Groovy, Baby

Fashion is heading into an era I am so in love with: the 70’s. If I could ask God to send me back in time, I’d humbly request to live as a hot, young red head in the late 70’s. From the fashion, disco music, to the infamous Studio 54 parties, the late 70’s was an opening to women and gay liberation. The late 70’s administered a new level of self-love, and was an entrance to the acceptance of individuality. People actually wanted to see the weird and different. Normal was just boring and overrated. The conservative consensus of the country finally opened its canal to a new state of mind with so many negative outbreaks happening, from wars to various protests. Women were also breaking away from being submissive to men’s demands once the government approved birth control. It was like women finally had a chance to say, “Kiss my ass, I don’t want your baby.” 


   
   Could you imagine living in an age where celebrities and ordinary people party together? I don’t mean VIP sections and ropes. It was utterly everyone who was anyone with an eclectic style or personality on the dance floor having a groovy time. Ordinary, everyday people were inspiring designers and celebs while happy substances were being shared like favors! That’s sheer, awesome tranquility. Party-goers flocked to Studio 54 to get an opportunity to not only rub elbows with stars like Micheal Jackson, Andy Warhol and David Bowie. I know I’m sharing a lot of history, but fashion is history baby! If life were still so simple with less social-standard boundaries, we’d live in a much better place!   

    
 
This period in fashion and music history is the ultimate nirvana. Everyone wanted to dance, feel high and have a good time. People weren’t stuck, glued to their cell blocks (aka cellphones) watching moments of the past, people actually lived in the moment. I miss living in the moments. Not saving the moments for others and their standards or expectations of what my moments should look like. I like to do what I want, when I want leaving a trail of golden glitter behind.   

    
    
   
But more than anything, I’d love to revisit the late 70’s for the carefreeness and less pressures of perfection. Seriously, when else would loads of blue shadow over a naked face, false lashes and big hair be accepted? Now, everything in life is so focused on being perfect, we’re missing out on the beauty of life. This is the hardest and biggest pill I’ve had to take: I don’t care about the perfection anymore. I’ve spent years wasting on perfection only to realize I’m the farthest thing from it. I don’t want perfection. I want beauty. Beauty inside as well as out is much more fun than just perfect. I save my perfect for Jesus. Give me beauty baby.

   
    
    
 

If the late 70’s didn’t teach us anything else, it taught us to live a zen life and not be afraid of bell-bottoms or blue shadow. There is no harm in striving for beauty, its the perfection that slowly kills. 

“What is perfection anyway?”

Fashionably Yours Forever,
Tamarađź’‹

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Perfect Winged Eyeliner

Want to know the kind of day you’re going to have? You can almost always gauge by the outcome of your winged liner…

 

I knew my day was going to be fucking crazy when my winged liner just wouldn’t cooperate. My makeup was on point, flawlessly executed and completely successful. Then the moment came to apply my wings, and things went haywire. I don’t know what the hell happened, but my liner just would not work with me. I begged, grunted, took my time and after a few tries with a bit of cleanup, I was finally satisfied with the outcome. At that very moment while staring into the mirror, I realized my day was going to be the exact same way; messy, drive me crazy in the beginning but turn out perfectly fine in the end. My liner was like a psychic into the future! After I finally finished arguing with my winged liner and came to a mutual understanding with my lip color, it was time to get dressed and head out for my 1 pm client. I was determined to be on time and perky after a cup of French vanilla coffee.

I wound up being late and to the brink of hysterically in tears. I didn’t want to be late, I was utterly in panic mode. I wanted to be on time, gracing the driveway as if it were my runway. Life has a way of humbling you and getting your ass in order. I was lost, beyond lost. Lost in a way I didn’t even think I could’ve been lost. Now looking back it was kind of funny, but in the moment there wasn’t a second of laughter. My GPS directed me to any and everywhere other than my client’s house. By the time I finally pulled up in front of her door, I realized I drove passed her complex at least 7 times. I was mortified and beyond apologetic. As a professional, I just didn’t want to come across as the” young, late girl”. Not only was I lost, I called “Minnesota” to calm me down and offer some of his motivational speeches. He didn’t even have the decency to pick up the phone or call me back! I was beyond crushed. Calling my client was no help. It was like the blonde leading the blonde and put me in more disarray.

