More food on my face and just for this weekend, okay?

Currently writing this while a mixture of egg and raw honey dry on my face. According to bad-ass Alexis Wolfer (also the woman who I wish was my big sister), this DIY face mask can treat breakouts. Raw honey (the creamy, somewhat expensive stuff) contains antibacterial and hydrating properties that cleanse the skin without drying it out. Egg white tightens skin (I feel my skin tightening this very moment!). And the fat and cholesterol in the yolk reduce the appearance of acne scars. What the what? Check out the full recipe here!

Photo on 2014-05-08 at 23.40 #2

My skin has taken a beating this semester (this entire year, actually). The massive amount of stress I felt manifested itself on my skin. This is new territory for me. I’ve never really had trouble with my skin and for the past several months, I’ve been breaking out almost every day. Alexis Wolfer’s brain children have helped me focus on not only treating my skin very gently with stuff I already put in my body, but also having fun with skin care. We can all use more fun in our lives, right?

The stress from the past two semesters has also manifested itself in my relationship to food (duh. i talk about that sh*t all the time here)…and subsequently, on my body. While the way I view food and my body has certainly improved, I still have many moments where I ashamed of and frustrated with my body. Consequently, I also have many moments where I obsess about food (am i hungry? should i eat that when i already ate that other thing earlier today? am i really hungry? WTF is wrong with you, sarah!?!?). Slow your roll, girly. In those moments, I dig deep and force gentler thoughts into my brain (the irony there is not lost on me). I stop my dark and reeling thoughts. I DO something-breathe, take a walk/run, call someone, drink water, have a 5-min dance party, so many things.

very recent example: Today, when I freaked out about how I looked in my graduation outfit (um yeah i’m graduating. hollaaaa!) and then obsessed about whether I was hungry and should eat dinner, and why the f*ck I can’t just feel peaceful and normal about food and my body, I made a big decision. What if I just committed to being peaceful around food and my body for the next three days? The next three days are celebratory; full of being surrounded by family and friends, taking pictures, recognizing accomplishments, and of course, eating food. I don’t want to miss out on any moment of the next three days because I’m obsessing about how I look in my clothes or what I’m going to eat. I want to welcome my family, show them around the city, acknowledging the fact that I finished my freakin’ Master’s, take pictures with friends, and feel excited about everything. There will be no room for body hate or preoccupation with food.

Making this weekend commitment is keeping me calm. I don’t need to worry about feeling crazy around food/my body for the rest of my life. All I need to do is strive for peace in that area for the next three days. For the weekend, I will relax about this stuff. And I will be present with the people around me. Just for the next three days. I can worry about forever later. But this weekend, a very exciting and special weekend, I’m just going to act as if I feel normal and peaceful about my body and food.

DIY facials help. Mediating helps. Iggy Azalea and Madonna help. Yoga helps. So, so many things can help us regain our sanity and focus on the sh*t that we actually want to experience in our lives.

I’m starting to believe that American women’s obsession with thinness is a patriarchal rouse to distract us from doing real sh*t, from living our dreams so that we don’t become too powerful. Thoughts?

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I’ve been bitten

So maybe I do understand the frenzied excitement that accompanies the season of Fall. This morning, I took a crisp walk around the lake behind my house. It was lovely. Mostly because I pumped a steady stream of Destiny’s Child into my brain. But while walking, I took a look around and noticed the change in the colors of the leaves. I noticed happy, invigorated fellow-walkers in their sweaters and jeans. I felt cool, smoky air on my face.

Then, I went to a street festival with one of my roommates. The cool weather prompted me to wear my boots. This I liked.

The street festival featured art, jewelry, cupcake samples, and my chiropractor (yeah, my chiro had a booth. Because he believes in educating the community. Don’t mess), and free T-shirts. This I also liked.

Now I feel compelled to usher in this October evening with whatever it is that Fall maniacs do. Dip apples into homemade caramel? Carve pumpkins? Light autumn-scented Yankee candles? Research for seminar papers?

I know I’m late to this game, but Fall rocks.

Um, also, I saw the woman who makes me question my sexual orientation. In the flesh. For the second time in my life. See (very poor) images below:

Still relive this show. Like every day. It helps with the paper-writing.

Celebrating August 16th

My Facebook status on Wednesday night read: Tomorrow: First day of grad school and Madonna’s birthday. Which is more monumental?

August 16th marked not only the birth of my hero/girl crush, but also my the first day of classes as a freakin Master’s student. While I felt compelled to spend the entire day evangelizing about the significant contributions Lady M has made to society, my classes took precedence. Because that’s what grad students do…I think.

Last year, I partied hard. Picture it: A warm summer day in 2011. Me, in my basement dancing like a lunatic to music video after music video. Me, subtly lip synching to even more songs at my desk at work. Me, paying homage to M in ways that should incite some kind of shame within me.

