I've moved!

Thank you so much for visiting my blog. I have recently launched a new website and invite you to catch up on my blog there!

New site:

Buenos Diaz 

www.buenosdiazsandiego.com

What you'll find on my new site:

- My blog

- About Me

- Published work

- Links to my social media accounts

- Contact info for freelance writing services

Thank you as always for your support!

Bookishly yours,

Vanessa

All Hail the Queen

Nowadays everyone’s all, “OMG have you read Gone Girl?!?” and “Duuuude, you have to read The Girl on the Train!” I’ve read each of these works and confess that I enjoyed them both thoroughly; who doesn’t love a good thriller?

Impressed as I am though by the gripping prowess of Gillian Flynn, Paula Hawkins and so many other authors doing great things in this genre, they don’t yet for me hold a candle to my all-time favorite author. She was blowing minds as far back as the 1920s, slaying the scene in her decades of writing with epic twists, dizzying turns and bombshell endings you never saw coming. Her collected works comprise a list of almost 100 titles and it is my life’s mission to own each and every one of them. I’m of course talking about the original Queen of Crime: the one, the only, the incomparable Dame Agatha Christie.  

Whether you’ve recently dabbled in the mystery/thriller category or are a seasoned fan of the genre, if you haven’t yet given ol’ Aggie a try, there is no time like the present. Her works are rife with that healthy dose of suspense you crave, wrapped in the unique literary ingenuity of Christie’s own.

Here are my five favorite Christie masterpieces, complete with links to purchase your very own copies in the format of your choosing. Now get cracking!

---

 

1.  The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
Let me tell you how hard I want to drop a plot spoiler on you right now. Hard. Set in the village of King’s Abbot, this tour de force features famed Belgian detective Hercule Poirot who comes out of retirement to investigate the suspicious death of the wealthy Roger Ackroyd. Christie deftly drops a trail of breadcrumbs from beginning to end that will lead you in a hundred different directions, each one more convincing than the last until you’re plum baffled and begging to know who dunnit. Then comes the grand reveal and you’re like, “Whaaaaaat?”

Read it, read it now. Click here. Do it fast.

2.  And Then There Were None
This one was just about tied with my number one choice for its creepy mind-blow potential. The plot: ten people each receive a suspicious invitation to an island and are then slowly murdered one by one after arriving. It keeps you guessing at the edge of your seat the entire time, a flawless example of Dame Agatha’s penchant for a psychological thriller with an unexpected mind f*ck ending. Interesting fact: the original titles for this work include Ten Little Niggers and Ten Little Indians. Glad we stuck with the title as it stands now.

And then there was your own copy, which you can purchase here. 

3.  Murder on the Orient Express
I first became a fan of Murder on the Orient Express before I’d ever read or even heard of it; I was actually cast as Mrs. Hubbard in my sixth grade class production of this famed Christie classic, and in case you’re wondering: of course I stole the show. Set aboard the Orient Express, the glamorous train service best known for its service from Paris to Istanbul, it once again features Hercule Poirot as he tries to solve the perplexing mystery of a murder committed on board. This piece has been turned into a film not once but twice and is featured as an episode on British television series Agatha Christie’s Poirot.

As Monsieur Poirot would say, cliquez ici! (click here)

4.  A Murder is Announced

So I’ve always had a thing for smart & sassy old ladies (hence my obsession with Sofia Petrillo and the rest of the Golden Girls crew). My favorite spunky senior though has got to be Miss Marple. This dowager detective of Christie’s is not really a detective at all but rather a sharp-witted spinster from the fictitious village of St. Mary Mead; she is especially known for using observations of small-town life to solve complicated crimes. In A Murder is Announced, a murder is (you guessed it) announced mysteriously in the village of Chipping Cleghorn’s gazette, complete with date, time and location. The town’s locals show up out of curiosity expecting perhaps a fun little murder-mystery parlor game. It’s not a game at all, and Miss Marple is called upon to find a killer.   

Read the announcement here.

5.  Crooked House

The last but not least of my bunch of favorites has an ending initially considered too bold and shocking even for the likes of Agatha Christie. It is the tale of the Leonides family who all live together in Crooked House, and among them lies one guilty of the poisoning of patriarch Aristides. Like in And Then There Were None, the murder represents a dark interpretation of a nursery rhyme and will give you a mean case of the Oh-No-She-Did-Nots. It made me blurt, “Oh SNAP!” out loud in a coffee shop, so you know it’s going to be good.

Get in on the crooked fun here.

---

So that’s my list!  I have my eighth grade teacher to thank for introducing me to dear old’ Aggie, and I often wonder if Mrs. Geraldine Nau knows she changed my life forever when she did. In any case, I’m ever thankful for the suggestion and hope that you will be as well. Happy reading!

