibly talented friends who set the tone for our beautiful ceremony. My five bridesmaids were rock stars. Emily and her now fiance, Michael, put together our entire rehearsal dinner. Kaley wrote and performed a song as her wedding toast. Lara traveled all the way from Knoxville so that I could steal the covers from her in the bed we shared the night before the wedding. My sister, Johanna, fed me grapes like I was Cleopatra or something. Daniel's sister, Jessica made me laugh so hard I almost died. 

We gave some small gifts to everyone, but I wish we had done so much more. As much as a wedding is about the bride and groom, it is so much also about all of the beautiful people that God puts in your life. There are two things from that day that will always be crystal clear memories for me. The first is when I walked down the aisle to Daniel. The second is this moment:

All of these selfless, wonderful people who have my deepest respect and love decided to dance like fools around us as Daniel and I danced to "Dream a Little Dream of Me". It was kind of perfect, and it was a moment that embodied exactly how loved we felt on that day. 

When we get famous, we'll probably buy all of these people corvettes or at least Target gift cards or something. 

Lastly, Do-over #7: I would have bought something nice on which to hang my dress.

Plastic hangers make the most expensive item of clothing of your life look like it was bought off the rack at Marshall's (no judgement if it was). 

Get yourself one of those pretty wooden hangers like they have at Anthropologie. Better yet, get one of these fancy hangers where the wire identifies who you are. You'll be glad you did. 

Buy this one here! 

There you have it. These are just a few small regrets from a day that brought me so much joy that I still can't stop talking about it. Just so you don't leave this post thinking that I regret my marriage, it is probably a good idea to show you some things from my wedding that I got right.

My Wedding Do-All-Over-Agains

1. I would wear this dress.

and I would make this same I-know-I-look-good face

2. I would spend the day with these beautiful women.

3. I would have a whimsical theme and not care if anyone thinks it's weird.

4. I would shake this maraca.

5. I would do my own makeup so that I don't end up looking like this:

6. I would have it in Austin, Texas.

Vintage Villas

7. I would marry this guy...all over again.

Please share this post on Pinterest and elsewhere so that future brides can learn from my not-so-terrible mistakes! If you'd like to learn about more ways to avoid weird mistakes in life, feel free to follow Avoiding Atrophy (in the column on the right side) because seriously I write about this junk all the time. 

Move on to Part Two of this post for even more Wedding Do-Overs! 

Lastly, I've compiled some product ideas from this post below. Hope these are helpful in prepping for your super stellar upcoming wedding!

What are some of your wedding planning do-overs?

Waiting on a Friend

Today I am going to talk about something that I think is true for a lot of people that move to New York City, or any new city for that matter. Let's start this one out with a song.

This is the Rolling Stones' "Waiting on a Friend", and it is basically my life story right now. Here we have Mick Jagger standing in a doorway watching some ladies pass by. He's all "ooo ooo oo OO ooooo", but you know that is just code for something really heavy that's weighing on his heart. Then he starts singing and you eventually hear him repeating over and over, I'm not waiting on a lady. I'm just waiting on a friend. Then it hits you. Mick Jagger isn't waiting on a lady...he's waiting on a friend.

You and me both, Mick. I wouldn't mind if that friend was a lady, by the way. I'm not picky. I'd probably prefer it.

Let me explain. Daniel and I have been living in New York for almost two months, and we have been having a blast. We've been to museums and zoos and parks and musicals and Coney Island. We are a daily audience for an inconsistently impressive dance show on the Q train. We've eaten cupcakes, ridden on ferries, walked by historic landmarks, sighted celebrities (Clinton Kelly...I had just been watching What Not To Wear before I saw him). This place is great. Listen to Alicia Keys. She's not kidding.

But here's the thing about moving to New York that I hadn't completely realized until we actually got here: when we moved, our friends didn't move with us.

This revelation probably isn't as shocking to those who have moved before, but I don't have a lot of experience with moving, so give me a break. From the time I was born, I lived at the same address in Helotes Park Estates in the same bedroom with the same bunny light switch for nineteen years. The first time I really moved away was college, but I was still in Texas and when I got there they had something called Welcome Week where they basically assigned us lifelong friends. Thanks for the bridesmaid, Baylor bubble!

My wonderful friend Lara and I, freshman year at Baylor.

On my wedding day. The comparison seriously makes me cry. 

From there, Daniel and I got married and we moved to Austin where most of our friends were anyway. I got used to a lifestyle of going out to dinners, having occasional sleepovers, checking in on each other, having real in-depth conversations, and simply doing life with my best friends. I was spoiled.

These people spoiled me rotten.

Now we've moved to New York, a city where I know only a handful of people and none of these contacts are preexisting best friends. This situation has NEVER happened to me. And I mean for that sentence to sound as dramatic as it looks.

When I think about how I even accumulated the friends I have in my life, I realize that I have mostly made new friends with a few older ones by my side. Then I have to think about the first time in my life that I made a friend which was probably in pre-school, and that was probably the result of Tinker Toys or some other friend-inducing toy of the early 90s. Kids are awesome at making friends. 

I know I am getting ahead of myself, and I am absolutely making it look like I am totally socially inept (which I'm pretty sure isn't the case). Daniel and I only just recently joined a church and while I have a job, we haven't started taping yet, so I haven't been around any of those folks. These are very logical places to meet people, and I probably will and everything will probably be more than okay.

The problem (as always) is my expectations. I am seeking in strangers what was cultivated through years of experience with my close friends. I want discussion and honesty and accountability. I want to skip right on through the politeness and primary tension of meeting someone to true, real friendship. 

That's not how life works. I know that. I know I am being selfish in not wanting the work of starting new friendships. The truth is I have been pretty fortunate to have had such great relationships despite my propensity towards over-thinking absolutely everything. And it's not like I am looking to replace any of them. They are still there, though miles away, whenever I need a dose of thoroughly-marinated, real conversation.

Still, as Mick Jagger says:

Don't need a whore
I don't need no booze
Don't need a virgin priest
But I need someone I can cry to
...
I'm just waiting on a friend

My thoughts exactly, Mick. Who needs virgin priests when you've got friends?