My party of 1 (I like to think M was there in spirit) rocked again. I watched a couple of her interviews with Letterman, including the one during which she shocked America yet again. Sure, she probably embarrassed herself and had quite a disconcerting effect on Dave and the audience. But that’s why I find her so disarming, people. She has no shame and feels no fear in telling someone to f*ck off.

I also enjoyed some of her old-school interviews with Rosie and Arsenio. While returning a few emails and completing my online direct deposit form for my TAship (oy), I watched Truth or Dare. In this documentary, Alek Keshishien films Madonna and her crew over the course of the Blond Ambition Tour in 1990. It rocks. I am obsessed with a particular scene in which M really expresses herself to her manager, sound technician, and others when her microphone went out on stage.

While my Madonna birthday celebration inadvertently excluded dancing wildly to her music videos, I did pay homage to her by attending a yoga class that evening with one of my roommates. Holy Lord did we do some planks. Madonna arms, here I come.

An appropriate conclusion to my Madonna-inspired day.

My classes were good, too.

Everybody dance NOW

After lying in my mattress (yeah, I just have a mattress, not an actual bed. Don’t hate) for way too long while checking emails, taking care of logistical grad school stuff, and watching Season 1 of The Office, my body demanded that I move. By “move,” I mean dance. Dance breaks are essential, people. If we want to live productive, happy, centered lives, then we need to move our bodies throughout the day. Pounding away on a treadmill for an hour every morning will not cut it.

We need to come to a mental halt to breathe. And dance. Not only does this act rejuvenate our bodies, but it also forces us to stop our whirring, often anxiety-laden thoughts. When we catch a fearful thought process in its tracks, we regain control of our mental state. We prevent ourselves from listening to those thoughts to the point of harming ourselves (i.e. numbing out with food, drugs, not-so-good people, etc.). Plus, when we shift our thoughts to something completely unrelated to whatever usually consumes our minds, we gain clarity. We use our time more efficiently by making more productive decisions.

What do college kids want if not a way to get better grades by shaking their asses!?

So take a dance break. I know one bad-ass, savvy business-owner who often sets a timer on her cell phone to remind her to stop and dance.

During my 10-minute dance break, I attempted to copy Beyonce’s moves, just as I did in front of the mirror in 9th grade.

Set a timer, college kids. Dance it out, then enjoy increased productivity and awesome-ness.

The grad school years have arrived

What’s good, readers? I remain unabashedly unapologetic for my absence from College Kid Yoga. That’s right; my new identity as Graduate Student has prompted me to speak with more assertiveness, directness, and overall awesome-ness. This includes drastically reducing the number of times per day I say or feel “sorry.” Ladies, we in particular do this. Let’s not. In the words of the woman who makes me question my sexual orientation, “I am so not sorry”.

What occupied consumed my time away from College Kid Yoga? Why preparing to relocate to Raleigh, of course. I now write to you as a North Carolina resident (after I officially complete the residency process, that is). Thursday marks my very first day of classes at NC State. Prepare yourselves for even more insightful, incisive, and ingenious posts from this Master’s student.

As I’ve mentioned, yoga will play a major role in helping me survive thrive in my program. In fact, I head to my first class at Blue Lotus tomorrow morning. Stay tuned for a review.

Now, I feel compelled, neigh, obligated to share with you the wonders of Beyonce. Yeah, I know she kicked, and still kicks, major ass. But for some reason, I’ve been inundating my eyes and ears with all things Beyonce these days. That Blue Ivy is one lucky girl.

Check it:

Have I convinced you that Beyonce is the sh**? I’m pretty sure I’m late to this game.

Go shawty, it’s my birthday

I write to you as a now 23-yr old woman. Hollaaaa. Yeah, pretty much nothing has changed in my personality, demeanor, or sense of propriety. In fact, expect more crudeness over here at College Kid Yoga.

Stuff like this:

Not. Though my love for Snoop persists and will probably grow as I age.

Currently sitting in a Clarion hotel in Ohio. My family and I are on our way to Michigan for one woodsy vacation. I plan to submerge in Lake Superior and by God, I will see me some aurora borealis.

More to come…depending on the WiFi in our cabin. That’s right, we’re staying in a cabin. With one bathroom. For 8 people.

Pandora, I love you

What took me so long to find the music of Mariah Carey appealing? Maybe I scorned her narrow variety of song themes, skimpy costumes that serve no purpose in her music videos,  or her vocal range that while very impressive, renders her lyrics impossible to decipher.

But over the past two days, my mild dislike of Mariah has lessened. Because of my Destiny’s Child station on Pandora. After hearing several of Mariah’s songs that I remembered, but never included in my regular playlists, my interest in her music has peaked. Clearly, homegirl’s got soul. She’s a diva who owns her sex appeal and knows that she deserves a loving, top-notch dude…like Nick Cannon. I can get down with that.

 Here are a few songs that Pandora used to win me over to Mariah’s side:

 

 

 

 

Any born-again Mariah fans out there? Because I feel you.