Bookishly  yours,

Vanessa

Peep This

Buenos Diaz! Allow me to provide you with a quick update on Funemployment. I’ve gone to bed late and woken up whenever I’ve damn well felt like it. I’ve visited museums, I’ve picnicked in the park; I’ve read by the beach; I’ve gone from being the girl who doesn’t drink coffee to finding myself four drinks shy of a Starbucks Gold Card. In short: I’ve taken a moment to breathe.

I’ve also been writing my face off at all hours of the day. I confess that I’m still trying to figure out a routine, playing around with how to make the best use of my time in order to be as productive as possible. I’ve learned that leaving the house is essential in staying disciplined. At home, it’s too tempting to watch reruns of Say Yes to the Dress, get up and fix myself a snack, or decide that my bookshelves need reorganizing. To avoid falling into this trap, I leave the house in the morning with gym bag and laptop in tow and try not to come back until close to dinner time. Spending all this time at libraries, book stores, coffee shops and even the occasional brewery has reminded me that life is much more interesting when you’re not sitting at home.

Yesterday for example: my day started with an hour long walk around a beautiful lake with my cousin. Not wanting to go all the way back to my house to shower, I decided to head to the nearest gym instead where I could get in some weight work and then just shower and get ready there. That’s exactly what I did, which seemed like a great idea… that is, until I found myself dripping wet in the gym shower and realized I’d forgotten my towel. Awesome. Picture me toweling off with a tiny hand towel I’d found in my gym bag. That was fun.

Later after a quick visit to my favorite bookstore/coffee shop and a lovely picnic lunch at a waterfront park, I set up shop at my favorite library for my usual writing session. It started off well enough- we all know I’m generally at peace anytime I’m surrounded by books. Today I happened to pick the floor (did I mention this library has NINE of them???) where library etiquette apparently went to die. A woman let her toddler scream unbridled while the child demanded a soda, a teenager answered his phone and proceeded to tell his caller at full volume that he has a new stash and to meet him at the crib later, and someone else refused to silence their ratchet rap ringtone while the phone rang and rang and rang.

I was cursing myself for having left my headphones in my car when I suddenly noticed that a man in his forties who’d been walking back and forth in my field of vision was hovering and trying to get my attention. I’d actually been annoyed with him earlier too for also neglecting to use his indoor voice, still I obliged and whispered, “Oh I’m sorry- what was that?” He told me I looked just like Judy Polish-sounding-last-name-ski, so I asked who that was; he let me know that this Judy gal was indeed his ex-girlfriend and then tossed me a folded up library card application. I was about to ask what the deal was when he interrupted me to say, “Just, just you know, do me a favor and read this. Nothing urgent, nothing important. Just read it, you can toss it. Ok. Ok bye!”  He then scurried away as quickly as he’d come. I felt several pairs of nosy eyes on me and suddenly felt quite embarrassed, so I left the note untouched for several hours before finally picking it up when it appeared no one was looking. I give you Exhibit A:

 

I had to laugh at the last part: “I swear I’m not creepy, I just have this super creepy request.” When I did get up and leave the library eventually, I kept looking over my shoulder and peering around corners like a paranoid freak. I kept expecting him to pop up from around a corner to accost me with his flash photography. My friend Carlos says the guy probably snapped a pic from his flip phone 60 yards away. Excellent.

Lastly, I made my way over to Target to pick up a couple of items. I was minding my own business in the lotion aisle when a screaming child came tearing towards me, clearly attempting to flee from his parents who were in hot pursuit just a few yards behind him. He didn’t see me standing there when he came charging around the corner and thus ran smack into me, falling backwards on his rear end as a result. He looked at me with fury in his eyes then took one of those long, deep breaths that you just know is the precursor to a cringe-worthy fit. Sure enough, the fit was had. He screamed and bellowed as he angrily tore open the item he was holding like a tiny little meth addict, which unbeknownst to me at the time was a packet of Peeps. He proceeded to grab a little yellow chick and hurl it in my direction, and it made contact with my face.  His parents appeared to haul him away walked away with a renewed gratitude for birth control.

So. Lessons learned. Not having that towel forced me to walk from the shower to the locker room in my bra and underwear, which is a huge step for me since I generally dress immediately after showering. Body positivity is a cause I like to champion, but I am only human and admit freely that fighting that nagging insecurity about my body is an active and uneasy process. As it turns out, no torch-wielding villagers appeared to demand that I cover my hideous body or face death; I didn’t feel as self-conscious as I usually do, which was a nice feeling.