 

As I sat in front of my client’s house for a good two seconds to breathe and look at myself in the mirror, I realized two things: Maybe this whole “Minnesota” ordeal wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. I was pissed, but life did push me into putting my “big girl boy shorts” on and making things happen on my own. Minnesota didn’t get me to where I am, he was just a page or two in my story. The second thing I confirmed is that my day was actually going to be smooth sailing there on out. The messy, unkempt part of my day was over (finally). It was now time to clean up and do an amazing job as I initially intended. The sucky part of my “eyeliner” day was over. Now was the time to create a masterpiece, and I was confident the rest of my day was going to be a perfect wing liner day. Truth be told, it actually was.

Artist Makeup Tip 101: I like to line my lids with a gel liner first, then use a liquid to create my wing tips. When doing your liner, look into the mirror and declare that you’re going to have an amazing day!

 

xoxo,

 

Tamara

Power In The Head

I came across a wretched article online about giving blow jobs. Well, the idea of blow jobs wasn’t the wretched part. The content of the article is what bothered me most.

Half way through reading, I spared myself the agony of continuing any further without mentally gagging. This article was truly a ploy to lure people in and like bait, I fell. The title of the article was bluntly in your face, “Something About Blow Jobs” or whatever the name was to reel readers in. To summarize what I managed to get through, the author gave a notion (in addition to probably giving terrible blow jobs) that women give away their power to men when they perform oral sex. Whether you agree or disagree with performing oral sex, let me just share a secret I’ve learned from my elders: Men never have the power in the bedroom. In consensual, adult sex, men have nothing more than a penis. Forgive me if the topic of BJ’s still makes you uncomfortable in 2016. However, I simply refuse to sit back and let women think that men actually have power in the bedroom. If and when they [men] do, its because we [women] gave it to them.

Adam Eve Michelangelo

Appalled by this article, I madly sent it to a group of friends (male and female) to get their opinion. I couldn’t stop chuckling by the message in this topic. Why the hell would women willingly give oral sex to lose their power? And if we lose our power by doing it to them, do men lose theirs by doing it to us? If there’s an exchange of power happening through oral sex, we either need to do much more to one another, or go on strike all together. I received so many different responses from close knit friends, and the consensus is that women do indeed hold the “power” key in the bedroom. The only person to disagree that women actually do lose their power, made it more of a moral issue and self-respect stance. Foremost, I’d hope women aren’t still sucking any Joe Schmo’s anymore. Those cave-man BJ days should’ve left the building with “free nights and weekends” cell phone plans, darling. I’m sure even “Sex and the City’s” Samantha would have burned that bridge by now. BJ’s should be a special gift along with the prized cookies. You don’t see airlines offering first-class treatment to passengers flying coach- do you? It just doesn’t happen!

So yes, oral sex with a respected partner that you know almost everything about up to or including his social, is completely your power and your choice. Even if the man makes an idiotic move by pushing your head down there, the ball’s still in your court or wherever else you’d like to put them. Women, always hold the power. If you’re having to question your morals, self-respect or if you’ll still have your power moments after the BJ is over, then his member is not something you should be putting on or into your body darling. If you’re going to do something, do it with respect for yourself and your best interests at heart. We honestly know before anything leads to a BJ if an individual is even deserving of our time, let alone oral sex. I share this knowledge because I too had to learn and go through the, “Is he worthy?” checklists in life. The entrepreneur that can offer you professional advice along with personal guidance? He has the potential of being worthy. The struggling filmmaker that wants you to pay for your own drinks on the first date, but drops sexual innuendos in initial conversations doesn’t even deserve a text back much less a BJ.

The topic lingered in the back of my mind for a few days, and I couldn’t help but to ask the only person I would consider doing or performing anything with at this point:

Me: When a woman gives you a BJ, is she giving you her power?

“Minnesota”: “…You only give what you want when you want to.”

There you have it. You give what you want, when you want to ladies. I personally never give away my power in the bedroom. I give love, and I may submit because I fancy the dominance of an Alpha-male’s authority. But to willingly give away my power, that is something I cannot see myself doing. Someone once told me, “You can make a man think he has the power by letting him win, but in the end you’re the one who actually won because you had the power to let him win in the first place”. I like to win. BJ or no BJ, it’s my choice and my power.

Don’t suck just any lollipops dolls! Find your worthy, favorite and save your mouth power for that one, or none at all!

With Love,

Tamarađź’‹