My Alter Ego Wears High Heels...

Superman has Clark Kent.  Wonder Woman has Diana Prince.  Even Lady Gaga has that Joe Calderone dude-whatever-thing going on.  Why is it that you have to be a super hero or a scary pop singer who wears dresses made out of meat to have an alter ego?  My thoughts exactly.

My close friends know this about me.  When I was a little lit chick, if you had asked me what my favorite cartoon was you wouldn't have been met with the typical Disney or Nickelodeon response.  My all time without a doubt favorite cartoon is a deliciously 80's cartoon that not many people of my generation have heard of.  That cartoon is Jem and The Holograms.

The premise:  Jerrica Benton is the powerful owner and manager of Starlight Music, a company that was built by her father.  Her biggest act is Jem and her band The Holograms.  What you don't know is that Jerrica IS Jem.  I know, what a shocker! With the help of Synergy, a super computer that was built by Jerrica's father, and a snazzy pair of star earrings, Jerrica transforms into Jem with a simple command of "Showtime Synergy" and no one ever catches on to the fact that they are the same rockin' chick.  Not even Jerrica's longtime boyfriend Rio, who has the hots for Jem which leads to a really awkward love triangle kinda-not-really situation.  

I'm not saying that I need to be a record label executive or the front woman to a band to have my own alter ego, right?  But if I was going to create such a different personality for myself, who would she be?

In college I did created one alter ego.  I named her Mia, which stood for "Macy In Action."  Needless to say, if the statement, "Macy isn't coming, but Mia is" you knew that it was going to be a good night.  I never went too far into Mia's background however.  Her character development never really needed to go beyond the fact that she liked Cherry Vodka Sours and had a thing for black nail polish and stilettos.

Mmmm. It tastes like college.

 Mia was the rebellious bad girl that I always wanted to be.  She was fearless and confident, sexy and sultry.  She had all the right moves.  Men wanted to know her.  Girls wanted to fight her.  Bartenders wanted to serve her.  She was everything naughty that I never was.  Hell, everything that I'm still not.

The one problem with creating an alter ego is that it seems to work best in a setting where no one really knows the "real" you.  Having gone to college in my hometown, it was difficult not running into someone who recognized me as me.  There weren't a lot of 6-foot tall blondes running around my college town to throw off the kids I knew in high school.  So when I decided to move, I thought Mia would be moving with me.

Since moving to Austin, I initiated "Operation: Macy Reboot." I wanted the chance to reinvent myself.  I thought of this as a fresh start.  Since I was living in a new city, why not a new Macy.  I lost some weight (40 lbs and going), changed my hair, stopped wearing my glasses (I'm not that blind, people), changed my style and started to find a new me.

Hatching.  Lit Chick.  You get the reference.

The funny thing about it though is that once I got down here and revamped my image, I had no need for Miss Mia.  I had become everything I built her to be.  So, I decided to kill my creation and stop playing Dr. Frankenstein before my alter ego became a monster I couldn't stop.  I will miss Mia.  She and I had some good times.  But I am more interested in seeing what the real me can do.  I am Macy 2.0, Macy Part Deux, Macy: The 2012 Edition.

I just hope Mia stays gone and we don't end up with a Carrie kinda situation.  Can alter egos come back from the dead? Oh dear I hope not.  She would be pissed.

  

 Night Guys. 

As I Lay Me Down To Sleep...

I pray the lord my soul to keep.
Please stay with me all through the night.
And wake me with the morning light.

I used to say this as a little girl every night with my mom before bed. We would pray for all the children, all the animals, family and friends. We asked God to love us and protect us and always be with us. To make us be nice and kind and thanked him for all we had.

Prayer. It's a powerful thing. And most of the time we take it for granted.

Prayer is not a get-out-of-jail free card. For a long time I viewed prayer as a bargaining tool. "If you let me pass Statistics I swear I'll never slack on studying ever again." "If you let me get out of this speeding ticket I swear I'll never speed again." Things like that. Then that one day came when I couldn't bargain for the one thing I wanted most. "I swear if you bring my parents back I'll...I'll...I got nothing."

Prayer isn't a give and take. It's a give and have faith kinda system that is supposed to teach you to live by the golden rule, respect your fellow man, and believe that the good in people will be shown.