The creepy can-I-take-your-picture guy may have been, well, creepy, but I’ve decided that sometimes the universe senses that you need a compliment and throws one in your direction; who am I to question the source? I mean sure, I’d be smitten if it was Chris or Liam Hemsworth calling me fine; I’d have posed for that photo in two shakes of a lambs tail and invited Liam to play out my own special rendition of the Hunger Games. Still, this library man took the time to approach me and had the balls to do so in what is supposed to be a quiet, leave-me-alone-I’m-reading setting. I’m going to give him some credit and take the little pick-me-up to go.

As for Little Beau Peep, well… his antics made me want to kick him into next Tuesday, truth be told. I am no mother, but if my spawn decided to fly into a Hulk-like fit of rage while tearing open a package of sugar crusted, animal-shaped marshmallows to then chuck at innocent bystanders, he or she would be doomed to learn a hard lesson from their mother about how to act in public. Really though, my annoyance gave way to amusement pretty quickly. I mean… the kid threw a frickin’ Peep at me. A PEEP! What’s more- his little tantrum assured me that I am where I need to be in life, i.e. that I’m not quite ready to have children just yet. Peep this though: there’s something fabulous about the freedom in that statement. That time will come for me someday, that time just isn’t now.

Bookishly yours,

Vanessa  

 

Who Run the World? Girls.

Buenos Diaz and Happy International Women's Day! Being one of the womens myself, I think having a day to honor us is just swell. After all, girls run the world as Beyoncé done told us; we deserve a little bit of recognition for all of the ways in which we rule, rock and run this mutha.

My original intent for this post was to just publish a quick quote by a woman I respect and admire, so I went in search of one of my many journals and notebooks in search of a good one to share. It is no secret to most that I spend a great portion of my life writing down words that move me, and it just so happens that a lot of the words that inspire me come from women.

What I came across when I opened one of my journals and let the pages open to where they would was this entry from October 2014:

"Today was my first day back at work after a four-day weekend, and not just any four-day weekend. This was the weekend when I officially began to call myself a writer- and by 'officially,' I of course mean that I announced it on Facebook. Ha. Still, it feels like such a big step- I created a page for my blog, invited people to 'Like' it, posted a blog entry detailing my plan to pursue the writing thing, leave my job, etc. I created business cards and ordered them, I wrote in this journal.. in short, I pretended that I was already living the live I want to lead. And it... felt... MARVELOUS."

Today, not even five months later, I'm really doing it! I've made the giant leap of faith and started to pursue this passion of mine. I'm still looking for a job that will both feed my creative spirit and pay for my car insurance- that particular element of my life plan is still a work in progress.  I am in the meantime unemployed self employed, writing both for myself and for a women's health website. I am also in talks to write for a San-Diego based startup magazine and working every other freelance angle that comes my way. It's all a bit tentative and I know I should be terrified, but as I've told any soul who will listen lately- I am HAPPY!!! I've been waiting for years and years and years to find something I was this excited about, to be hungry for success at something that means something to me and not just that I happen to know a way to be good at. I'm thrilled, even though not everyone sees or understands my decision. For those of you that share my faith, I say thank you in the biggest and most genuine way.

So, I hope someday to be one of those women you think of on International Women's Day, that something I said either in direct communication or in my work as a writer will speak to you in the way that so many of my female inspirations have moved me with their words of wisdom, humor, support etc. I'd like to share some of my favorite words with you now and encourage you to honor the amazing women in your life today and always.

Gillian Flynn as Amy Elliot in Gone Girl
I love this passage- this is 100% me, for better or worse, in my outlook on relationships. It also very accurately describes my unsuccessfully attempts to flirt, and Gillian has captured it all perfectly.

"I'm not interested in being set up. need to be ambushed, caught unawares, like some sort of feral love jackal. I'm too self conscious otherwise. I feel myself trying to be charming, and then realize I'm obviously trying to be charming, and then I try to be even more charming to make up for the fake charm, and then I've basically turned into Liza Minnelli; I'm dancing in tights and sequins, begging you to love me..."

To purchase your copy of this smash hit thriller novel and now motion picture, go here.

Kimberly McCreight as Kate Baron in Reconstructing Amelia
A twist on the "everything happens for a reason" and fate-related quotes we've all heard, but perhaps with an added sprinkle of hope.

"Then again, things that are meant to work out, usually do. Everyone has beacons. Lights that guide them home."

To nab this edgy YA thriller with a cyber-bully theme, go here.

Rainbow Rowell from Park Sheridan's POV in Eleanor & Park
Remember young love? All hail Rainbow for this awesome, nerdish and poignant musing.

"Or maybe, he thought now, he just didn't recognize all those other girls. The way a computer drive will spit out a disk if it doesn't recognize the formatting. When he touched Eleanor's hand, he recognized her. He knew."

To get your hands on this touching and heartbreaking YA story of young and unlikely love, click aqui:

Donna Tart as Theo Decker in The Goldfinch
Admittedly, I am one of about seven people who don't think this book is the mastery so many countless others do; It is riddled with temporal inconsistencies and lacks the development of some characters while focusing too much on others, and I think it could have been ultimately more powerful if cut down about 200-300 pages. Still, Donna is undoubtedly a formidable and talented writer, and this particular line is beautiful and powerful in its simplicity.

"I had the epiphany that laughter was light, and light was laughter, and that this was the secret of the universe."

To give this generally beloved and meaty work a try and make up your own mind, have at it!

Amy Poehler in Yes, Please
There are so, so many of Amy's witty and/or powerful words in this hilarious and introspective debut that had me fist-pumping while yelling, "Yessssss!'' Here are a few.

“Saying “yes” doesn’t mean I don’t know how to say no, and saying “please” doesn’t mean I am waiting for permission.”  

“Hopefully as you get older, you start to learn how to live with your demon. It’s hard at first. Some people give their demon so much room that there is no space in their head or bed for love. They feed their demon and it gets really strong and then it makes them stay in abusive relationships or starve their beautiful bodies. But sometimes, you get a little older and get a little bored of the demon. Through good therapy and friends and self-love you can practice treating the demon like a hacky, annoying cousin. Maybe a day even comes when you are getting dressed for a fancy event and it whispers, “You aren’t pretty,” and you go, “I know, I know, now let me find my earrings.” Sometimes you say, “Demon, I promise you I will let you remind me of my ugliness, but right now I am having hot sex so I will check in later.”  

“Great people do things before they're ready. They do things before they know they can do it. Doing what you're afraid of, getting out of your comfort zone, taking risks like that- that's what life is. You might be really good. You might find out something about yourself that's really special and if you're not good, who cares? You tried something. Now you know something about yourself”  

“However, if you do start crying in an argument and someone asks why, you can always say, "I'm just crying because of how wrong you are.”  

“Decide what your currency is early. Let go of what you will never have. People who do this are happier and sexier.”  

“It takes years as a woman to unlearn what you have been taught to be sorry for.”

“It’s never overreacting to ask for what you want and need.”  

To laugh, think deeply and perhaps shed a tear with the one and only Amy Poehler, go here
BONUS! To learn more about a project of Amy's that I am a huuuuge fan of, click here.

Kristin Hannah as Eva Lange in Night Road
This blogger chick whose name rhymes with Schmanessa Piaz wrote a piece about one of her life mantras that Kristin Hannah echoes in this very quote:  love is a choice.

“It isn’t about being at the same school or the same town or even the same room. It’s about being together. Love is a choice you make.”  

To read this tear-jerker from one of my favorite authors, go here.
To read this author's incredible new work (The Nightingale) about sisters in WWII France that will also make you cry your face off, go here.
To read that blog I talked about by that super cool chick, go here, duh.

Last but certainly not least... two of my faves from the incomparable J.K. Rowling:

“It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case, you fail by default.”

"And the idea of just wandering off to a café with a notebook and writing and seeing where that take me for awhile is bliss." 

Amen, sister. How apropos.

For stuff by J.K., see this.
Because it would be like a day without orange juice if I didn't mention or plug Harry Potter at least once: go here.

Hey, look! Stuff I've written for other people (http://www.periodview.com/site-bloggers/). Scroll down to my bio!

Oh, It's Just Cramps - my story about that time it wasn't just cramps and the importance of listening to your body.

Paging Edward Cullen - exploring the hilarious monikers given to "that time of the month" over the ages.

See You Later

The saying goes that life is what happens to you when you’re busy making plans. Maybe you’re planning a wedding, a career move, a girl’s night out or just planning on making a sandwich. The point is that when you aren’t looking, when you least expect it to or even want it to for that matter- life intervenes and says, “So… this is what’s going to happen.”

Two and a half years ago, I was working as an Account Specialist at a claim center in Carmel Mountain Ranch when my supervisor called me; she let me know that I’d been selected to learn more about a position with a different department: Enterprise Fleet Management. Fleet was all but an urban legend to me shrouded in wonder and mystery. I knew little of what Fleet did or what it was all about, and because I was comfortable where I was, I turned it down.

A few days later, I got a call from a number with a 909 area code. He was a Regional Sales Manager in this Fleet division and wanted to pick my brain. I agreed to meet having nothing to lose and because I’d also forgotten my wallet. I also hadn’t packed a lunch, so.... hey, why the heck? Why not?  