I have always believed that you don't need a church to talk to God...or whoever it is you talk to. If you feel that way, that's awesome! I just feel like I can speak to that higher being just as good while washing my hair as I would sitting in a church pew. After my mother died, I started to view prayer as a communication tool rather than a message line to put in your special requests.

If God is a DJ, and you're the caller, there is no guarantee that your request is going to get answered. Others get their answer first. And sometimes what you receive on your end of the line is what you need rather than what you want.

It's taken me a long time to pray. I've been angry with the way things are in the past and I am trying to not be so bitter. After my dad died in 2009 I didn't see the point in prayer. And this past December when I lost my mom, I just said to hell with it. If I can't get back the two most important people in my life, who is there to love and protect now? The morning light could go take a hike and leave me to wallow in self pity.

I have since tried changed that outlook.

I started to pray, and not just for myself. I pray for others. I pray for my cats. I pray for my favorite sweater to not shrink in the wash. If it's too hot, I kick on my prayer-conditioner.

I guess the point of this post guys is that prayer is powerful. It's sending out good thoughts and good karma in hopes of receiving the same positive gifts back. So let's try an experiment. Let's say a little prayer tonight for our loved ones, those with us and those who are not, to always be there to send us love in one way or another. Just because my parents are guardian angels doesn't mean I can't feel their love.

So say a prayer and say goodnight. And if you feel so inclined, say a prayer for my sweater, too. Because I think the hot water cycle just made it Barbie-sized. Oh, joy.

Night guys.

Blondes Do Have More Fun...Unless..

...They are in a horror movie.

Hey guys.  I have a confession to make.  I love horror films.  I am not talking about movies like Paranormal Activity or gore films like Saw 1-Saw 45 (that's how many there are, right?).  I mean the old school horror-suspense films that didn't need special effects or 3D graphics to scare the crap out of movie goers.  I am talking about the good old fashioned Alfred Hitchcock style of horror.

Growing up in the 90's and the early 2000's, you have to admit that we had our share of bad horror films.  The Scream series, the Final Destination series, the I Know What You Did Last Summer series (anyone else seeing a trend?).  They were all poorly made teenage slasher flicks that were so predictable I as a kiddo was able to figure out the killer before the Police Sheriff in the film ever did.

The threat doesn't bother me much...but the poor use of grammar is killing me! Pun intended!

 I love the history behind slasher movies.  When they first appeared in the 1950's and 1960's, they were made to target teenagers to make them more straight edge and to not give into the temptation of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.  That is why if you ever notice, the loose girls and drunken jocks always get killed off.  Always!  It is a given fact.  You either fly right, or you get hacked to death at Lover's Lane.  Didn't they teach you that in Health Class?

The main problem I have with horror films of any generation is this:  Why do Blondes make better victims?  I asked this question recently and the one answer that stuck with me was that, "Because the red blood stands out better against their blonde hair."  That is a pretty genius answer.

I think he would still be as scary if he was wearing a Rick Perry Mask.  Just saying...

"Blondes make the best victims. They're like virgin snow that shows up the bloody footprints."- Alfred Hitchcock. 


That's from the master of horror himself!  So it has to be true.  My thing is that they need to give credit when credit is due.  Just because I am blonde doesn't mean I am going to fall victim to a mask wearing, knife thrusting villain, does it? 

"A gun is so 1993.  Why not kill me using slashers, monsters, creatures, beasts, ghosts, or demons?" 

I would have the same amount of strength and brain power as my brunette counterpart to foil the villain and escape.  At least I think I would.  


Just because blondes are seen as "dumb" shouldn't have anything to do with making them less capable to outwit their potential killer.  If anything, they should be prepared for this situation since it's common knowledge they make better victims.  


Wait a tick, that seems like a great idea!  The Center for Blondes Who Want To Outsmart Killers...and Want To Learn To Do Other Things Good, Too!  Classes can include: How To Outsmart Your Potential Killer 101, How To Tell If Your Boyfriend Is The Killer 102, Eerie Music You Should Avoid 205, and P.E. (cause you have to be fit if your ass is gonna run away).  


If you are blonde and have any interest in attending my classes, please follow/comment/share this blog and spread the knowledge that blondes are more than just an easy slasher movie target; we are people, too.  And all you brunettes out there, be kind to us.  You may have us beat in the Horror department, but we are kicking your ass in the Chick Flick field.  Just ask Katherine Heigl. 

Go on with your quirky self!! 