We talked for over an hour in getting-to-know-you fashion, then came the questions he’d driven up there to ask: why had I said no? What were my concerns? Could he possibly change my mind? And because I am often awkward in these types of situations, what came out of my mouth was: “I don’t want to involve you in my mess. I’m medically fucked up.”

This friendly man with a shaven head and super blue eyes stopped chewing his roasted veggie salad, and he asked, “Like, psychologically, or… ?” and then came an awkward pause. I laughed out loud like a crazy person and then for reasons I cannot explain to you, I told private truths to this stranger who had the nerve to turn around and care. I told him I’d need to leave early on Thursdays. No one could know why. Little did I know that this man knew all about complications- cancer, divorce, single-fatherhood. That afternoon I called my boss and told her I’d had a change of heart. A few short weeks later I took up a space in a cubicle at 6330 Marindustry Drive.

Two and half years later, I look back and wonder what would have become of me had I not agreed to meet that man at Luna Café that summer. I wouldn’t have gotten a call from my new boss Melissa inviting me to Palm Springs for the weekend. I wouldn’t have been handed a pair of glasses, suspenders and drink tickets and told to show up ready to party as a Comic Con nerd. I wouldn’t have almost been abandoned in the desert by an employee with an agenda, or apologized to a thousand times the following Monday by everyone in the office.

I would never have met Michele, the blonde, human meerkat who speaks a different language known by only a chosen few: I wouldn’t know what a strippy truck is, or a Scooby or a ladybird or crotch monkey, how to jimmy-jammy something or kick someone in the kanicki. I might not know that “Kumbayashi” is actually Michele-speak for Kombucha. I might never have ordered root fries or met three Corgis as cute as can be.

I’d never have met Alisa, super stalker extraordinaire. I might not have stopped to smell the egg whites in the morning or else have missed out on her infectious laugh. I might also have never been stalked by her crazy customers when she and my friend Tara were out of the office, and someday I promise I’ll go ahead and forgive her for that.

I’d never have met Grumbles, who turned the word "mailers" to "mellers" and will put a smile on your face every SINGLE day come what day. I’d have missed out on his headstand while wearing a camo helmet, and never met his adorable daughters who will head-butt their way into your hearts.

I’ve never have Amy (aka Rosie or Ramy), whose dance moves are awesome and who always had high-protein snacks. I wouldn’t get Asian texts or have someone to talk Chanel to, or someone to scold for her shopping habits knowing full and well she will never learn.

I’d never have worked with Marty again, since I'd worked with her once before, she the queen of toast and talking to no-one-ness. I’d never have known what it’s like to have someone watch you from the next cubicle and have them creep you the hell out each time. I'd have missed her helpful nature and willingness to be a team player. I thank her for that.

I’d never have met Denise- the brave soul and big heart who will fill my shoes. The giver of fleet’s absolute worst news quiz, the badass who showed up with her own stock of Nerf weaponry.

I’d never have met Cheyenne, the most normal one of the bunch of us. My right hand, my cake-pop provider and my stable source of reality. I’d have missed out on a thousand “what the heck?” moments and not had someone to dare me to dream. I’d still have 42,000 driver name changes to do and an even bigger pile of files to reconcile.

I’ve never have met Kristin, the spider monkey and pallet-rider who laughs at dumbness with me like cats, owls and Kirimi-Chan. The girl who pushes me to dream bigger and aim a little higher, who got me to like country and taught me to replace the word “girl” with “squirrel.”

I’d never have met Tara, my dear sweet friend Tara, the world’s most friendly angry person whose laugh is possibly my favorite in the world. She taught me about “perry-meters,” crap holes, fudgesicles, monsties and daaaaaaark chocolaaaaate. I’ve never have learned to “do-do” song or how to sing your way through a shitty-ass day.

I’d never have learned that Fleet is pretty much Unicef from a guy named John that makes the BEST bruschetta, a real life Fun Hunter who trolls the halls with a stomp and a snap. He reads texts, said my face looks like chicken fat on my third day and never stops talking about poop. I’d never have met his baby who I secretly want to kidnap (just kidding , Maureen!).

I’d never have met this Zack guy from Philly who buys me books and loooooves those spirit fingers, who means what he says when he cares and has no recollection of emphatically tearing some documents up; I’d never have met his alter egos, like the black minister from the Southern Baptist pulpit, or met his future musician son (age 3) who’d like to talk to our controller Gerges.

That guy that took me to lunch Greg- I’d never have eaten about a thousand dollars’ worth of sushi with him after one too many sake shots or Sapporos, or God knows what other things. I’d never have learned to absolutely love salmon or known that my Spanish sounds like an aggressive samurai. When I waived a white flag and reached for a Kleenex box, I’d never have gotten my pony, or my diamonds, or avocado pudding, or a single flower in a simple vase.

I’d never have met my superhero boss Mel who reads through life with me, who once took me to a library opening and had my back every. single. time. I’d never have laughed that hard at Mustang Sally, tasted Rumchata or been to random creepy fabric stores; I’d have paid $90 for a headband it took her kid 30 seconds to make. She made one of the scariest, biggest decisions of my life a little bit easier. She let me go even when it was hard to, because she understood that it was my time.

What about the Nerf battles? The sales meetings? The brownie bites? The CVI pens? The thirty second dance parties and closet where everything went to die? Creepy Kevin? All-caps guy and his slow march towards zombiesm? The feet guy, the Russian mafia embezzlers? The FedEx chick who can’t see glass? The Padres and Chargers games, the Basic pizza? The 8:08s that start off strong but always go awry? What about the costumes? The holiday parties? The video filming, the weirdness? The pouring of granulated sugar on a dude in a fishnet crop-top, and of course the Harlem shake? What about the kayaks and the twerking in a child’s XL onesie? What about “skrrrrrr!” or “No I don’t!” or the many renditions of “Smack That?”

What about the weirdos I consider my family and that it’s so gosh damn hard to leave?

I’ll carry them with me always like family, these crazies, the freaks of Fleet.  

-----------------------------------

Since you don't say goodbye to people you'll see again...

See you later,

V

 

 

 

 

 

 

Real Women Have Mitochondria

The day I got training wheels was the day I realized I was “curvy.”  

My dad came home with a set for me when I was 7 or 8 years old, just a few days after I’d ridden a bike for the first time down a hill with a speed bump at the bottom. My skinned knees, wrists, elbows, cheek, chin and ribcage were not at all amused when I lost my balance and made hard contact with concrete. I asked for a set of training wheels, post haste.

My dad sat down to affix the wheels to my bike while I pretended to supervise. He perused the instructions and muttered to himself that the wheels were not suitable for a child weighing more than 50 pounds. I felt my cheeks go warm with embarrassment since I knew for a fact that I weighed more than these wheels’ apparent max capacity. Dad took notice and said “Are you kidding me? You weigh more than that?!? Yikes!” He said it with a smile and meant no harm, but I still left the room with my head hanging low. I felt ashamed. 

Just like that, BAM! I was hyper-aware of my body. It dawned on me that 85% of my female classmates were indeed smaller than I was, and that the boys liked those girls better. An aunt had recently offered to pay me one dollar for every pound I could lose, because didn’t I want to be prettier? When puberty struck quite suddenly after an injury to my jaw did something wacky to my pituitary glands, my insecurity level reached a frightening peak that lasted well into my twenties. Body image issues followed me like a stage-five clinger with an axe to grind; I spent years trying to be smaller and employed unhealthy means to try and get there.  

So now curves have sort of made a comeback: joy to the world! You see it on TV, on the radio, on the internet and on t-shirts bearing Marilyn Monroe or some other curvaceous female’s image: real women have curves, it’s all about that bass, and anacondas don’t want none unless you got buns, hun. You’d think I’d be all about this refreshing mentality being of the curvier persuasion, right? Well… about that.

Here’s my first issue. The kind of “curvy” that’s lauded as sexy too often only refers to the Jessica-Rabbitesque shapes of women with voluptuous hourglass figures and not so much to that of plain ol’ fuller-figured women such as myself. I try so hard to identify with the “curves are hot” thing because frankly it feels like I should, and while I do appreciate society in any way embracing the concept of beauty being packaged in different sizes and shapes, it doesn’t always feel like my particular body type is the “right” kind of curvy. This is where social media can really make a regular girl want to pull her hair out; the Instagram models and Kim Kardashian types with their overabundance of self-indulgent photos make a great and maddening case for the fact that my curves are for the birds in comparison to theirs; not only my non-carved waist but my cup size, butt, nose, lips, eyes, pinky toe and gosh-damn nail beds are apparently the wrong shape, size, color or model year.

This brings me to my other problem with the “real women have curves” movement, and that’s that it does the exact same thing that the “skinny is sexy” ideal does: it defines beauty and sex appeal as only applying to a certain type of woman with a certain set of characteristics. It not only leaves out the women who don’t possess those physical traits but shames them into feeling like they aren’t feminine if they don’t. What I’m talking about is skinny-shaming, and it’s everywhere I look.