Night guys!  

Ahh, Fork It...

Hello everyone! I hope you all had an amazing Easter weekend and a great start back to the week. Or you were like me and hit the snooze button 7 times Monday morning and cursed the daylight. Either way, I'm glad we meet again.

Easter for me was bittersweet. Ashley went back home and I spent a good 2 hours at Walmart grocery shopping and trying not to go down the candy aisle. All those discounted chocolate bunnies are deadly, aren't they! Damn you, Cadbury. Damn you straight to hell!

For the past 5 months or so, I have been on a life changing plan to lose weight and get healthy. I'm not on any diet pills, haven't looked for personal trainers or dietitians, and haven't considered surgery. I decided to do it the old fashioned way: working out, eating heathy, and holding myself accountable for my gains and losses.

I weigh myself every Wednesday and after plateauing for a good month, I finally hit my 40 lb mark. Just to give you an idea of how much of a loss that is, an accordion weighs 40 lbs. For the past 2 years, I have been carrying around an instrument. It's amazing how it feels to drop that. But it's also strange.

I feel lighter, yet I feel like I haven't lost anything at all sometimes. I constantly ask people if they can tell a difference. I'm not even trying to seek out compliments, I just need that reassurance that my scale isn't a lying bitch! I still feel like that overweight kid who got winded eating a cheeseburger. And trust me, McDonalds isn't very kind about customers taking a nap half way through their Big Macs. I feel like that awkward teenager who couldn't fit into the cool clothes. But I'm changing the way I think.

After a carb and calorie filled weekend with Ash, I resumed my diet...wait...my "life change" and have a goal set. By May 7, my 25th birthday, I want to be down 50 lbs total. It is a long distance goal, since I know there is a SAFE way to drop weight (you can't rush it...you have to go slow or you will end up flabby and that's not sexy). You can't starve yourself or over work yourself. Slow and steady wins the race. And there better be a cake at the finish line.

So wish me luck. I feel like I can do it, but if I don't I won't binge and eat myself into my old fat jeans. And if you want tips to my weight loss follow me, leave me comments, and ask away.

10 lbs feels like a lot. That equals to the same amount as an old 1980's brick phone. The same as a pair of platforms The Spice Girls wore in concert. Ugh...I can see the cake at the end of the tunnel.

Turning a quarter of a century old means you get to eat a quarter of the cake by yourself, right? I hope so.

See you at the finish line!!

The View From Up Top...

Hello guys. So I'm blogging to you from my hotel room bed right now using the Blogger app on my iPhone. Not sure how I feel about the app but hey, I'll give it a shot.

So today was Day 1 of Operation: Ashley & Macy Take Austin. I got to the hotel a little before 5, beating Ashley here by about 30 minutes. I'm not gonna lie, when we saw each other today, we ran and hugged in the parking lot like a couple of crazy ladies. It was quite special. We had an audience. It was special for them as well. I hope.

We had a blast tonight. After a fattening dinner at Vivo's and drinks down on 6th St., we stumbled into the Driskill Hotel to listen some jazz music. We walked around and talked, got hit on by creepy dudes on the street, and found ourselves going in and out of little hole-in-the-wall joints just catching up on what has gone on in the past month.

So now I'm totally nacho cheese wasted, about to pass out in my 9th floor hotel suite, and thinking about my complimentary breakfast tomorrow and the Starbucks down in the lobby. It's a good thing. I know I said I'd be off here for a couple days, but I just couldn't stay away.

More to come tomorrow guys! Thrift shopping, man hunting, and picture taking. And more food.

PS: While I'm thinking about it, today also marks the fact I'm down 40 lbs. I started my diet back in October and it's gotten me this far. 40 lbs...that's how much an accordion weighs. Think about it. I have.

I promise not to gain it all back this weekend. Pinky promise.

Let Me Tell You 'Bout My Best Friend....

Yes, Marilyn.  Diamonds are a girls best friend. But while they are pretty and sparkly they really can't compete with your favorite partner in crime.

Hey guys.  I hope that all of you are doing as excellent as I am.  As you can probably guess I am up late...and with good reason.  For the past week I have been waiting for a special package to arrive at my doorstep.  It's a tall, blonde, well dressed package that I haven't seen in a month. Can anyone guess what it is? 

If you said my best friend Ashley you would be right!