Given my life’s quest to be thinner, I’d never really given much thought to this side of the struggle. Think about it though. Being told or made to feel that I’m not beautiful or attractive because my body cannot fit into a size 6 is annoying, no doubt about that; my hips don’t lie and they say “we’re wide!” so I try and try to get their circumference down through healthy eating and exercise. Meanwhile a slew of other women wish theirs were a little less modest and a little more Minaj because in pushing the agenda for seeing beauty in a larger figure, smaller girls have become the new punching bag.

This is very evident in media and music which have begun painting women’s bodies as less desirable if they lack the certain curvature that has become so synonymous with sex appeal, like when Megan Trainor’s momma apparently told her boys like a little more booty to hold at night. I know a lot of people are giving her props for the message behind that song, but that message is sullied for me because it puts down the girls without said booty abundance. Then we have Nicki out here going so far as to say “f*ck you if you skinny, bitches!” This grinds… my… gears. It belittles women who don’t fit the big booty bill and is demonstrative of one of my major hot buttons: women’s body-shaming coming from other women. Enough already. A naturally slender, less curvaceous female is just as real a woman as Amber Rose, Christina Hendricks or Sofia Vergara are, and no one should tell her or me or you any differently.

I’m not setting out to tell anyone to rewire themselves in what they find individually attractive. What I do want is collective acceptance of the female body in all its variation. I want for all of us to be able to feel comfortable in our own skin, to be seen as perfectly beautiful, sexual, desirable creatures with appeal and worth and value that isn’t measured by our waist-to-hip ratio. I find it unacceptable to define beauty in exclusionary terms, and not just in how men see women but in how women judge each other as well.

So here is my own little body image manifesto: I think a woman should feel sexy whether she’s shaped like a Coke bottle or like a Coke can. She should focus less on being thicker or thinner and more on being healthy. No woman should feel pressured to wear makeup, nor should she be shamed if she happens to really like putting it on. Let a girl wear sky-high heels whether she’s 5’6” or 6’5” and don’t give her lip about it because that is her prerogative. Please, love the big boobs or full derriere of women who possess these body parts- but don’t make the women who lack these assets feel inferior either. Don’t assume that the skinny girl is healthier than the one shopping for plus-sized jeans, but don’t discount the slender girl, she might just teach you a few things. Gisele is a beautiful woman, so is Tess Holliday. Curves don’t make a real woman and neither do six-pack abs. You know what all real women have? DNA, cells, cytoplasm. Real women have mitochondria. Put that on a t-shirt.  

 

V-Day

Buenos Diaz! It’s Valentine’s Day, that day on the calendar that makes singles sick, lovebirds swoon, and people with kids wonder whether they bought enough Valentines for everyone in Timmy or Jenny’s class and whether they’re bad parents for choosing the store-bought cupcakes over the homemade and Pinterest-inspired. Today is also confession day here at Buenos Diaz. Gather round now, come in close. Can everyone hear me? OK, here goes.
I, Vanessa Diaz, am a girl, and sometimes I act like one.

Honest to God, 97.6 percent of the time I don’t mind and even enjoy being single. Knowing how to be alone and relish it is something I’m quite proud of, really. I like that I can go see a movie, take a trip to the Farmers Market, sit at a restaurant or coffee shop or lay out in the park all by my lonesome and not feel a desperate need to be accompanied if company isn’t in the cards that day. I’ve been very independent for as long as I can remember, so tell me why this year there is something about this saccharine-soaked, commercial concoction of a holiday that for whatever nonsensical reason really has me thinking deeply about my life choices. It feels pathetic. I will elaborate.

I hate having to admit this because it makes me sound like one of those girls, the ones who bitterly denounce “Singles Awareness Day” by sulking on their couch listening to Adele and eating Godiva. Maybe it’s the flower deliveries to people not named Vanessa at work or the emotion bubbling beneath the surface of my composure every time I realize I am quitting my job in 3 weeks. Maybe it’s because my favorite of favorites is no longer a well I can draw from and that person is going away and shacking up with someone for the love-filled weekend while I’m sitting here noshing on Gourmet Inka Corn (corn nuts for the grown and sexy) with a glass of Nebbiolo (I wrote this Friday night, I’m not being a booze-hound before 9am).

I just suddenly miss… affection. I miss nervous first kisses, or warm, familiar ones that melt you; I miss butterflies, anticipation, cutesy gestures, intense bouts of eye contact; hands in my hair, hands on my face, eyes wide open, eyes wide shut. I miss hand-holding, flirting, passion, surrender. I miss hearing someone call me pretty. I miss feeling pretty.

The worst part though is the feeling of guilt, that sense of “I’m not supposed to feel the feelings!” that eats at me as someone who normally thinks of themselves as strong, independent and not at all why-aren’t-I-in-a-relationship centric. I feel like I should be impervious to these juvenile affectations, like its sacrilege to miss the warmth, the smell, the feel of a man and still call myself a feminist. This is especially true now that I’ve reached an age where I think I’m supposed to be enlightened and above all of this mess, so now I’m not only feeling out of sorts but feel dumb for feeling that way to begin with. I feel like I’m betraying my own ideals.

I’m not betraying anything though. I’m just a woman. I’m allowed to feel and need and want. So I will confess that I do in fact feel and need and want and that doesn’t make me any less self-possessed. Yeah, I allowed myself those thirty seconds (ok, minutes) of feeling sorry for myself, then I decided to get up, turn on the lights and think of V Day as just that: V Day. V Day as in Me day. I may not be in love, but I am loved and I do love. The rest of this blog post will focus on that love. Here are some people who aren’t obligated to love me out of a blood relation.

-----

I have a friend who shares my not-so-guilty pleasures plus love of steak, bright lipstick, beautiful white boys and getting on planes. We Snapchat our workouts and pics of food afterwards. In the young and ratchet days when on a crowded Vegas dance floor getting the bump-and-grind treatment from a brotha with plans, she motioned to me, pointed down at the guy and said, “V, do you want a hit?” because she didn’t want me to be left out. That poor guy looked at her hurt like, “Are you pimping me to your girl right now?” and I just about died from laughter.

I have a friend who calls me at 6am to tell me that she’s proud of me, who two years ago looked me in the eye over brunch and said, “So you’re not an author yet, but you ARE a writer, Call yourself one.” She’s black and from LA’s Valley and I’m a San Diego Latina but somehow, someway, she is my twin. We bond over books and beautiful words, delight in sarcastic wit and get into good song be it Jay or Jill or that trap music. She’s been telling me I was pretty since the day I met her and one of these days I’ll believe her.

I have a friend who for years now I’ve been calling the poster child for pursuing your passion. She pushes me in ways both overt and covert and though we may not speak often it’s meaningful when we do. She brought me to wine, let me lean on her at low points, and never made me feel stupid for loving someone I couldn’t have. She once put a slice of salami on my sangria glass because we were all out of strawberries and has dared me to dream recently in a very big and international way.

I have a friend who knows it all, the good, the bad, the ugly plus the emo, the insecure, the crazy and the expectant, all of it wrapped up in big hair and too much jewelry. He’s talked me off a ledge, showed me lightening in summer, sends me YouTube videos of hilarious throwback rap jams and tags me in stuff about books and pretty places. He’s brilliant and witty and maddeningly stubborn, pushing buttons and boundaries and schooling me in emoji warfare. He knows what I need to hear/feel and knows when things are hard for me, he tells me I’m important because I need to be reminded and even when we’re not agreeing are close in an atypical way. He encourages my honesty even when it isn’t easy, like he wants me to be sassier, louder, braver, a bigger pain in the ass if it means coming into my own.

I have a friend who reminds me that I’m talented and worthy of more than I’m sometimes brave enough to ask for, who challenges me as a writer and gets me to do things in the name of “research.” As undergrads we spent the night before final exams dancing to Afro-Cuban beats at Zanzibar, banking on my freakish memory to get us through the tests because sometimes you just have to dance. She’s shared a $300 bar tab, a stash of emergency chocolate and many life conversations with me and reminded me last night in a moment of “help, I’m a little lost” that I’m not busted. She gets my struggles and I get hers, and she’s the only person I’ll let speak cutesified Spanish to me so please don’t try it because one is enough.

You know what’s awesome- I could go on for DAYS. I have a ginger who frolicks on bays with me, who encourages me and laughs with me about words that rhyme and unattractive dance moves; I have a boss who’s a BFF who let me go supportively because she knew I’d found my passion and because she shares that passion too. I have a gypsy life-shift Sherpa who takes me on Baja adventures and tells me to keep on dreaming. I have so, so, so much love in my life that it almost seems silly to want more.

If today you find yourself madly in love with someone who loves you too, I’m truly very happy for you. I encourage you to revel in love because love is an amazing thing and even if it’s corny and cheesy to make a big deal out of it on Valentine’s Day- so what! Go for it! The world needs a little more love. Go be sappy and happy about it and let the haters hate. If you’re single like me, I salute you just the same! Love is probably all around you like it is for me, you may just have to make a list and write it out to remember that. Do it, you’ll surprise yourself.

I am now about to go enjoy my V-Day with a group of beloved friends that I am lucky to have in my life. I’m also going to lather on the SPF because I live in San Diego which has a blatant disrespect for winter. I will leave you with some wise words from Hugh Grant, a classic quote from a classic movie.

“It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around.”

Happy Valentine's Day!

Bookishly Yours,

Vanessa