THE BEST FRIEND WILL BE HERE TOMORROW!!! And I am so excited.  It has been a month since I have seen this chick and let me tell you, it feels like FOREVER since I have talked to her face to face.  Now please do not get me wrong, I have a close handful of people I consider my best friends, and you know who you are.  But I have known this lady longer that I have known my hair straightener, so you can guess how long that is. (12 years...Eeeek!) 

Me with frizzy hair...it ain't pretty.

I wanted to write a little post and talk about how no matter what, a person needs that one best friend, guy or girl, who they can call at any time whatever the reason.  I don't know what I would have done without this chick in my life.  She is my family.  My sister from another Mister.  The Amy Farrah Fowler to my Penny.

"I love you more than an electron wants to attach to a proton."

We all have those relationships in our lives that we know if those ties were severed, we would be lost.  If it's a parent, a sibling, a neighbor or an ex-lover, it is imperative to have that secret keeper in your life.  That one person that you don't even have to say anything to, where you can just shoot them a look and you know they get what you are trying to convey.  It would be a very boring life not being able to fill it with the people that you love.  And this lady friend of mine that will be on her way tomorrow morning is one of those people to me. I mean I love her more than a chubby child loves pie. 

Today marks my one month anniversary of living in Austin. Now, I don't want to go all dear diary on you guys, but give me some slack.  She's my best friend. I am stoked about seeing her.  You would be, too!  And granted she only lives three hours away, but it feels further.  And yes, it's only been one little month, but it feels longer.

So, my dear friends out there in Blogland, I am signing off for a couple days and taking this Easter Weekend to spend some time hanging out downtown in a nice hotel with her, not counting calories, drinking whatever is put in front of me, and probably blowing this Friday's paycheck.  But you know what?  It's totally worth it.

Urkel agrees, it's worth it.

So leave me some good comments to come back to.  Follow me if you aren't already, and tell me how you and your best friend spend your time.  I can guarantee you that there will be a couple late night trips to IHOP in the next few days for Ashley and I.  What do you and your bestie do?

Peace, love, and chocolate,

Mace

There is no place like home...

 Alright guys.  I am going to keep this short and sweet. 

I just wanted to say that I am so thankful to whoever is up there that all of my family and friends are safe and sound after the violent tornado attacks that happened today in my hometown of Arlington. 

I was literally glued to the TV today at work, frantically checking in with the ones I care about via text, Facebook and phone calls.  The devastation is tragic, but I am glad that the ones I hold near and dear are okay. 

To think that I could have been up there during it all freaks me out a little.  But knowing that some of the places I used to go to were taken out by the storms leaves me a little bit angry.  You, Mother Nature, messed with my hometown and I don't take kindly to that behavior.  The final score might have been in your favor, but rest assured that nothing is going to bring us down that easily. 

I am sending out prayers and good thoughts to those who have been hit by the storms and I feel lucky to know that my family, my friends, and the family of my friends are all safe tonight. 

Needless to say I can't imagine loosing anyone else right now.  I hope I will never have to.

Macy

The Blogger and the Beast...

Oh, hipster Belle. I heart you. 

Hey guys.  So I threw this thought up on Facebook a while back and for some reason or another the topic found its way back into conversation today.  The topic was about an article I read about girls, primarily in their 20's, who are suffering from this "Glass Slipper" syndrome.  At least that is what I am calling it.  You can call it the "I watched too many Disney movies as a kid" disease.

But what struck me as being odd is that more and more people I know tend to have something similar to this so-called complex.  Think about it.  If you're a fellow chick and you're reading this, what Disney Princess do you relate yourself to?  I know you have an answer.

The idea of the complex is quite simple.  It basically says that us ladies not only expect a knight in shinning armor to rescue us from our boring 9-5 daily lives, but that he will be able to do so while singing in perfect pitch and be able to defeat an evil witch/stepmother/queen.  No pressure guys.  I hope you can carry a tune though.

"I had to kill a dragon, and you couldn't even brush your teeth before I got here?"

It also expressed that while we want our Prince Charming to hurry the hell along and find us already, we choose to not be proactive and go out and seek this Mr. Wonderful ourselves.  That someway or another he will find us, leaving him to do all the legwork.

We as a generation have become so enamored with the idea of the romantic fairy tale rescue that us girls think if we just chill and not make any sudden moves, our prince-dude will show up at our doorstep with footwear and we will live happily ever after.  If only it worked like that.

"Ladies, it ain't as easy as it looks."

For me I am torn between two princesses: Belle and Cinderella.  If you ask me, Belle is the ultimate Disney geek princess.  She spends all her free time with her nose in a book, she has the crazy inventor father, which if you ask me creates contraptions that look rather Steampunk (which is awesome BTW), and she falls in love with the scruffy, unkempt Prince who, come on nerd ladies, kinda reminds us of our favorite nerdy leading man, right?

That's right, ladies.  Soak up every bit of that sexy Seth Rogan. 

Cinderella on the other hand is someone I relate to on a personal level.  Her dad dies when she is a young girl and she is stuck with her awful stepmother and stepsisters, doing their damn laundry, cleaning their damn house, and her only friends are mice and a dimwitted dog.  Now I didn't have the evil stepmother or the nasty extended family she did, but if she had cats instead of a Fairy Godmother I would think Walt Disney mirrored this flick on my life.

"If you give a girl a glass slipper, she's only going to ask you for a carriage made out of produce."

The point of this post is this:  I, Macy the Lit Chick, suffer from this "Glass Slipper" bullocks.  I think that if I just sit around on the couch eating Doritos my Prince Charming will show up and I won't have to lift one finger to make it a reality.  If I dream it, it will become real.  All the romance novels I have ever read will have groomed me for that moment, and you bet your glass slippers I'll be ready.  But you know what?  THAT IS NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN!!  You have to be proactive.  Make your own damn fairy tale.  Get up, brush your teeth, and pray to God that no one tries to poison you via apple.  Cause that is just rude. 

So my goal is to be more active in finding my happily ever after.  And if I can't find a guy to buy me shoes, I guess I'll just have to do it myself.  It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it. 

I wonder if Converse makes glass slippers.  

Happy Ever After!!

Don't Make Me Gag On Your Swag...

Hi kids. So sorry to have been gone for so long. Work has been crazy busy and in the world of Macy, sleep > blog. But I swear that will change.

I have good reasons as to why I have been M.I.A. for the past week or so. Prom season is back in full swing and TMW is right in the middle of it. I love prom season. It keeps me young. I feel like I get to go back to high school and redo my prom again. This past week we had our first prom of the season. Not to mention this past Friday was also my first time teaching the Dress for Success class to the DECA students at Leander High School. And let me tell you, after working with prom boys for 3 years and going back to school to teach kids how to act professional in the corporate world, I have discovered one thing:

I don't get how the kids talk today.

"Dude, that sweater is BALLER."
"He has so much SWAG he's drippin' SWAGU." (Ewwww!!!)
"That song is so ILL. I mean his beats be SICK."

Baller? Ill? Swag? I'm sorry, but I don't speak tween.

What the hell happened to just using the good old slang terms that are universal? I feel like I have to learn a second language just to understand what these kids mean. I just want to walk up to them and say,"Speak English. No one understands you!" I am not much older than these kids and it makes me feel so ancient when I hear a teenage girl say, "He's so fine. He's at least worth 10 swag points." When I hear talk like this my mind starts to drift away and I go to my happy place.


Oh, happy place.

I grew up in the Clueless generation where worlds like "whatever" and "as if" were spoken every 5 seconds. I will admit, I did throw my hands up and make the "W" symbol frequently as a child, but I grew out of it...kinda.


"All the feather pens in the world can't help your slang now."

I'm old school when it comes to lingo to describe people/places/things. If I could, I would totally try and bring back the slang of the 1950's.


"My poodle skirts bring all the boys to the...er...um... malt shop?"

Hell, if I was really inclined I would try to bring back Old English.

But I don't know how to relate to these kids when they start speaking this alien language. I [thank God] grew up before the "crunk" generation. I still to this day do not understand how things can be crazy-drunk at the same time and that be a good thing. I guess what I am trying to get across is that as times change, so does the verbiage.

Our kids will probably look at us when we speak the slang of today and go:
"Your talk is so FABRIC."
"Your clothes are total DAMAGE!"
"That chick is a total TWITCH."

See. I can create my own slang words, too.

But I can't get too angry at those kids. Their slang is a valid form of expression. I wouldn't want to stifle their creativity. But remember young ones who are reading: be careful what you create. What's crunk today isn't so swag tomorrow. You dig?

I'm Audi 500.